The Pandemic Finally Snapped Me Like a Tiny Twig
I’m over being resilient. Now, I’m mad.
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve cried at work in 20 years. It’s not a lot. I’m not much of a crier, in general. My go-to emotion is usually anger. That’s not better; it’s just how I operate.
When you’ve worked in customer service for as long as I have, you learn to push your emotions down. Everything gets stuffed under your rib cage, so you don’t accidentally swear at a customer or tell your boss to f*ck off.
The last thing you want is to yell at a customer, an employee, or start crying on the sales floor. I don’t ever want a customer to know how much they’ve affected me. I save it until I get to the backroom, and then I recant the story with a co-worker or compare notes.
I’m also resilient AF. I’ve had customers scream at me, people quit no notice, and bosses tell me to just “figure it out” after I’ve asked for help. I even had one customer tell me that I was the worst manager in the world. Okay. She was in line on Thanksgiving night, awaiting a midnight opening. She left the line and then was mad that other people had taken her place. She thought that was my fault.
Sometimes people are so mean I have to glance around the room to make sure that this is, in fact, real. Am I in a dream right now? No? Okay, just checking. I lock eyes with someone I work with, and then I know it’s real.
The pandemic had finally broken me.
Three days ago, I stepped to the back room with tears streaming down my face. Rage had turned to tears unexpectedly. You know when you start bawling, and it catches you off guard? It was that. Dammit! I hate that.
I got a text message from a family member, and they were positive with COVID again. They don’t go out or hang with friends, ever. They work in a grocery store, and this was the second time in a year they had gotten sick at work.
I threw my walkie and headset on the desk, grabbed a handful of paper towels, and sobbed, all while keeping my mask on. My staff was, rightfully, in shock. I am cool, always — and then I wasn’t.
The pandemic had finally broken me.
The only real feeling I had was that I wanted to set the world on fire, like Drew Barrymore in Firestarter. I felt my hair stand up, and heat filled my fists.
I blamed the anti-vaxxers, the non-maskers, and everyone that put their wants above the well-being of the rest of the world.
What is wrong with people? They don’t want to be told what to do, but then they drive the speed limit and pay their taxes. What’s the difference?
I had to leave work immediately because I could also be positive. My opening manager had to close. It threw off the entire week for all of us in the store. My team was thrown into a tailspin — which we can most certainly handle — but two years on now, and we’re all a little bit over it.
Are we risking our lives to sell t-shirts?
This is what’s happening everywhere. If you have more than one manager go out, stores are trying to borrow from other stores. Everyone is working overtime just to keep the doors open, and for what? Are we risking our lives to sell t-shirts? Really?
The rest of the world doesn’t care because they think anyone can do our job. They choose to believe we fold clothes all day; anyone can do that. Just hire someone else.
Managing a retail store is not a low-skill job, by the way. Do you know how much we are in charge of? It’s an insane amount of things. We recruit, hire, train, write schedules, run the sales floor, clean, coach, counsel, and fire people. That’s not even a complete list. I didn’t even account for all the visual standards that need to be met or the fact that we’re on our feet ten hours a day. All of that, on top of a 25-mile commute.
In a moment, I snapped.
And then the work-from-home crowd swings by without masks on to complain that our store hours are different than what our website says. Excuse me if I don’t give a rat’s ass. Maybe you should go back home and order it online. We’re probably sold out of whatever you wanted anyway.
My best friend just pulled her kids out of school. They can barely function as well. Half the teachers are out, the subs are assholes, and the school’s answer is, “this is fine.” It’s not. She pulled them out until their second vaccine takes full effect.
She’s lucky in that she is a stay-at-home parent and can adjust quickly. If you’re not, and most people are not, then you’re screwed.
“It’s all being held together with duct tape and toothpicks.” — My friend said.
She’s right. The only plan that anyone has is to move on and act like this pandemic is over.
It’s not. Not even close.
We have to all do our part
I wish I had some advice for you as to what we do next. I don’t. My only request is that you treat frontline workers with the same respect and admiration you did two years ago. Our lives aren’t much different than March 2020.
We still wear masks and stay six feet away from everybody. We still sanitize all day long and talk about supply chain issues.
If you decide to go shopping or to the grocery store, bring your patience. Do not plan to run five errands before you pick up your kids because it probably won’t happen. Don’t take anything out on the store employees, ever. There’s not much we can do about your complaint. We are also not in charge of what we stock or what’s on hand.
We’ve probably already had a day worse than yours.
Even us calm, cool, collected people snap every now and then. This week was my week. Resilience turned to rage, and I had to regroup.
We can get to the other side of this, but we have to all do our part. It can’t just be half of us who work customer-facing jobs, and the rest of the population does whatever they want because they think we’re expendable. That’s proven to not work. So, let’s try something that does.
About Kit
Kit Campoy is a former retail professional turned freelance writer. She writes about Leadership, Retail, and Web3. Contact Kit for your content needs.