I’m Not Going to Say ‘I Told You So’

As Cavan so eloquently put it a few weeks ago, the shithole-of-a-place where Charlie works is already starting to rear its evil head – the one that makes it impossible for anyone to manage the club for any extended period of time without pulling out his or her own hair and leaving in a huff, screaming and cursing the establishment on their way out.

When the now-former manager announced his intentions to leave, and Charlie discussed with the owner the possibility of Charlie taking over, they also approached an employee to be the assistant. At the time, I laughed when he told me, because this is the same guy who, over the course of the past year or so, has announced his own intentions to leave about three hundred times. Every few weeks it seemed I was hearing a different story from Charlie about what this guy wanted to do. He wanted to go in to the Marines, but then couldn’t pass some sort of test. He decided to re-enlist in the Army, but later found out there was some sort of complication with that, as well. I think he’s tried to do the firefighter/EMT thing, as well as the police academy. He has also been trying to sell his house which his ex-wife is still living in, and which she refuses to allow him to sell, and the mortgage on which he is still apparently paying.

So when Charlie told me, with authority, that this guy would be a great assistant manager, I just said “We’ll see how long it takes him to tell you he’s leaving.”

That would be two weeks.

Now this guy has decided to move to Florida with his girlfriend — someone who moved in with him to his parents’ home after the separation from his ex, about a month after they started dating — so she can attend some sort of event management certification program in Orlando that costs more than my entire college education will once I’m done. Okay, fine. There’s got to be someone else who can do his job if he leaves. It won’t be his girlfriend, though – did I mention she also works at the club? And it won’t be the person in charge of the VIP section, because she’s decided she wants to move with them. And it won’t be the head of security, because he thinks it sounds like a great idea to move to Florida, too!

I tried to give Charlie some sound advice on all of this. Rather than kicking him in the shins and telling him how crazy he was to accept the job, I said give yourself a time limit. Six months, eight months, a year, whatever. By that point his salary will have increased enough that he can start socking away money. A month or so before this self-imposed deadline, I said, start putting out resumes. Put in your two week notice when you find another job, and wash your hands of that place.

With the schedule he’ll have to work (especially if he can’t get another assistant manager ASAP), keeping this job because “it works great when you take classes” will no longer apply. It will take up all his free time, which sucks the most because he’ll have to be at work until, like, five in the morning, despite having an early Thursday class, and has meetings all Tuesdays, when he has class until after one. Thankfully there are only about three or four more weeks of classes, so the former manager has agreed to continue meeting with reps on Tuesdays until the end of the semester.

Either way, I’m just so not thrilled with this place. I don’t see how the money will really be worth it. He’s already been getting dozens of phone calls throughout the day with ridiculous questions from everyone at work. Every time we sit down to eat, or play in the grass with the dogs, his phone is ringing. All I can do is hope the evil that is this nightclub ends its reign over our social and personal life in a timely manner.


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