A Little Work Place Tension

Word on the street is the new teller at the bank I work at can feel the tension when she's working with either myself or the assistant manager. And, though I don't know if it would be better or not, she's not talking about sexual tension. She's talking about me spewing hate and him being intolerant.

On the spewing hate thing, I love the people I work with, we get along very well. Some of us have some added stress and it makes us grumpy (myself included, especially this week). So the grump thing is usually stewing in silence until it is interrupted. It isn't directed at anyone but most people notice it and either let it be or ask whats up, but this lady, she needs to take a chill. She screwed up 95% of what she had done and was cursing out loud at her computer, I ignored her mostly, cussing is one of those things that I find ok in conversation but rather offensive to be shouted for it's own sake. But after a while she's screwing up again so I help her, and when I'm done I'm rearranging her station so it's a bit easier for her to use, knowing full well she's coveting my station (sinner!).

 She just blurts out, "I feel like you're mad at me from last week." And after I've reassured her that I'm just dealing with some stress she keeps blabbing about how I'm mad at her. So yeah, in the end I'm mad at her, she's a smart cookie!

After the third teller shows up I leave to go to the bathroom or something and the new teller goes on about how tense the place is.

Bless the new teller's heart. By this point she's in a bad mood and refuses to be nice. While having a bit of lunch chat with the assistant manager she insists on talking over me (for the record plenty of adults who think I'm too young to know anything or have a valid opinion or curiosity enough to ask questions just talk over me) making herself feel bigger.

So I start the day spewing hate in her mind and end the day actually spewing hate. She's like a psychic!

In all honesty I think the problem lies with the age difference, I am the youngest person in our branch, the assistant manager is only a few years older than I am and the rest of the crowd are a bit closer in the 40s to 60s range. This particular teller sits at the top of that range and I think feels that the youngsters in the branch shouldn't be telling her what to do.


Also I insisted on buying concert tickets yesterday and told them I wouldn't be working for the ten-ish minutes it would take to do that. We had one costumer during that time and I refused to take it. Such a stick in the mud, at this point in my life I cannot live without live music and it is an expense so I have to be choosy. Had the tickets been less likely to sell out in minutes I would have helped, had there been more than one person that needed help I would have helped, but do not call me lazy when I am grasping for the few straws that keep me in my right head space, that could end in an ugly way.

Black on Black

You know how old people do that squinty thing and hold things at arms length so they might read it better? I did that yesterday. Yes, I was wearing my glasses at the time, and yes, new lenses were the one thing I splurged on in my uninsured state. So why couldn't I see the tiny writing on the credit card that wouldn't read the way normal credit cards read? Because it was black on black.

Lets go for some diversity y'all. I don't care the color but there needs to be contrast for the sake of all peoples involved. Segregation of colors never ends well. We know that. So all you smooth operator credit card companies with your super cool monochromatic card designs take a history lesson and add in something "different." That includes you Ann Taylor!

There Are Two Red Cadillacs in the Parking Lot

I've run into many a strange thing in my years of customer service but lately I have been pleasantly surprised by people's ability to surprise me with more strangeness.

Since I am now working at a bank I have to deal with some sensitive info, like I did when I worked at the doctors' office (good times) an one would think that because of my access to said info I would be treated with a smidgen of respect. And I'll tell you know most people are nice and polite. Thats one of those things, one person stands out when their not, ruining everyone's reputation in the process.

Anyhow, the other night I was working the drive-up after hours and a woman sent me a slew of rebate cards. I was puzzled and told her that I wouldn't be able to process them and she should come back when the lobby was open and someone more knowledgeable could help her. And in response I got:

Mary said you could do it.

And I replied that I'm sure there was a way but in the drive-up after hours I could not. She said:

Then get Mary to do it.

And as pleasantly as I might I informed her that Mary doesn't work in my bank. To which she said:

There are two red Cadillacs in the parking lot. One of them can help me.

And I should have said, "Oh, you like those? They're mine." or "I bet the dentist would be most excellent at depositing rebate cards into you're joint checking account." But instead I was all apologetic. Funnily enough two days later the same woman showed up in the lobby and insisted that Mary help her. Mary was called and indeed there was a way to do what she wanted but the manager, assistant manager, Mary and some others were needed to put their brains together and figure it out.

I also had a man talk to softly at me through a window and when I asked him to repeat himself he was all like "mamemant or Lincoln" and I was like "I'm sorry?" and he was like "mahenaahdnn, he was the 17th president of the United States!" and I was like, "You mean Andrew Johnson? Why didn't you say so?" How good am I?

I hope that my cheeky retorts come to me faster so that I don't have to shame myself by apologizing for something I couldn't do one way or the other. Also thank you US history for helping me with that one. I never though you'd be so good to me!

Diving

There is something to be said about having a good bar to drink in. I think we should all be so lucky to be like the folks on the tele who walk downstairs from their fancy apartments and land in cozy pub type bars where everything in their lives unfolds into a nice mapped out something or other and the drama is cleared up in 24 or 48 minutes depending.  I happen to live in a place where no such bar exists.

The bars in the nearest town (because I don't actually live in a town) are either way too pricey from my two-job, seven(ish)-day-a-week salary or leaving me wondering if I should have rewashed the glass before having someone fix me a drink. And while I complain about these places they're not that bad, a coked up waiter might be the worst of it, that, or the possibility that I will be stuck for forever in the parking lot because it is so full people stopped parking in parking spaces.

All the bars in this little place are always filled to the brim with people who are willing to drink in any and all of these establishments. Though I'm not entirely sure that it's the dive bar thing that they are looking for, plenty of people with plenty of money land in the cheapest holes.

Last night as I observed one of these places I realized that maybe it's not the money. It's more likely the acceptance of whatever that attracts people to these places. They are the only place where it is acceptable for an NFL player and his ex-cheerleader/playboy posing wife to hang out with a possible she-male and his/her pantie-lined male companion.  It's also a place where adult women can get their spouse plastered and while sitting on his lap be petting another man's pants. Your pants don't have to reach your shoes, your hair doesn't have to be real or tidy and who cares if your camo doesn't quite match, we can't see you anyways.

These places also have the highest under 45 crowd which is probably the second reason we go to them. You might see someone you know, in the high school reunion sense and they won't be your friends from preschools parents (or will they?).

I look forward to the day when I can go to a bar I like. Where the air isn't so heavy that everyone who returns from the bathroom must sniff loudly and rub their noses as the reenter the bar.