Recently work aqucired it's very own pet pointy-haired-boss. Honest to god, he knows not a damn thing. Every suggestion (read, commandment) he had made has made our (the employees) life hell and the life of the customer a more confusing arrangement than it needs to be. The store layout has been changed about a gazillion times in the passed two months, every item on shelf has been re-priced not one, but TWICE, a new ill-advised catalogue system has been introduced... but it was never really a problem for me, because I started work at 4 on fridays, and he left the building at 5.
No big deal.
Sure, I had heard stories about the shitness of the pointless jobs other staff members have had to do, but I thought I was largely free to shelve, re-price, and serve customers. I actually like serving customers; I like being helpful, I like being 'that sales-girl who isn't a complete cow just because I want her to do her job'. Life was pretty good.
Or so I thought.
Pointy-haired-boss has now decided that the entirety of my shifts are to be filled with entering the traded goods for the week into the data-base. Data entry. FUCKING data entry.
Don't misunderstand. Data entry is not the shittest job out there. I know, I've done data entry for a job before. But I didn't try out for this job to do data entry - I (as strange as this may sound) wanted to do retail. Customer service. Something different from the monotony of mt PhD life.
Not only data entry, mind you, but data entry at a desk with no room, a keyboard at the wrong angle (hello, RSI!), a monitor at the wrong height (hello, eye-strain!), and no chair (hello, back problems!). For four hours. Trying to do eight hours worth of data entry in four hours.
You know what? A) I didn't sign up to do data entry (remember, I don't mind doing some data entry, but not for my whole shift, thankyou very much), B) OHaS regulations state that I at least need a FUCKING CHAIR for long periods of computer work and C) if I wanted a data entry job, I'd be getting paid more than I am now.
So, one of the manager-in-training boys I work with (a real sweet kid) is going to talk to pointy-haired-boss and try to work something out. If this doesn't pan out, then I'm probably going to speak to Mr pointy-haired-boss myself, citing Occupational Health and Safety regulations (because nothing scares managers more) as I go. If that doesn't work, I'll probably quit. For the hours I work and the money I earn, it isn't worth it.
Look, I'm being all assertive and stuff.