2002-05-01|2:41 p.m.
So, today is a potluck at my work. They always start at noon, and usually involve mounds of barbecued meat, potato dishes, and desserts. Since A always has lunch with me, he also comes to these lively events. Typically, he makes vegetarian chili so that we have something to eat. He is quite famous for it now. This time two of the ladies in pharmacy have brought special vegetarian dishes especially for us. I am very pleased that they would be so considerate. This potluck owes itself to a pharmacist, R, that is leaving our store for another company.
I write about this event, not because I want to present every mundane detail before you (even though sometimes I do), but rather I want to share an interesting conversation that took place before the table of us.
Let me first say that we once had a janitorial service that was made up of two guys who cleaned the store everyday except Sunday. They were usually African American and sadly because of that fact the management was always overly and unfairly suspicious of them stealing something. Despite this, I would always make friends with the janitors. The way I saw it, we make nearly the same wages for under-appreciated work. I'd rather be caught in the middle of an ocean in raft with them than my boss and his bloated ego. Yet, I'd always bite my tongue, and allow such blatant racism occur, with no criticisms. Well eventually, my boss got tired of them calling in sick and forgetting to do small tasks. So, he found a company that was cheaper and that promised more dedicated service. It is one Mexican woman, new to the janitorial services, that does all that those two men did in the same time, and maybe even less time because she doesn't work on Saturdays. Yesterday, a cake was bought for the employees with April birthdays.
Today, while sitting around mountains of food that will in no way be finished, someone asks where it is.
"Ah, our janitor woman threw it out," my boss says chuckling.
"Yeah, that idiot," our receiver adds.
"Why did she do that?" someone asks.
"Because she is an idiot, like I said," the receiver repeats.
"We don't really know," my manager says. "It was out here on the table. There was still half of it left."
One of the pharmacists that I have always had a lot of respect for tries to defend her, "Well, maybe she didn't know we still wanted it."
"She didn't even ask," the receiver counters. The pharmacist says nothing more.
"I can't believe she would do that," someone else says.
"She is an idiot," someone else agrees.
I am angered at this point and comment, "Well, it was on the table, if you guys wanted it you should have put it away last night."
"Those kind of cakes you don't have to put away," the receiver snaps at me.
"Oh," my voice becomes sarcastic. "Maybe she didn't know it was a magical cake." She flashes me a dirty look.
One lady asks, "Does she understand English? Because I said 'hi' to her once and she never responded."
"No, she is just a bitch," the receiver comments. (I too have noticed this. I have come to think though that she is really shy, actually, and like me it is misinterpreted into rudeness. She always smiles meekly back to me every morning.)
"She is new to doing janitorial stuff," my manager criticizes. "She doesn't know how to do anything it seems. Every time they have to show her how to use the buffer."
"Oh, well that is maybe part of it," someone comments.
"Well, she is a woman," someone says matter of factly, "Women know how to clean and take care of those things. There is no excuse." And my jaw drops. Have they ever seen that buffer? I think to myself, just because I have a vagina, doesn't mean I was genetically gifted with the ability to run that huge machine.
"Well, Randy is deducting it from her pay. There was no reason she should have thrown that cake out," the receiver says pleased.
"No, I am not deducting her pay. I am charging the company," my manager corrects. "They can deal with it any way they want."
"Yeah, maybe they'll start to pay her less than minimum wage for busting her ass," I say under my breath.
One girl applauds Randy, "Good. That is what she deserves."
Another person asks, "Where is she from?"
"I don't know," another answers, "But I think she lives in her car." The room fills with laughter.
"That is fucked up," I say under my breath again, visibly angry at this point.
"Come, come now. Let's not do this," someone says.
Why didn't I say something more to protect her?
Word of the Day: kakistocracy- government by the worst people