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"TOO SLOW! TOO SLOW!"
Jun. 2nd, 2006 07:39 pmToday, I started a new job.
Today, I quietly quit it.
I mean, well, not officially. They don't know I have. But unofficially, like.
Allow me explain. Firstly, I am Agency Staff. This means that I am actually working for some other guy. What I was told, and became quickly apparent to me, is that today was the test day for the agency - could they do this work? If they got the contract, I could keep on doing the job at Pontins. (Note for non-Brits or people who are simply confused - Pontins is a chain self-catering holiday flats, cheerfully called 'chalets' and kiddies get entertainment and it's basically a holiday camp. They are nice places for a very certain type of family in a very specific economic bracket.)
They can, quite frankly, get fucked.
Open at 8.45am. I turn up, am made to wait around, and am then assigned to a group of other people from my agency, with a supervisor being a terrifying Estonian lady who works full time at Pontins. At this point, the agency man turns up, thrusts a form in my face and gives me a bright yellow jacket with the other. "YOUHAVETOWEARAHIGHVISJACKETSIGNHERE."
In translation, I have to wear a hideous bright yellow jacket for work purposes. Okay. I can deal with that. I have to pay for it, and I get no choice in the matter.
NOT COOL.
At this point, I'm being screamed at in broken English to hurry up. So I do. With my hideous high-vis jacket. Fortunately, three of us are all in the same position, i.e. NOT POLISH. One was me, another was a girl called Lucy and the third was a lovely Nigerian man called Josef. I was put in a team with Josef and we were given ten chalets to do.
Those first two chalets, I would be so pleased to holiday in. They sparkle and are beautiful. At which point, Supervisor Bitch stik her head through the door.
"THE KITCHEN! VERY VERY BAD! ALSO YOU TOO SLOW! NO BREAK UNTIL YOU FINISH YOUR CHALETS!"
Well, okay then. So, me and Josef slave ourselves to death until four. We don't take a break, reasoning that we can go home an hour early or at least take our break then. In between all of this, we're forced to wait around for fresh linen. Protective clothing is never provided. No guidelines are ever given on cleaning properly, short of a bellow of "THIS IS VERY BAD! YOU DO IT AGAIN!"
Needless to say, this was not the most fun situation ever.
So, four o'clock comes. Supervisor Bitch turns up again, and more or less drags us to more chalets to clean. "GUESTS COME SOON!" (Everything this woman did was in a shout. It was a like a large, Estonian, power-crazy Megan.)
At which point, I decided to take a stand. "We haven't had any dinner yet and we're only contracted to work seven hours today."
"NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL ALL OF CENTRE IS CLEAN!"
I gave in, and cleaned another three chalets, and shared my packed lunch with Josef, who looked as though he was going to faint.
I eventually got out at 5.50pm, when some of the Polish girls who spoke English and the three of us who bonded over high-vis jackets had a mild rebellion, and legged it before Supervisor Bitch could see us.
I know that other people have it worse. I know that I have done worse jobs. I know that other people get treated worse.
But it's the combination. I could deal with cleaning up people's diorrhea stained sheets, because the people I worked with appreciated that I was doing a hard job, and more importantly, I knew that I was actually doing some good. I can deal with working in the rain and not getting a tip because I know I get a meal at the end of it. I can even deal with the Puke Bonus, because the bosses are reasonable and let me have a breather for five minutes if I'm cleaning non-stop for two hours, because they know that I'm more than willing to pay it back in minutes at the end of my shift.
I did eight hours straight and had to shiftily eat an apple at the end of that whilst trying to strip a bed.
And I've got no recourse, because the agency don't care - they just want the contract. If I get badly treated, it's not their problem, because they're not liable. And Pontin don't care, because I am being paid by the agency and have no obligations to treat me well.
I know this is probably just me being idealistic, but for minimum wage, I could do better. Even retail was better than this, because someone would always just smile at me and make my day.
As such, I'm going job hunting tomorrow. And when I get a phone call from the agency on Monday, I'm describing all my grievances in clear and concise language and then letting them know that I've spoken to the Job Centre about how employees are treated. I don't care if it does no good. To be honest, I just wished I'd tripped or something so I could have sued into the bargain.
... of course, the only people hiring in Ormskirk at McDonalds. You'll all still love me when I've sold my soul, won't you?
In conclusion my life is NOT GOOD right now. However, there is a bath in the very immediate future and more importantly in the near future there is my Unofficial Summer Holiday (if neither of us have any work to do, it practically is) in Cambridge. Where there may or may not be punting. I will have a camera as I plan to laze back in a Shada sort of way, with a hat of some description. Of course, I now have even less way of funding it, but, well, there we are.
I swear to God it really was that bad and worse. I sound very melodramatic in this post, but I came home and burst into tears at how bad today was. I'm not giving it a second chance. Even I have something vaguely approaching standards. There was no redeeming feature of the entire thing whatsoever, and that includes the pay. You want to treat me like crap, not give me a break throughout the entire day and then keep me behind? Pay me more, then!
~Hathy_Col~
Today, I quietly quit it.
I mean, well, not officially. They don't know I have. But unofficially, like.
Allow me explain. Firstly, I am Agency Staff. This means that I am actually working for some other guy. What I was told, and became quickly apparent to me, is that today was the test day for the agency - could they do this work? If they got the contract, I could keep on doing the job at Pontins. (Note for non-Brits or people who are simply confused - Pontins is a chain self-catering holiday flats, cheerfully called 'chalets' and kiddies get entertainment and it's basically a holiday camp. They are nice places for a very certain type of family in a very specific economic bracket.)
They can, quite frankly, get fucked.
Open at 8.45am. I turn up, am made to wait around, and am then assigned to a group of other people from my agency, with a supervisor being a terrifying Estonian lady who works full time at Pontins. At this point, the agency man turns up, thrusts a form in my face and gives me a bright yellow jacket with the other. "YOUHAVETOWEARAHIGHVISJACKETSIGNHERE."
In translation, I have to wear a hideous bright yellow jacket for work purposes. Okay. I can deal with that. I have to pay for it, and I get no choice in the matter.
NOT COOL.
At this point, I'm being screamed at in broken English to hurry up. So I do. With my hideous high-vis jacket. Fortunately, three of us are all in the same position, i.e. NOT POLISH. One was me, another was a girl called Lucy and the third was a lovely Nigerian man called Josef. I was put in a team with Josef and we were given ten chalets to do.
Those first two chalets, I would be so pleased to holiday in. They sparkle and are beautiful. At which point, Supervisor Bitch stik her head through the door.
"THE KITCHEN! VERY VERY BAD! ALSO YOU TOO SLOW! NO BREAK UNTIL YOU FINISH YOUR CHALETS!"
Well, okay then. So, me and Josef slave ourselves to death until four. We don't take a break, reasoning that we can go home an hour early or at least take our break then. In between all of this, we're forced to wait around for fresh linen. Protective clothing is never provided. No guidelines are ever given on cleaning properly, short of a bellow of "THIS IS VERY BAD! YOU DO IT AGAIN!"
Needless to say, this was not the most fun situation ever.
So, four o'clock comes. Supervisor Bitch turns up again, and more or less drags us to more chalets to clean. "GUESTS COME SOON!" (Everything this woman did was in a shout. It was a like a large, Estonian, power-crazy Megan.)
At which point, I decided to take a stand. "We haven't had any dinner yet and we're only contracted to work seven hours today."
"NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL ALL OF CENTRE IS CLEAN!"
I gave in, and cleaned another three chalets, and shared my packed lunch with Josef, who looked as though he was going to faint.
I eventually got out at 5.50pm, when some of the Polish girls who spoke English and the three of us who bonded over high-vis jackets had a mild rebellion, and legged it before Supervisor Bitch could see us.
I know that other people have it worse. I know that I have done worse jobs. I know that other people get treated worse.
But it's the combination. I could deal with cleaning up people's diorrhea stained sheets, because the people I worked with appreciated that I was doing a hard job, and more importantly, I knew that I was actually doing some good. I can deal with working in the rain and not getting a tip because I know I get a meal at the end of it. I can even deal with the Puke Bonus, because the bosses are reasonable and let me have a breather for five minutes if I'm cleaning non-stop for two hours, because they know that I'm more than willing to pay it back in minutes at the end of my shift.
I did eight hours straight and had to shiftily eat an apple at the end of that whilst trying to strip a bed.
And I've got no recourse, because the agency don't care - they just want the contract. If I get badly treated, it's not their problem, because they're not liable. And Pontin don't care, because I am being paid by the agency and have no obligations to treat me well.
I know this is probably just me being idealistic, but for minimum wage, I could do better. Even retail was better than this, because someone would always just smile at me and make my day.
As such, I'm going job hunting tomorrow. And when I get a phone call from the agency on Monday, I'm describing all my grievances in clear and concise language and then letting them know that I've spoken to the Job Centre about how employees are treated. I don't care if it does no good. To be honest, I just wished I'd tripped or something so I could have sued into the bargain.
... of course, the only people hiring in Ormskirk at McDonalds. You'll all still love me when I've sold my soul, won't you?
In conclusion my life is NOT GOOD right now. However, there is a bath in the very immediate future and more importantly in the near future there is my Unofficial Summer Holiday (if neither of us have any work to do, it practically is) in Cambridge. Where there may or may not be punting. I will have a camera as I plan to laze back in a Shada sort of way, with a hat of some description. Of course, I now have even less way of funding it, but, well, there we are.
I swear to God it really was that bad and worse. I sound very melodramatic in this post, but I came home and burst into tears at how bad today was. I'm not giving it a second chance. Even I have something vaguely approaching standards. There was no redeeming feature of the entire thing whatsoever, and that includes the pay. You want to treat me like crap, not give me a break throughout the entire day and then keep me behind? Pay me more, then!
~Hathy_Col~
