The big, bad wolf comes tomorrow. We'll call her J. She's the district (retail) manager for RH's both near and far. What this means is, we'll have to iron our aprons (I do anyway), and pretty much prance around like robots until she shows up. Then, we smile until our faces crack, until our eyes turn back in our heads.
She's not that bad. But T, our retail manager, gets all jittery before J comes, jittery like she's skipped a day's worth of coffee, jittery like she needs crack.
"T," I say in my best, caring voice. "You're shaking."
T turns to me and her eyes bug out. "J's COMING TOMORROW."
"Yes, but you're shaking."
"WE COULD ALL LOSE OUR JOBS."
"Are you cold? Want me to get you a dusty, clearance corner shawl to wear? That might help with the chills."
"SHE'S COMING AND...WHY IS THAT BUTTERFLY DISPLAY CROOKED? FIX IT! AND WE NEED THOSE CLOTHES STRAIGHT ON THE HANGERS! AND I'M HUNGRY! FOOOOOD!" She roars and barks and moans, and I stand there patiently, waiting until she calms down. Then I say:
"So...you should probably eat some chocolate cake and then when your blood sugar levels spike back up, we'll continue this lovely conversation."
Ha. I don't say that. But she doesn't listen when she's jittery. She just flaps her gums and runs around like a huntman without a horse.
J is the head honcho and whatever spews from her mouth, we all get to hear about it the following day from T. J says we need this display to move here, so move it! J says we look scraggly and haggard in our uniforms, so perk up! J says...
And then we feed T some chocolate cake and all is better. It's really as simple as that. If your manager can be manipulated with food, take full advantage. The rants are less time-consuming and futile.
Needless to say, I'll bring a brownie with me tomorrow. Just in case.
