Jacque Penne can eat me.

I’ve been working full time at JCPenney for the last few weeks so I really haven’t had time to blog. Sorry, for any of you who actually missed my ranting. Work has been crazy with all the back-to-school shopping. Today was the worst I have ever seen it, and today was also the day that the District Manager chose to make a visit. She’s the woman who comes through to make sure that we have our asses in shape and everyone, including Mr. Roland, bends over backwards to kiss her ass. And naturally Mr. Roland, aka the big-guy himself, decided to single me out while I was working, completely interrupting my daydreaming about Tim Langbehn, to introduce her to me and prove how much he really knows his employees. I, caught completely off-guard, am standing there in front of a shirt table that looks like it just threw up and I’m obviously not doing anything about it.
“This is Laura. She’s been working with us for about three weeks now.”
“Actually I started at the beginning of June.”
He ignores my comment. “Her father is in Rotary with me. He just donated $1,000 to our underprivileged children’s scholarship fund.”
The lady: “Oh, really?” She obviously doesn’t care. The two are ignoring me at this point.
“Laura’s mom isn’t feeling too well," he laments, implying my mother is seriously ill. "Our prayers are with her.”
“Oh I’m sorry to hear that.”
I can feel my cheeks getting red, completely embarrassed. What gives him the right to tell a complete stranger about my mom, especially when I know he’s doing it just to make himself look good?
“Your dad says that your mother is being a really trooper about it and her spirits are high.”
I’m too shocked at his indiscretion to make a coherent thought. I mumble something like, “Yeah, I’m really impressed by her.”
The woman who has store 0911's balls gripped in her hand/ the woman I don’t give a fuck about starts spewing out feigned sympathies about my mother. The conversation ends in something like, “We want you to know that the work you do here everyday is greatly appreciated and we value your presence, etc . . .” All I can do is keep nodding and smiling, knowing my face is bright red, while simultaneously thinking, please go away, please go away . . . Finally Rich gives me one of his classic dopey grins, they move off and in my mind I’m screaming, run away! run away!
I go back to the counter and Naomi says, “Mr. Roland wants you to clean out the dressing rooms.” WTF.
I ain’t getting paid enough for this shit.