Just a lowly cashier complaining about the unknowing irritation you cause by everyday purchasing transactions.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Produce Mis-Manager

Since I didn't work yesterday, I'm going to go back in my archive of grocery experience and talk about Eddie, the Produce Mis-Manager.

I used to work in a small neighborhood market that only employed about a handful of people. Most of these people had known the owner for years and they'd all worked the grocery circuit in town and ultimately ended up at the store. Because of this friendly history, it was difficult for my boss to come to terms with the fact that his Produce Manager sucked. And not just sucked at his job, he was an asshole. A fat, lazy, loud, annoying, inappropriate asshole.

When I first moved up from my cashier position into a near-manager type role, I got to experience working the mornings with Eddie the Moronic. His reputation had proceeded him as being an insensitive jerkwad who told inappropriate and unfunny jokes. He certainly did not disappoint. For a while I humored him, listened to his long stories when we should have both been working (and I would have rather been working, his stories were fucking pointless).

I usually said anything just to get out of his aggravating storytelling.  After a while, he must have just figured that I liked conversing with him because he would seek me out instead of doing his fucking job.  I'd be in one of the aisles, jamming away on my iPod and thinking about life while straightening the shelves and here he would come, fresh from the shitter to talk to me.  

And he was always in the bathroom.  My God, his prostate must be the size of a grapefruit.  I'd always think that to myself after I'd see him bumbling out of the bathroom and then instantly shudder because against my will I thought about him having a prostate and that was just disgusting.  

It was before one of these bathroom trips that he first began saying inappropriate and perverted comments.  I was kneeling on the floor, fixing cans that a dumbass customer had knocked over and he stopped short of his office door (a.k.a. the bathroom) and said, "What are you doing... down there on your knees."  He waited for a response briefly before turning and going in the bathroom.  I'm sure my jaw hitting the floor wasn't the response he expected.  For a few minutes it was, "Did he just say what I thought he said?!"  Then, I got angry and felt so angry that I wanted to kick him in the nutsack and shove his face in the toilet.  But, that would involve touching him so I refrained. 

I told my boss who supposedly talked to Eddie Spaghetti (what he lovingly called him... bleh) and it was to no avail.  He kept trying to chat with me until one day I decided that I was going to be straight-up fucking rude to him and maybe he would stop.  I'd briefly answer his questions and walk away while he was talking to me or answer rudely or shortly.  I didn't bother to hide my disgust when he was near by either my facial expressions or my guarded conversations with others.  I didn't laugh politely at his jokes or give him much opportunity to say anything to me.  

There is one incident that will forever live in my memory as the day my coworker (who also despised Eddie) and I saw Eddie for who he really was, a sugar and fat-driven animal.  Every extra drop of sugar brings Eddie to either being maimed or entering a diabetic coma because of his near-raging diabetes.  But, he won't let a little threat of limb loss deter him from preying on sugary snacks.  My coworker and I were in the main office discussing price changes when we looked up at the television monitor that overlooked Eddie's produce area.  We watched him stand near the trash for a second before diving headfirst into the trash can.  He retrieved an item and we watched in horror as he shoveled it into his mouth.  

For a little background knowledge which will serve to show just how fucking sick this is, the trash can that was savagely attacked was used to throw away old produce, stuff off the floor, and other rotten things. 

My coworker and I gasped and looked at the monitor in disbelief.  We had actually seen him eat some nasty shit from the trash.  "What did he just eat?!" I exclaimed.  We waited until he left for the day to search through his garbage carefully and determine what the fuck he ate from the trash.  And there it was...

Clearly, he does love his honey buns too. 

The Little Debbie's vendor came into the store to stock new merchandise and discard the out of date treats in the trash can.  Before he'd throw them away he would squash them so they wouldn't be able to be resold.  There was a pile of honey buns that had been squished and a wrapper that had been torn as if by wild animal claws: it's what Eddie had dived into the trash to retrieve to stuff into his repulsive face.  Sure... it was individually wrapped but, we had to dig through rotting produce to get to it.  (Which, he would leave in the back instead of taking to the dumpster because for some reason he liked flies to accumulate in the back room.) 

His whole reason for living was sugar though.  Every out of date Entenmann's donut/pastry/cake he could find he would stuff into his fat face by the fistful.  Whenever I brought a treat to work, I'd try my hardest to hide it until he went home at 11 am so he wouldn't get any.  On my birthday I was feeling charitable so I offered him a delicious cupcake, "Not right now, maybe later," he told me.  After that he bought a jug of milk and came back to where I was standing, "I'll have a cupcake now."  Moron. 

He was a shitty worker and took advantage of my boss because they were friends.  I don't even know how my boss, a really upstanding and wonderful guy, could be friends with such a slimy asshole who crawled out of the gutter everyday to go to work. 

He is a sick, disgusting, wobbly fuck and I hope I never have the displeasure of seeing him again.  On my last day of work he held out his hand for me to shake it.  I should've been rude and told him to stick his hand up his own ass but I shook it out of what politeness I could muster.  And you know what?  That asshole squeezed the hell out of my hand and I thought my ring on my finger was going to be bent so much I'd need it to be cut off.  What a dick. 

No comments:

Post a Comment