I stopped to picture myself walking into the store, guns-a-blazing as everyone had recommended, like I was a on a mission similar to Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. Except subtract 5 inches from the height, add more weight than I'd like to mention, and we all know I am not as pretty as she is (not the point). Anyways, so I imagine myself as an assassin at a place that serves breakfast food. What are my weapons going to be? E.coli? Burnt toast? Or better yet, paper cuts?! Maybe you can comment on this later and tell me what weapon I should have. Moving forward, I decided that just doing the best I can, without super powers or weapons, would be my best option. Boring, but you obviously get the point I am trying to make.
The day goes by as normal as it possibly could, with your typical annoyed employees-- whom are mad because they actually have to work. The questions that come into your mind go something a little like this. "Do we pay you? Did you really just ask me that? They probably make more money than I do for less work, is this really worth it?" My moment of truth had finally arrived, my boss wanted to talk, the writing was on the wall, time to face the music... but first a background on my boss.
Isla Hackerman*
This was her summer job that she never left, she thrived on the fear and talking down to everyone. It was interesting to see the level of resentment in the employees eyes. They obey because of fear of losing their job, not respect for her. She's a woman that wants what she wants and doesn't take no for an answer. Isla is someone who is somewhat of a label whore, more so of the preppy white girl stuff. You will see Coach, Burberry, Michael Korrs, and the always appropriate-- Victoria's Secret items hanging on her before she begins work. She is a young-ish woman, who has recently began getting gray hair. Isla is a contradiction, she is a woman in power that suppresses the women under her... and I was her next target.
Going back to facing the music now... there was no where else to sit, so we sat down in a dirty booth close to the front of the store. I brushed off the crumbs and tried to sit as straight as possible. That is when we began the conversation of she is going to ask me a question, and she will really not want a response at all. If you do try to respond, you will be squashed. I started to get angry and could feel my cheeks flush, my thoughts hovered around wanting to just get this over with. Isla began her condescending rants, and asking questions as if she really cared and wanted to make it work. In reality, she knew I was a reflection of her and even though I was still learning, she wanted to cover up her failure by terminating me. She had failed me as a teacher, which in return I had failed her expectations on the job. I started to brace myself because I knew the words were coming soon. I wondered how I would take it, I wanted to be able to just say thanks and leave, but I knew how much weighed on this decision.
To my surprise she began to tear up. She looked at me and said she just didn't think she could train me in two more weeks. Even more to my surprise she began complimenting me. Isla was telling me how smart I am, and how she thinks I would be unhappy and that I would be brilliant doing something else. Then it happened, "I don't think you and Burnt Ovens are a good fit, I have to let you go" Isla said. Finally the anticipation had lifted, though I started to tear up myself because I felt like a failure for being fired. I gently took off my name tag and scooted it in her direction. "Thank you for this opportunity," I said and began to walk in the back to grab my things.
I could feel the strain in my eyes from trying to hold back, my breath became irregular and when I started to put my jacket on I let out a cry. I buried my face into the hood to muffle the noise, I kept telling myself that I could do better and will do better. The door kept on propping itself open, in which I kept trying to close it. Finally I ended up giving up and put my purse over my shoulder. As I opened the door to leave Isla was standing there. I felt embarrassed because she had heard me cry, so I took off another badge to give to her to distract from my eyes. She began tearing up again and telling me how wonderful I am and that I'll be great somewhere else as if to soften the blow.
I thanked her and walked out the back door, tears streaming down my face as I made way to my car. And that my friends, is how I was fired from the farm.
