Rantings of a seasonally employed rockstar

Well, as the frequency of my postings may have implied, the title of this blog is now incorrect: I am currently employed. Seasonally, that is. While I won't disclose to you the name of my retail workplace, I will tell you that working there for the past few weeks has been both hilariously and ridiculously demoralizing.

Case in point: during my last shift, I was placed at the front of the store, to greet people as they walked in, and to be, as I like to refer to it, pleasantly pushy. So I was slowly pacing my selling domain, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting customers, when my manager walks up.

"Um, Tara, could you look at the ceiling for me?" she asks with the inflections that a Pre-school teacher uses with 3-year-olds.

I look, and don't feel the need to correct her -- she's been calling me Tara for weeks, so why ruin the dream? With these people, it's best to just play along.

"You see those blinking sensors?" I do. "Well, those sensors count the number of people coming in and out of the store, and help us determine whether or not we're fulfilling our selling quota. So when you walk under them, it's counting you as a customer. So you're going to have to start standing back here..." as she gestures about two feet into the store.

Okay. I can do that.

My manager walks nervously back to the stock room (she's always walking nervously... maybe she's reason for our 60% internal theft stat), and I go back to rearranging products so that all the labels are facing outward (a great way to appear busy). After a few minutes, customers start to trickle in. I take a step towards them, preparing myself mentally for the customary greeting spiel, when suddenly I take notice of the overhead sensor above, blinking red. I pause mid-step, and quickly retreat, but it's too late - I've just been recounted as a non-buying customer.

Oh well, I shake it off - I can do this. I can do this! Other customers enter, and I remain stationary, greeting them awkwardly from behind a display table. At this point I start to feel like a dog wearing an electric shock collar. As I contemplate this, a woman walks in with a question about the coupon that she is in the process of digging out of her purse. She beckons me over to her, but she is outside my roaming zone, passed the sensor! Panic strikes. I begin a slow walk, hoping she'll come into the store just a few more steps, but she holds her ground. She recovers the coupon, and offers it to me, obligating that I finish the approach. Step (zap!), step (zap!), and I am there, explaining the inclusions and exclusions of her discount card. She nods and begins shopping while I scurry back into the store, but it's too late - I can see my manager bustling towards me, the condescending smile already plastered on her otherwise nervous face.

This is not how a rockstar should be spending the holidays.