I've only been there for something like two months and I'm still getting the hang of things, like answering the phone (which I should totally be a pro at because of my stint at Phonathon, but I'm not, but at least Phonathon prepared me to be verbally abused when we're out of butterleaf rolls) or taking cake orders.
The first Sunday that I closed, I got to punch a cake.
I feel like everyone was sort of on the fence about me when I got there because I didn't talk much, but I think most people--even Sade, the difficult-to-please-and-hilarious decorator--seem to like me. Even the customers are awesome: today, someone confided in me that working at UPMC is like working on the Death Star. And these two other women today totally complimented my competence and loved having me as a cashier. And someone gave me a three-dollar tip for taking her stuff to her car for her, which bought me lunch.
We've also got our regulars: the two brownies guy; the woman who comes in on Saturdays and makes you pick up every blueberry muffin so she can see the bottoms of them to judge the ones with the most blueberries; the blind guy, who just asks you what you've got; the deaf guy, who points to what he wants and smiles a lot; the woman who I had to tell three days in a row we were out of hermit cookies; Fern, who always brings us presents; the woman who always wants just one almond danish; Mr. J.J. Jefferson, who orders two cinnamon breads (sliced) then always picks up a third on Sundays. These are the people that I feel like I am there for, not the people who storm out because one of the cashiers was dancing while she filled cookies.
It's different than any other job I've worked before. One of the owners is always working shoulder-to-shoulder with one of the two managers, who are always working alongside the cashiers or the decorators. Hierarchy is (generally) only reflected in paychecks.
Which is sort of why I'm okay working Christmas Eve. I really do want to be home, I'd rather be home, no joke, but I would feel actual remorse and guilt for abandoning them if I skipped work. Because I feel like I'm actually integral to the store and to my friends, who are my coworkers. I feel like I matter. And I think that's what's really important in a job.
I guess that kind of brings me to my point, because recently I've been considering how strict everything really is. I got yelled at for wanting to observe (not even watch, just fucking see what was happening) a parade going past the bakery, even though we were closed ("We don't stop work to watch a parade!" Are you fucking serious? Are you saying I shouldn't've stopped on my walk home the other night to watch those carolers? What the fuck do you stop doing work for?). In fact, I feel like I get reprimanded for a lot of things, things that are stupid--like letting a woman order a seven-inch cake. I had to call her back and tell her I was sorry, that I actually fucked up and we couldn't do that for her because we don't take orders for seven-inch cakes, and she was really sad about it, said that the bakery had changed a lot since the new people bought it a few years ago.
And I believe her. There's so many fucking rules, some that just seem so silly, and sometimes I wonder if it's become more about the money than about the people we're serving. I threw away some broken cookies today, and a manager asked me if I sit around at home at night and throw away money. So I asked her what I should have done with them--keeping in mind, she watched me chuck them in the bin, she was the one who asked me to put them on trays in the first place--and she said I should have sampled them for customers, which makes relatively no sense, as sampling not lucrative at all, and in any case, we give those cookies away for free.
Sometimes, I just get really sad working there. It's fucking cookies. It's a fucking seven-inch cake for an extremely nice old lady; she just wants it to say happy birthday. I'm not hurting anyone. Other times, I enjoy it. So, you know, I'm staying there. For now.
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