Thursday, April 22, 2010

How high, sir?

posted Sun, 03 Dec 2006

I hate these words: “It’s not my job…” They are among the ugliest words in the English language. Last night, I overheard some 20something whine them to someone else. “It’s not my job to be a rover.” I wanted to smack her upside the head. I turned to the co-worker folding sweaters next to me and said, “It’s her job to do whatever her boss says, as long as it’s moral, ethical and legal.”

“Umm hmm,” Roberta said. “I don’t ask no questions. I just do what they tell me.”

Later, when Monica and I were folding sweaters (folding sweaters is good, because it means customers have been looking at them and maybe buying them – if there weren’t customers, there would be no need for employees), we discovered we were both part-time Christmas help. Monica has a full-time job at Federal Express, where she is a manager.

“Are you working here just for the discount and your Christmas shopping?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I take care of my mother. I’m hoping they’ll keep me on after the holidays.”

I told her about “It’s not my job” girl.

She shook her head in disgust. “These young people have no idea. I have so many of them work for me who have this attitude of entitlement. They don’t want to do this; they don’t want to do that. They have no work ethic.”

I agreed. “I’m used to being the one in charge, too, but I’m just glad for the chance to make some money. I’ll do what they want me to do, as long as they pay me.”

“You do what you have to do,” she said. “They’ll have to figure that out soon enough.”

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