February 12, 2014 - Hate_Me
How To Somehow NOT Lose Your Job At Target
I know, I know…You love Target more than life itself, and you’re sitting there saying, “Yes, Hate_me…tell me how I can lose my job so that I can do the exact opposite and WORK THERE THE REST OF MY LIFE!” It’s ok. I’ve got your back. I survived 5 years at Target–not because I was a rule-abiding “Team Member”, but because I knew about my Store Team Lead’s extramarital affair…with another Senior Team Lead in the store. Who, by the way, had a giant fucking camel toe. This shit was ridiculous. It looked like a folded mattress in her pants.
Anyway, I spent all 4 out of my 5 years on my Final Written Warning. “What is that?” you ask. Well, it’s basically when they’re like, “Seriously, stop doing all the stupid-ass shit you’re doing or we’ll fire you if we have to tell you even ONE MORE TIME.”
MY FIRST IMMEDIATE FINAL WARNING: “Loafing”. Apparently, this is a real Target term, and refers to kicking Target merchandise. In my case, I had found an obnoxiously oversized stuffed animal monkey and decided to punt it through Domestics. Unfortunate for me, my fat Human Resources cocksucker saw me and put me on a final notice. Basically, if they caught me fucking up even ONCE for the next 12 months, it was automatic termination.
Lucky for me, I am good at not getting caught…And I even punch-sprayed baby oil all over the mirrors in Ready To Wear. That shit doesn’t come off of glass without a struggle.
SECOND IMMEDIATE FINAL WARNING: It was two weeks after my previous “Loafing” final had expired, and I thought, “This just doesn’t feel right. I have to fuck something up…” So I called my Team Lead a bitch during a huddle. Hey–she WAS a major bitch, and even the guy who wrote me up agreed. But he also agreed that calling your superior a bitch during a huddle probably isn’t a professional thing to do. Boom. Final.
THIRD IMMEDIATE FINAL WARNING: Three days after previous final expiration.We worked with a red-headed kid who was…weird. Anyway, he was an easy target for ridicule. My gossipy Apparel Team Lead and I were zoning RTW one night, and I may have let the comment slip that “The drapes probably match the carpet”. Well, a tattle-tail Team Member was nearby, and she ratted me out. Apparently this is “slander” according to Target. My HR had to hide his face with my final warning notice as he read it to me in his office because he couldn’t stop laughing. But that didn’t stop his chump ass from writing me up anyway. Again.
FOURTH IMMEDIATE FINAL WARNING: It was exactly one week before the “Slander” final would expire. I was closing with the previously-mentioned Senior Team Lead who has the mattress camel toe. Anyway, not only does her vulva affect the tides, but she’s a major bitch to add to her miserable existence. She had taken two lunches that night–one with her ugly husband and their even uglier child, and another one when she felt the need to suck down a Mountain Dew while she texted. I’m assuming she was texting her vulva, asking if it had swallowed up her previous phone. It was my second-to-the-last day at that store, as I was transferring to the heights store to help their struggling Apparel team. Well, miss Mattress Pants was being so lazy that I got pissed off. It was around midnight and we still weren’t done. I had a young child at home who likes to wake up earlier than most roosters, so I had had enough.
Miss Mattress Pants was claiming that our purses weren’t zoned correctly, even though they were. She was just pissed because I had exposed her affair with our fat Store Team Lead, and so she liked to fuck with me. She was ranting and raving, pointing at the stupid purses, as if all life on Earth depended upon me zoning them exactly as she wanted. Finally, I just handed her my walkie (and she actually took it–with a dumbfounded look on her face) and I said, “If you don’t like it, then YOU fix it. I’m going home.” And I did.
Well, after another day, I transferred to the Heights. I got a call from a Team Lead friend at my old store. She said that Miss Mattress Pants had ordered my termination papers; she had apparently written my “Final Warning” (I don’t see why they’re even called “finals” when they give you like 50 of them) and since my other Final Warning hadn’t expired yet, I was therefore terminated. Unlucky for Miss Mattress Pants, my transfer was already complete, and I couldn’t be terminated by my other store.
BOOM! Chew on that, Mattress Pants!