From the day I became verbal to the day he died, my dad knew how to press my buttons. (It must be said it was mutual.) One thing he did that especially set me off was to make self-evident comments as though they were proclamations. Example: Instead of telling me not to jump on the sofa, he would pedantically announce, "This is a living room, not a jungle gym." To this day, that brand of condescension brings out the worst in me and makes me want to respond as if I were the author of Mad's Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions.
But now I'm nearly 70, not 7. I should have matured and moved past this. Yet I have not.
Tuesday I requested Christmas week off from the card shop. I thought I was being swell, giving the store manager more than six months to plan around me. Plus, it isn't even a full five days off. I am never available to work on Tuesdays and Christmas Day is Thursday and the store is closed, so we're really only talking three days: Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Also, it must be noted that I don't get paid for time off. It costs no one anything when I take myself off the calendar.
I was shocked when it came back on Wednesday "DENIED."
I was certain it was a mistake and brought it up to my manager on Thursday. It was no mistake. She told me that her boss, Eric, has "blacked out" that week and told her she cannot approve any vacation time.
It took me a moment to absorb this. "But I will not be here that week. I will be in Michigan."
I could tell she was parroting back exactly what Eric had said to her: "This is our busiest week and it's all hands on deck. No vacation requests are going to be approved. This is retail."
This is retail? Really? I thought we were hanging drywall.
This is retail? Really? I thought this was a Christmas Carol and I'm Bob Cratchit.
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What is likely to happen is that she won't schedule me. After all, we're talking about three days and many of the other girls want more hours, not less. If she does schedule me – and I hope she gives us enough notice – I'll just ask one of the others girls to take my shift.
Or I will quit, and quit with a clear conscience. Because she knowingly scheduled me when she knew I was going to be away on Christmas with my family.
At any rate, I'm glad I bit my tongue. She does not want to deal with this. I could tell her life would be easier if she could approve my time-off request. But this is her job and she's doing what she has to do to please her boss.
Sometimes, shutting up is the better part of valor.
