Reviewing my unhappy jobs I remember my crappy behavior more than the managers’. I locked myself in the walk-in refrigerator at a deli job, furious about I-don’t-know-what. The assistant manager--a lovely woman--knocked on the door, and gently offered me some valium. When I was waitressing I locked myself in the bathroom which opened directly into the dining room. I was crying miserably about who-knows when the manager silently slid a magazine under the door. I thought he was sweet, trying to distract me, but another magazine followed, then another. He was trying to seal the bottom of the door, hoping that it would dampen the sound. I can say with certainty that I have cried at the workplace of every job I've had, so either I cry a lot or I choose bad jobs.
Looking at this from the B&NC Team’s perspective, I hired them, told them their work hours, and then told them I didn’t know what their job was beyond looking on monitors at live feeds from cameras that were somewhere in existence reflecting something about existence. The thing hinges on how well they can bear uncertainty. If the job market wasn’t so bad there wouldn't have been anyone to hire but stoners. I once took a job, however, the description of which boiled down to “Do what the manager says” and it worked out pretty well.
My job description here, if there was one, would be something along the lines of “Tolerate being in the dark.” So I’m pretty danged uncertain myself, but I'm going to have to cowboy up and say manager sort of things. Like, Your smoking is effecting your work, or, You aren't doing what I asked, or, Don’t leave in the middle of your shift, or, If a monkey bites you call someone or go to the E.R..
Mulling these things over, I have decided that tomorrow is, So You Think You're a Philosopher day.
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