Angry? Mad as hell and you can't take it anymore? Get something off your chest and it could be published online and/or in print. Bitches are anonymous and may be edited for length, grammar, spelling and our lenient standards of propriety.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I work at the front desk of a hotel in which, as you know, you are required to stand for eight hours and are only given the chance to sit during your breaks. My bad, my feet tend to get sore during the shift, I'm sorry. I didn't see a problem in slipping off my ballerina flats behind the desk, where no one could see if I was wearing shoes or not, and letting my feet relax for a moment and breathe (FYI my feet don't stink). My supervisor then informs me that she/he can tell I'm not wearing shoes because of the sounds my socks make as I move across the floor. WTF? Are you joking right now? What guest, or anyone for that matter, would be that psychotic to "listen" to hear if I'm wearing shoes or not? Apparently my prick of a supervisor. Then he proceeds to tell me that shoes are a part of our uniform, which yes, I understand but it's not like I'm going to trot around the fucking lobby without shoes like a complete dumbass. I take my shoes off for small increments of time when my feet are so fucking sore it's unbearable. So, to my drill sergeant supervisor, dig the fucking bean out of your ass and relax. I don't think any guest gives two fucks whether my shoes are on or off nor do I believe they are "listening" to what sounds my feet make as I move across the floor. As long as I am delivering optimal customer service and doing my job properly, you should stop taking your job so fucking seriously and go get laid. Tightass. —Shoeless Guest Services Agent