Fry’s Food: Where Inmates Truly Do Run the Asylum

I’m goin’ fucking crazy working at Fry’s Foods!

On second thought {she says confidently}, it’s not I who is crazy. It is they.

The incidences, the encounters with management and supervisors — always two or three at a time — seem to rarely abate. I’ve been told shit that’s patently untrue. Been told to do X by one person one day then Y by another person on another day.

Rules are in place with no particular rhyme or reason. They’re enforced one day and not the next. They’re enforced by certain people and not others. Above all, they’re broken by the very managers whose job it is, allegedly, to enforce those very polices!

It’s the Insane Asylum is Run by the Inmates phenomenon.

I could regale you with tale after tale of the sheer idiocies and stupidity that dominate Fry’s. It’d make your head spin. It does mine.

Though that’d make for good pulp fiction-meets-science fiction, honestly the whole thing’s become tiresome.

I cannot win for losing at Fry’s Foods.

I will never be treated with basic respect and neither will anyone else save those who keep their mouths shut and play the game or have drunk the Fry’s Kool-Aid.

Most certainly I shall not be appreciated or valued for … well, anything. Not my intelligence. Life experience. Work ethics. Zip zero nada. I’m a tool for their gains, nothing more.

There’s nothing new under the Corporate Sun that I’ve not encountered or experienced in decades of working. The anomaly here, at Fry’s Food, is that there is no fixing the utter chaos, mismanagement, hypocrisy, two-faced lying and more that prevail.

They’re not interested. They don’t care.

As a good person, an honest person, a hard hard hard-working individual with impeccable work ethics who’ll work as hard at minimum wage as $100 an hour, a THINKING person with abundant common sense, reason, thought and committed to the highest quality work regardless of what’s thrown my way, after another bout in the ring with the managers today, I can only say:

I am defeated. {insert waving white flag here}

There is no place for my brain at Fry’s Food. No place for fairness or reason or truth — both remembering it and then telling it like it was when X Y or Z occurred.

Neither is there a place for my gifts, abilities, experience or efforts to do right and well. I am defeated. Like that old saying: “You can’t fight city hall.”

Or the Internal Revenue Service.

Fry’s Food is both.

I was just thinking: Am I down? Today was just another round of debate in what’s becoming too common with two managers who fail to listen or see things AS THEY ARE.

No. I am defeated. Helpless against the monster who nibbles and claws at my brain tissue.

Helpless against prevailing forces of true stupidity. Genuine insanity.

What is a girl to do?!?!

In the immediate: Drink!

In the “longer term”: Drugs! Kidding of course but not entirely. Fry’s Food’s fucking with my brain. My profound sense of decency. Fairness. Impeccable work ethics.

And for what? So’s I earn a pass key into the secret chambers of the insane asylum?

I think not.

I want out. Need out. Am begging pleading praying for an exit. Another job to *save my sanity!*

In the meantime, Jersey Lilly Saloon, here I come!

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