Management

As you may have realized by now, I have resolved not to put anything damning about my co-workers or place of business on The Squidbag, for fear of being eliminated from my position lest someone discover this blog (aside from the one or two people who I already know are reading it).  This little anecdote, however, is too good not to pass along.  Suffice it to say, I work at a major chain department store in a good-sized mall, where I am the "Visual Manager."  This basically means that I am responsible for anything which can be held to constitute the "look" of the store.  If that sounds dicey to you - you don't know the half of it.  Add in some truly insane and spoiled people masquerading as responsible adults, some truly nice and competent people trying to do their jobs, one or two back-stabbingly ambitious brutes, and a cudgel-like, top-down corporate chain of command, and you begin to grasp it.  Anyone who's ever been employed by such a thing probably just had their employee number flash through their mind, unbidden.

This store employs an outside contractor to do its custodial maintenance.  Every morning before I arrive, (I'm thinking it must be like, seven or so) they are there, mopping, taking out the trash, vacuuming and dusting, cleaning the myriad mirrors, et cetera.  They wrap things up shortly after ten, when the store is opening its doors to the public.  Due to some arcane policy - either ours or theirs, I don't know - when they wish to leave for the day, either piecemeal or en masse, they must be escorted to the door by a manager.  One of them, this morning, looked right over my shoulder to find a manager, and excused himself, saying, "I just need to find a manager, so we can be walked out."

"I'm a manager," I replied.

"I wouldn't have thought that, much as I see you doin' work around here."

Everything you need to know about a major corporation, in one sentence.