The store didn't offer email, Internet, anything like that. Wherehouse featured Wee Mail, and no, that's not infant diaper writing. As always, honchos in charge confused stupid cute with intelligence. Wee Mail was Intra-Net. We received decrees from Overlords (replying was tantamount to suicide), and we could also type messages to each other. Instead of scribbling pieces of paper.
Wee Mail was barely useful. Any employee could send a note to any other "non manager" employee. This could lead to mischief.
Several months earlier I hopped onto a computer that The Professor marched away from and sent a Wee Mail to Angela,
Hello. I suppose you think this is a minor issue, but I feel compelled to lodge a complaint. Tuesday was Aaron Copland's 100th birthday, and there was no Copland playing in the Classical Room. I discovered, painfully, this oversight when I ventured in - on my day off, I might add - to distribute some celebratory poems I composed for the occasion. Playing inside was godawful Abba drivel. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Mister Copland never wrote for the Swedes, now did he? These birth milestones are important, please do better!
While I'm at it, I am writing fresh verses about current coworkers. I'd appreciate some photos to inspire me. I borrowed several from the albums, but I need more suggestive poses? The sort men like. How about it?
Thinking of you. Professor
I laughed silently and deemed myself pretty clever. Angela would completely freak out. Yet, two days later ...
Worthy Man! I received that so-called Wee Mail from The Professor. That was gross!! At first it scared the shit out of me, but then I realized The Professor would never dare to write such a thing to me. You had me going for a while ... but that was it. I thought that was gross. YOU are the only one who mails people crazy stuff like this. Very funny!!
See ya later! Angela, "The Angel"
Alas, Angela was wise to me.
Wee Mail suffered another huge flaw.
Notes sent to one manager, however, dropped to all managers.
For reasons unexplained, The Boss had hired GG-Licious. GG as in Gangsta Girl, Licious as in Delicious-Bootylicious-Stupendilicious. Work with that. Her actual named was a Biblical reference, yet she wanted to sound ghetto. She was a home school pupil, whiter than me, with no tolerance for actual ghetto residents, or as she termed them, those "so-called minorities." Diversity was absent from the home school curriculum. Yet poverty aspirations 101 was. Go figure.
GG-Licious worked well but was notoriously argumentative. Pat and Stacey struggled with her. Chalked her shortcomings up to youth and lack of socialization. Joe, a so-called minority, dealt little with her. I slotted GG into the category I termed "forceps birth." Everyone understood The Boss hired and tolerated her. She was his stone.
After a couple of months, GG kinda despised everyone. She didn't want the job in the first place, as she repeatedly reminded everyone. Here she was, in a record store job most students would kill for, hating it. GG started sending Wee Mail snitch sheets to The Boss, prefaced with, "I hate to be a little tattle tale, but ... "
Allow me to repeat - - Notes sent to one manager, however, dropped to all managers.
After a shift manager clocked in, mails launched automatically, followed by, "What the fuck!" or "If she thinks I am a bitch, I'll show her what a bitch really is." or "How could she write that about me? I just bought her lunch last night!"
Things went downhill after that. Daily bathroom maintenance. Trash duty. Cleaning the refrigerator. Mopping discharges in the customer's restroom. GG-Licious ... never showed up one day ... and The Boss hired Molly.