On Retail Bullies and The Cleveland Uppercut

If you work in retail or any service industry, you know what it's like to be on the receiving end. You've gone home close to tears from the public abuse that you've suffered...again. For simplicity's sake, let's group all the public bullies into one class:

                            RBs

The receiving end, trust me, is nowhere to be:





I've worked for over twenty years in retail and customer service (major book/department/convenience stores and three hellish call centers).

1) Call center work can be the most degrading work in the world.



You work in a tiny cubicle, with rushed imperfect training and often imperfect equipment, dealing with telephone tough guys and gals. You take angry calls for 8 hours a day...with 5 minutes personal time should you need to go to the bathroom. Your call metrics are insane: the times allowed for call handling and file notation...your average time between calls (you may need to research a matter or ask for a lead's assistance). And callers will scream about the hold time while their rants increase the holding time for others. Furthermore, your calls are monitored for quality--while you must, to meet your metrics, get rid of bums who are calling to rant. As they used to say at one call center, 'If they don't blow, they've gotta go'. (Or: if they're not buying, screw 'em.)

2) Any form of retail is second most degrading.




Sadly, the worst abuse comes from those in the same field: from waiters to baristas, from doormen to busboys, from bullied clerks in other stores to call center prisoners. Bullied themselves to the snap-point, they revel in sliming clerks who can't hit back.





But payback is a two-way street with often shocking reversals. An RB never knows if the sad sack s/he's abusing is ready to quit and go postal. An abusive fare beater never knows if the driver s/he's just spit on is willing to do something crazy in turn.

All RBs would do well to remember the punch heard round the world: The Cleveland Uppercut.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEJiUtYUdRo

I Quit: The Rousing Conclusion

At the end of Part 1, there were no guarantees. We left Reb MacRath in a thoroughly imperiled position.




Less than a year before I'd aced a phone interview for a plum position...only to fall short in the next week's one on one. Here, once again, the phone pow-wow went well and I was called in the following week. Over the weekend--gut reaction, as I wrote--I gave my notice on the present job. One week, instead of two.

I had a powerfully positive feeling about the Wednesday interview, though I knew much better than to count my chickens yet. So Thursday, when I wrote the post, anything was possible. But then, at 4:00, the call came through. One of those moments we live for:



I ended up not returning to work. Another thing conventional wisdom pretty much forbids. But once again my instincts served me well.
1) The staffing agency and the new employer wanted me to move quickly on medical tests, which ended up taking most of Friday...and part of Monday morning too.
2) My commitment and availability were also being judged. If I'd been at work on either of those last two days, I'd have missed out on important job-related calls.
3) Worse still, I wouldn't have been paid a penny for either of those final days.. I only learned on payday, 6/24, that my paycheck was shorted by 38 hours--collecting in part for Paid Time Off I'd taken but not earned...and that they'd decided to hijack my last check completely.

What can I say? What can anyone say but






And:

Thank you, dear instinct, for being on the button. It's better than good to have gone.

How and When to Say I Quit

I could have Googled till the cows came home about resigning from one job before the next is a done deal. And yet, impulsively, last Saturday I did exactly that.

Goal: to make myself available for a position that I hoped to win. I'd aced a phone interview...the company was interested...and I had a personal interview lined up for this Wednesday (6/22).
There were no guarantees, I knew, but I'd been told the company was willing to move quickly and I felt my chances were better if I could start by the 28th or 29th. A gamble, yes. And yet I rolled the dice.

My action flew in the face of the common wisdom:
1) Never quit a job until you have a new offer, preferably in writing.
2)  Always give 2 weeks notice.

I gave one week notice, based on the following facts. The present job was sucking the life force out of me. Most workers who quit there give no notice at all. And the company itself routinely fires staff with no notice or severance pay.

Experts say employers are reluctant to hire the unemployed. That can surely be a handicap if we present ourselves as unemployed or unemployable. But what if we put on a positive spin? E.g.: I left my job to free myself to find a more challenging and diverse position, something that makes use of more of my skills. What if we convey not desperation or fear of starvation but steely selectivity? What if we project a calm, determined search for high employment standards worthy of our skills?

Furthermore, what if our availability now can be presented in a way that creates a fear of loss? Tomorrow or the next day our hats may be out of the ring....

                                                                          *****

I write this post on Thursday at 7:30 a.m. While I wait for the company's decision, I've taken the following actions so far:

1) Called out absent on my next to last day at the current job.
2) Texted my contact at the staffing agency for feedback on the interview.
3) Sent my updated resume to the agency that landed me the current job and also to another agency I'd contacted last year.
4) Googled transit times to possible work sites outside Seattle: Redmond (impossibly far by bus), Kirkland (a 30 minute ride).
5) Strongly considered what I want in terms of work, pay and location. The interview yesterday took place in Capitol Hill--where I'd first hoped to live when I moved to Seattle.


                                                                         *****




Stay tuned for further developments. The road may be bumpy, I know and accept. But it's unwise and unhealthy to start each work day with a groan and then dive into bed, utterly drained, before 9. I'd taken to sleeping 12 hours a day.

If that sounds like you, then follow me and

Coming Wednesday: How and When to Say You Quit

I know, I know, it's been a week between blog posts. But I haven't been idle and I will return with a post of real interest to many:

Is it ever advisable to quit your present job before you've lined up another?

Stay tuned. I gave my notice yesterday,,,,though the interview's not until Wednesday.

Fingers crossed!

James Bond and the Jaws of Age

Imagine a man in his thirties, who discovered James Bond in the form of Daniel Craig, 38 at the time of his tenure--and now pushing 50 as he prepares to drop out.



Craig has done four Bonds, with 2-4 years between. And many fans feel that the first was the best, quality sinking thereafter. Our imaginary fan agrees and yearns for the same sense of freshness he'd found in Casino Royale, when he was a senior in college.

Now, after Spectre, he may have to wait a few years for the next film in the franchise--by which time he'll be in his mid-thirties. More alarming, he now learns that Craig might just possibly come back to a fifth film when he's free. Why is this alarming? Because even if the film is great, we'd now have a Bond in his fifties. If Craig went on to do a sixth, by then he'd be in his mid-fifties, too old--as Roger Moore and Sean Connery had become at the end of their own Bond stints.

Equally alarming: if Craig didn't return for a sixth, new casting would begin...and the entire usual time span would pass: two to three years, at least, once again. And now imagine this: if our fan cannot stand the Bond chosen, the math will devour the last of his youth. More than likely, the new Bond will do 3-5 films, with two to three years between them. And our once young fan will find himself a disgruntled older man who's spent, by that time, decades waiting for the real Bond to return.

The Bond epochs come at us in huge blocks of time. And almost all of those great blocks have only a few shining moments. One or two great films at best.

Connery's fans grew older, then old, as they waited for a worthy heir to bring back the glory of From Russia with Love and Goldfinger. Lazenby gave us one great film, then split. Moore, Dalton, Brosnan, Craig...The math goes grimly on and on as we wait and we pray for real magic again.

Will we get it? Fingers crossed. Even if we do, though, we need to learn to wait less
intensely while we live. Or we'll end up thinking of the past in terms of which Bond ruled: e.g., I did that when Con was king...and that when Rog wore Spandex...

After all, we can add to the list of life's sure things: the films in any Bond epoch decline in quality till the Bond either quits or is put to pasture. We'd damned well better do our living before we're put to pasture too.

Enjoy a Happy Breakthrough Day: August Assault #3

On the long road to your quest destination, you must enjoy a breakthrough--and it must be properly timed. The best breakthroughs are unannounced and result in glowing feedback that adds still more fuel to your fire. And the best of these are not ends in themselves but useful indications of what's been accomplished and what's still to do. The very best are strategically timed so that there's no need to rush.

Example:

You have a three month plan to get from Bod A to Bod B:



If your deadline is August and you start in May, eating right and working out, you'd better see clear signs of progress by June. So set yourself a breakthrough goal for the first week in June.

To prepare for mine I tackled specific goals in May:
1) I had to facial skin discoloration spots removed. They'd embarrassed me for too long.
2) I found a top stylist who gave me a cut that was right for my hair at my age: a modified Clint Eastwood 'do.




3) I began eating mostly raw and drinking fruit and green smoothies, nibbling on apples and carrots at work, eating a salad at night.
4) I ordered a cool home workout combination from Amazon: a Perfect Abs Carver wheel and the Perfect Pushup Elite:

  




5) I began working out intensely, escalating my workouts each time.


Finally, B-Day came:






Reaching for a T-shirt, I happened on one I'd forgotten I had: my last remaining Large in a stack of XLs. What the hell, I slipped it on. Impressively snug in shoulders, chest and arms...with the subtle outline of a mini-roll at the waist when I sat. Off to work I went to learn if June 3 really was B-Day.

It was. Looks and compliments, then a supervisor's rave: You. Look. Fabulous.

So I had a good day. But, far more important, I had a damned useful one. My self-esteem had had the necessary jolt...the mirror had showed me the progress I'd made...and I knew where I needed to focus.

B-Day 2 will be:



Till then: Happy B-Days to you all!

Let's Talk About Fat: August Assault #2

I headed into the August Assault, armed with a couple of mantras:
1) Lose the ounces, not the pounds. 
2) Cravings create cravings, so cultivate great cravings.
3) Want not, waist not.

Such mantras are essential because there's no time for debate when you're in a moment of crisis: the sudden urge for a giant piece of carrot cake or half of a glorious pizza. Mantras are quick and efficient: you're simply reinforcing a decision you've already made. And together with my workouts and my new largely raw diet, I expected to march like a lion into the August photo shoot.

Mantras, diet, workouts...Yes!

But I met a gremlin on the way, a grim one determined to tank me: what seemed to be clear evidence that I was not losing weight. Though others had started to tell me how fit I was looking...and though I could see the thinning of my face...and though side profiles in the mirror were no longer shameful...Still, I couldn't fit into a few pairs of pants I'd bought a while back.

Light bulb: the sides of my belly showed as trimmed and sculpted in the mirror and my abs were actually starting to show but the front of the gut remained. And it is apparently the very last to go. So the stubborn 'bump' still blocked me, regardless of the pounds I'd lost.

A few days later I slipped effortlessly into the pants that had mocked me.



I ended with three brand-new mantras:
1) It's happening, although I can't see it today.
2) Trust the process not to fail.
3) Give time a little more time.

Too many endeavors are doomed because a wicked gremlin whispers that we're getting nowhere. The fact is, we're advancing every second on the way. And we'll 'get there' safely and surely if we hold to our perception of ourselves as works in progress.