Coworker Cantankery

So at this point we’ve covered customer service and how no one should be subjected to offering it. I am now here to tell you that the same jobs forcing people to smile at customers who have lost their freaking minds are also forcing good people of the world to work alongside complete nightmares. 

In support of this statement, I offer you the following:

First, someone has always worked there for 500 years before you, so by the time the vacation calendar gets to you they have picked it over like roadside vultures, leaving you only the most exciting options, like random Thursdays in March. You never get any good days because CHERYL always gets Thanksgiving week and KAREN always gets Christmas and KEVIN always gets the 4^th of July.  

But who can blame them. And honestly, you have more nefarious problems in the world of co-workers. I’m referring of course to the incredibly awful people one is sometimes forced to work with who only grow exponentially more awful when given power. Listen, your friendly neighborhood bank tellers may look innocuous but trust me, the power dynamics behind the teller line are not for the faint of heart. I imagine this applies equally to other lines of work, but gotta stick with what I (used to) know.

My own personal nemesis, we’ll call her Carol, was an infamous villain and also my manager. An unfortunate situation to say the least.

Carol would lurk around with her hunched posture and hawkish nose until she caught some of her less favorite employees (a category in which I unwillingly excelled) doing anything she disapproved of. These things included:

1.     Us quietly suggesting to customers that they NOT do whatever thing she had just suggested they do. We were all in this fairly awkward position a few times a week because Carol had an alarming knack for having no idea what she was talking about, coupled with the habit of issuing wildly inaccurate statements with great authority.

2.     Us rolling our eyes when Carol told us for the 50^th time that SHE HAD BEEN A TELLER FOR EXACTLY ONE DAY AND WAS SO GOOD THAT THEY PROMOTED HER TO MANAGER SO YES SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE IS TALKING ABOUT.

Okay sorry CAROL. I will just tell that customer that they should indeed write their pin number in permanent marker on the back of their debit card, you batty old witch.

Carol once pulled me into her office to ask why I was gaining weight and not doing my makeup. I informed her that I’d taken to drinking many calorie-packed rum and cokes after work these days, and that I had in fact never done my makeup and likely never would.

It would appear that this was not a believable enough explanation because after a long pause, she narrowed her eyes over that hawkish nose and asked me in a lowered voice if I was actually pregnant.

Fuckin Carol.

Then there are co-workers like Sharon. Sharon took up smoking out of spite after no one addressed her complaint that people who smoked got more breaks. When Sharon wasn’t out enjoying straight shots of poison to the lungs, you could generally find her in the lobby, running her hands through the curly chest hair poking out of the faded plaid button-up of her much older husband, who spent his free time in retirement visiting her at the bank. Perhaps this would have been mildly (and I do mean mildly) less offensive if we had not argued on more than one occasion over her stating that she didn’t have anything against gay people, she just didn’t want their love life in her face. Now isn’t that just the curly old chest hairs of the pot calling the gay kettle black.

So, ya know, just more to ponder with the intermittent introduction of the idea that ditching life behind the teller line in favor of six years of long nights in the lab was basically the-worst-decision-ever. Upon recall of Carol's shadowy form, I generally consider the entire thing to be at least a toss up.