Full moon, weird weather pattern over the past few days is making it feel like the middle of winter. I wore two sweat shirts at several points today because the a/c had been turned down to 63 degrees. Fingerless gloves were what I needed, as well. I am always grateful for my apartment, but especially on cold, wet nights like this. It's 54 degrees. I love it. And this weather is great for the cannabis business.
Today was really busy, from the minute we opened. People hurried in to get their supplies before the rain started. I was sure that once it started raining, the lines would die down. But that didn't happen. The lines were long, and the delivery drivers were busy all day.
Finally, I started receiving some of the swag that the vendors give out to get us to sell their stuff. Made out on medicated gummies. Today, I got an actual goodie bag filled with t-shirts which are too small for me to ever wear, and product, including CBD gummies and a vape cartridge.
Yesterday, as she was leaving, a woman yelled at the guard that she needed her medicine because of all these states taking away women's rights. I felt for her. That's what I feel like doing to random cashiers and security guards, snap them awake to what's happening. But that would be cruel.
That's why I like where I am. I have not heard one thing mentioned about current events or politics, except when Kyle, who was a poly-sci major, told me to be sure to vote in the participatory budgeting process that we have in Vallejo. Otherwise, the talk is of mundane matters, such as what is for lunch, where you're going for lunch, what edibles were eaten the night before, how someone "mistakenly" had a THC rich edible for breakfast, rats and bugs, how so many people are getting sick, and other normal work place conversation.
It's one of the highlights of being invisible, doing my job. The people I work with are so young that it is hard to not feel maternal. I've been here for two months, and I know that LJ's baby is due in October, Onyx bites his nails to the quick, and Jordan, a big, sturdy guy who seems so self assured is, as he put it, "deathly afraid of cancer and cataracts." That's why he likes cannabis. It quells the anxiety.
They know I am there, so it's not sneaky eavesdropping, but it's so funny to be so normalized that they don't stop talking when I am around. Much of the time, I am in my counting zone, mezmerized by all the different strains (today's new one: Jurassic Park https://www.leafly.com/products/details/western-cultured-jurassic-ogk. But I do hear my share of juice. I know stuff. I will end up knowing more, and wishing I didn't. As a matter of fact, the owner's assistant chatted with me about the vermin infestation. She told me it wasn't a new thing, which grossed me out even more.
She started at the place two months before I did, and the budtenders were bugging her to talk to Greg for them. I am so glad I know that back ground, as if I would ever get involved in another advocacy campaign regarding the health and safety of the place of my employment. Lori, my colleague, said she told them to take it a step at a time, and they didn't. In their defense, it's been going on for at least a year. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out. Will someone have to be infected with rabies for him to take this seriously?
Saturday, May 18, 2019
Saturday, May 11, 2019
Time Flies
It's been a while. I am still counting. Whenever it gets really boring, I remind myself that, boring is good. Boring is healing. In some ways, this job is a regular job in a regular business just like any other job I have every had. In other ways, this job is one of the most surreal experiences of my life.
Since everyone is so busy, no one trained me. Ernest said they needed a spread sheet, so I have been making and entering data into some really cool ones. That's what I do when I am not counting. Really, though, I am there as a deterrence. People will be less likely to steal if I am around. The owner has cameras everywhere and can see every transaction taking place. But it's always good to have on the floor supervision. Great, I'm the narc.
This week, I counted flower, concentrates, edibles, and flower again. Now it's my weekend. The only work I brought home was 1/8 oz of weed, as it is known among people my age.
There are quite a few of us who have May birthdays. Kaitlyn, a young mom and top seller, and I were talking the other day, and I mentioned that this birthday was going to be big one. She asked me which one, and I told her 60. No point in lying. All my info is on the computer.
Last week, a woman my age or a little older, saw me sitting and counting, and was all excited because an old person worked here. Yesterday, the same woman came in and told me she put her resume in for a job. She is so loud. And she called me old again.
A few posts ago, I said that there were many, many similarities between the wine and pot industries. The winery where I worked was located in north Napa, and the views were spectacular. The winery building itself was palatial, with a terrace overlooking the vineyards. Trash was taken out every evening, and the building was sparkling clean.
The offices I worked in were cleaned at night. Organization and efficiency ruled. That is not the way it is at the dispensary.
I like this job, but this is the filthiest, most disorganized place I've ever worked. There is clutter everywhere, and I have a high tolerance of chaos. This is worse. The back room is a place where I try to spend as little time as possible. It's where the offices are. It's dark and creepy, stuff piled everywhere.
Last Friday, Ernest had me sit at his desk and learn a data entry program, which was not hard. The hard part was that I was supposed to adjust prices and apply discounts from one item to others. It was stuff that Ernest has in his head. He tried to explain it to me at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. It got very math-y, too, and my brain shut down. I was relieved that i didn't have to sit in the very tiny back corner of the office, closed in by boxes and containers.
Worse than this, though, is the bug and vermin problem. Before I even knew about it, I went home for lunch because i was reluctant to use the rest room at work, because it wasn't clean. Not only that, in order to get to the rest room, you have to go through the back, and several times in the past few weeks, large rats have surprised people on their way to the bathroom.
Then there are the bugs. the owner doesn't want to shell out for an exterminator, so he sent away for maggots, because he thinks they will kill the bugs. I gagged when I heard about that. Of course, it can always get worse, and it did.
When I got to work this morning, I asked David, the security guard who unlocked the door for me, if there had been any drama, since it was only 8:30 am. He was anxious to tell me about the dead, bloody rat in the main room that greeted him when he arrived. He was freaking out.
Two bud tenders walked right by it (occupational hazard). Once the gravity and gore of the situation sunk in, these badass guys to whom I will always be grateful, cleaned up the entire crime scene. Rob offered his theories on how the death happened, as he and Alex did what had to be done, including mopping and disposal, to make everything customer ready, or "retail pretty," as Ernest said the other day.
This made me want to leave. The union rep came to talk to the owner, who, according to the grapevine, doesn't care. OSHA did an inspection a few days ago, and I was sure they would shut us down or fine the owner, or something. The inspector said people would have to keep complaining.
Several of us have been bitten by something that causes an allergic reaction. Four people are out with bronchitis. And, most disgusting of all, this is not the first rat encounter. Every day last week there was at least one rat scurrying through the back, and they are bold creatures. Isn't this how the bubonic plague spread?
A new security guard started yesterday. His name is John. He listens to Frank Sinatra. Today I asked him if he is from New York. "From the Bronx," he said. My dad was from Yonkers. I felt him winking at me today.
Since everyone is so busy, no one trained me. Ernest said they needed a spread sheet, so I have been making and entering data into some really cool ones. That's what I do when I am not counting. Really, though, I am there as a deterrence. People will be less likely to steal if I am around. The owner has cameras everywhere and can see every transaction taking place. But it's always good to have on the floor supervision. Great, I'm the narc.
This week, I counted flower, concentrates, edibles, and flower again. Now it's my weekend. The only work I brought home was 1/8 oz of weed, as it is known among people my age.
There are quite a few of us who have May birthdays. Kaitlyn, a young mom and top seller, and I were talking the other day, and I mentioned that this birthday was going to be big one. She asked me which one, and I told her 60. No point in lying. All my info is on the computer.
Last week, a woman my age or a little older, saw me sitting and counting, and was all excited because an old person worked here. Yesterday, the same woman came in and told me she put her resume in for a job. She is so loud. And she called me old again.
A few posts ago, I said that there were many, many similarities between the wine and pot industries. The winery where I worked was located in north Napa, and the views were spectacular. The winery building itself was palatial, with a terrace overlooking the vineyards. Trash was taken out every evening, and the building was sparkling clean.
The offices I worked in were cleaned at night. Organization and efficiency ruled. That is not the way it is at the dispensary.
I like this job, but this is the filthiest, most disorganized place I've ever worked. There is clutter everywhere, and I have a high tolerance of chaos. This is worse. The back room is a place where I try to spend as little time as possible. It's where the offices are. It's dark and creepy, stuff piled everywhere.
Last Friday, Ernest had me sit at his desk and learn a data entry program, which was not hard. The hard part was that I was supposed to adjust prices and apply discounts from one item to others. It was stuff that Ernest has in his head. He tried to explain it to me at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. It got very math-y, too, and my brain shut down. I was relieved that i didn't have to sit in the very tiny back corner of the office, closed in by boxes and containers.
Worse than this, though, is the bug and vermin problem. Before I even knew about it, I went home for lunch because i was reluctant to use the rest room at work, because it wasn't clean. Not only that, in order to get to the rest room, you have to go through the back, and several times in the past few weeks, large rats have surprised people on their way to the bathroom.
Then there are the bugs. the owner doesn't want to shell out for an exterminator, so he sent away for maggots, because he thinks they will kill the bugs. I gagged when I heard about that. Of course, it can always get worse, and it did.
When I got to work this morning, I asked David, the security guard who unlocked the door for me, if there had been any drama, since it was only 8:30 am. He was anxious to tell me about the dead, bloody rat in the main room that greeted him when he arrived. He was freaking out.
Two bud tenders walked right by it (occupational hazard). Once the gravity and gore of the situation sunk in, these badass guys to whom I will always be grateful, cleaned up the entire crime scene. Rob offered his theories on how the death happened, as he and Alex did what had to be done, including mopping and disposal, to make everything customer ready, or "retail pretty," as Ernest said the other day.
This made me want to leave. The union rep came to talk to the owner, who, according to the grapevine, doesn't care. OSHA did an inspection a few days ago, and I was sure they would shut us down or fine the owner, or something. The inspector said people would have to keep complaining.
Several of us have been bitten by something that causes an allergic reaction. Four people are out with bronchitis. And, most disgusting of all, this is not the first rat encounter. Every day last week there was at least one rat scurrying through the back, and they are bold creatures. Isn't this how the bubonic plague spread?
A new security guard started yesterday. His name is John. He listens to Frank Sinatra. Today I asked him if he is from New York. "From the Bronx," he said. My dad was from Yonkers. I felt him winking at me today.
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