Welcome Barrels, Sector Revenge and aRedMoon :D
And my do I have stories to share with you all. Somehow, using the skinniest skin of my teeth, I managed to claw my way out of retail a while back, but my time there left deep scars I doubt will ever properly heal. Like the purple vomit, for one thing. In a food shop. Purple vomit. Properly genuinely. Here's how the conversation went:
ME: Um. Uh. I don't want to - could you - seriously, what is that?
BOSSMAN: *grunting* WHAT?
ME: That. That purplish stuff. The stuff that looks like the accidental progeny of a disgruntled tub of couscous and a suicidal beetroot. What is it?
BOSSMAN: WHAT? *grunts heavily* ME NEVER NOTICED. ME NOT CARE. NOW GO IN FRIDGE.
ME: The fridge?! Oh, sir, please. I'll do anything. I'll navigate the heinous delivery backlog or lick the greasy hair out of your face. I'll even get those Christmas wrapping paper tubes out of the staff toilet where, as you so wisely reasoned at the time, 'THEY NOT MIND COS IN PLASTIC'. Just not the fridge. Not the fridge.
BOSSMAN: *booms* FRIDGE!!!
ME: *scurries* Yessirofcoursesirwhurreveryousaysir!
And then of course I have to go and lock myself in the vile contraption. I felt like a bullied polar bear. Surrounded by yoghurt - hateful, sickly, beige, out-of-date yoghurt. I still shiver reflexively whenever this advert comes on. (But that advert's terrifying enough anyway, I suppose.)
...That's just the tip of the iceberg, so I won't inflict any more on you, despite the wonderful feeling of relief that's just swept over me. Oh, it's good to emote. My system feels cleaner already.
LMAO. Dude, I wasn't kidding, not even in the slightest, when I told you you had to be a writer or I'd smash your kneecaps so that you'd have no other option. Legit, you are the funniest person I have ever met and I don't think even a case of life in a wheelchair would put an end to your out-of-this-world levels of humour.
Also, what is a namby-pamby Aussie strike? I've never come across an Australian strike so I have no idea how they compare to the British ones
This happens to me too. Where I work there are only five people, and since I have the least contracted hours I'm always the one called to do extra shifts if somebody has taken the day off for 'sickness'. Usually I don't care in the slightest because I am three years into a passionate love affair with money and I love the euphoric feeling when my paycheck is larger than anticipated, but every so often it annoys the crap out of me when I have to work a Friday night where I had plans just because someone is "sick" only to find out later that they had so much fun with their plans. It's so damn selfish.