I received a call from The Store the other day.
(Don't you just love the posts that start with that statement? It means something truly absurd is bound to follow.)
Anyway, my boss called and left me a message (because no way in hell
was I actually going to answer the phone), asking me to please come in
and pick up my self evaluation form because it's review time again. (Oh
joy.) She also mentioned a need to have me sign something. She didn't
say what the something was, just told me when she'd be at The Store so I
could stop in and get it taken care of.
When I got there, she took me in the office (never a good sign) and
asked me to have a seat (another bad, bad sign). Then she read to me a
memo from the corporate office that said that in The Store, someone with
my job title could only earn so much money per hour and that I had
reached that glass ceiling. As a result, I would not be eligible for
any further pay raises, regardless of whether my performance merited one
Then she handed me my self evaluation and asked me to get it back to
her by Friday. I told her I could fill it out right then and there in
about thirty seconds because it wasn't like I was going to put any real
thought or effort into it.
Because, seriously, what's the point?
My pay increases at The Store were always laughable at best (I think
last year's was a whopping thirty two cents an hour) but at least they
were a pay increase of some kind. Now I'm really not sure what my
motivation to do my job is. I could be the model employee (well, maybe
in a parallel universe where Altera-me is not a surly, sarcastic, pain
in the ass). I could precision fold every display on the sales floor
every day. I could sell $500 of product to every customer. I could
sign up 100 people for credit cards and still, I won't get a penny more
for my efforts.
Not that I'm rolling in the dough as it is. My checks of late have
been über pathetic. Like, more so than usual. So much so that The Man
looked at the last one and said, "why do you even have a job?"
And you know what? For the life of me, I can't remember.
Must be time to publish my book and get the frak out of retail.