Tags
abuse, blog, blogging, human interaction, humor, life, memories, paper towel tubes, stupid bitch, work
All the surface things were annoying, tolerable but annoying. Management was the main problem.
I don’t remember when it began, if it escalated, or if it was always that bad…
One day as I helped a customer Sarah’s new boyfriend walked in, with his low cut wife beater, beer belly and huge arms. It looked like he only ever had time to work those out. He sat at our bar next to a woman, which I thought nothing of. Sarah walked in the room and flew into a rage. She punched me in the arm as hard as she could.
“Sarah what the hell?!” I screamed at her, rubbing my arm, throwing fire bolts at her with my eyes.
“Better you than her face, stupid bitch.” She yelled pointing at the woman who was not even talking to her boyfriend. Then she stormed away.
Sarah once punched my friend Erin in the butt cheek so hard it left a bruise, but I didn’t work there then and I didn’t know about it until after we stopped working there.
She would pinch and punch me often, one day I decided to stand up for myself as she implemented a game where we wailed on one another with sticks made from paper towel tubes. If you think that can’t get violent, anyone at the bar that day could tell you otherwise. She came at me and I started swinging, and as she walked away bleeding I went back to work, embarrassed that I was forced to stoop to her level, though she didn’t touch me again after that.
Her sister Mary was worse. She had a tendency to speak to me like I was her dog. I would never want to be her dog; I bet she beats it too.
“Sonya, get over here!” She yelled at me as I was ringing up a customer. I had already learned to steer clear of her.
I stared at her, saying nothing and not moving.
“I am the boss, get over here.” She pointed at the floor in front of her. She was right she was the boss.
I dragged my feet toward her, furious about the way I had been spoken to, fighting the urge to just stop and stare at her.
When I got to her she started petting my thick hair that was pulled up in a high ponytail. At the time my hair was the longest it has ever been, she wrapped it around her hand tightly, “My Mom wants your hair.” She told me “So give it to her!” She yanked down as hard as she could making my entire body contort and flail like a fish on land. I probably should have bitch slapped her, but I am pretty sure all I did was walk away, trying not to cry. As if I were a child, incapable of doing anything about the abuse.
That day I decided if either sister laid another hand on me, or anyone I worked with and I saw it I would call the cops. It turned out the cops were already at the ready…
-ducksoup- 