Having grown accustomed to self-management in my place of work, being quite efficient and dependable by more than
my simple account - the sales figures indicate basic competency - I am not so enthusiastic at this point two months into
professional cohabitation with one Ben Chovanetz. I have enjoyed our exchanges, earnestly - while his belief system
does chaffe on my view of the world and confidences I'd done much to erect, I still appreciate what he has done to
engraciate himself with me. That is why it is with some remorse that I do deem his presence bothersome - I am
thankful that he is not currently and won't develop into a competitive figure to myself due to physical and capacitive
limits, but so far the consequence of his being there has been concerning. For one, each week sees less earned by the
business - while it is not by my initiative that he's there, I am his source of instruction and managerial guide. This
said, it feels as if the roles are reversed and it is he who manages - truly beffudling and uncomfortable but I accept
the current in stride and obedience. I always show up on time for work and complete tasks with unwavering success. The
leniencies in my demeanor are always informed by my bosses leniencies, with the sole exception of one buffered approach
to storage - where I consolidate inbound packages in the work area for efficiency and consistency reasons. I have never
been told outright to cease this behavior so I do not feel that I should stop; if I were, I'd modify it to see packages
lined at the wall versus behind the counter and thusly with more immediate incentive to address them. As this is the
centermost insecurity of mine impregnated by Ben's assessments of my inadequate performance, it is what I mention first
here. I've accomodated Ben by adjusting my behaviors despite it not being owed - I am a criticism-receptive person and
desire success-enabling course corrections - this being said, I find Ben to be out of touch with what is necessary for
a business and employee of said business. My tenets of individuality are irrelevant to the operation of the vehicle, and
these are what he assails at the highest frequency. I've been dubbed a borderline employee and that planted a seed of
animosity to be sure; no longer was it an exchange of perspectives extended to one another courteously - it's become
condemnatory in nature and this ends my enthusiasm for working alongside him. I still pull appreciation from what I am
slowly being taught respecting finishing/editing of disseminated materials, a position Ben is versed in; the active
development of a promotional complimentary fax receipt sleeve is something I helm and accept the numerous criticisms
from Ben readily, as the territory is one warranting of such scrutiny, and its scrutinizer is an authority - not the case
in the cashier line of duty. According to him, he has only ever been in managerial positions at these companies (his
references to his assumed position as a customer advocate in the past is eyeroll inducing given his predictable customer
partiality in times of their unagreeableness) and has never worked in customer service, an area I've been truthfully (I
do believe) complimented as being avid at. So for my abilities in this field of uninitiation for one Ben Chovanetz to be
devalued globally is sour; I do predict a timeline in which Ben graduates to the hour/two-hour unsupervised capacity
and evidences the horrors I've outlined and becomes conditioned similarly to me, to a place of slight customer adversity;
a position he expressed as being equal to some degenerative offense in his view. We'll see how long it takes to and to
what degree the bottom level will impress upon Ben's elevation-obscured understanding of human transactionalism and
associated complexes. Being a former pot smoking hippie, he ought to recall some emotion of adversity to society, but it
appears whatever he may have once felt to the effect has been overwritten by airy status-insulative prioritizations of
the superficial.
	In the debasing of an individual, their chief expression of leisure is prime real estate for mockery/question.
In Ben's case, supported by previous inklings along the line of persuasion, golfing is such the preoccupation. I can't
be alone in my opinion of participants to the boomer-typical sport that is the socially-installed golf often being smug
or perhaps more unmagnetically genuinely-yet-prerequisitely untethered (nice people but so airheaded on account of their
brains being so unstimulated across years of teeing a ball in ununiform statistical waverances and returning home to
discuss unimportant garbage with their spouse over some bland meal with fanatical routine). Ben's cocoon of socialization
has long been golfing (from what I've gathered) and only recently has it begun diminishing in instrumentality,
though no miracles will be observed in his drifting away on grounds of physical deterioration from the critiquable hobby.
The decades of putting greens have taken their toll on Ben's vernacular ("deluxe" is not an acceptible synonym for "I'm
doing well, thank you" - "doing good", even in its erroneous dullness is preferable to the monstrosity that is "deluxe")
and by proxy his understanding of typicality. Sure, perhaps it is poor form for the top two to three inches of my ass
crack to become exposed on the spectacle of my readied accepting to physically laborious endeavors (like bending down to
fish out a tape dispenser from the cumbersome, hideously sqeaking cabinets in the lobby, or taping up a box that by the
difficulties of the customer has warranted this action to be executed in the lobby versus behind the counter or in the
back work area - you know, the areas more practical for securing the making of money in contrast to the
obligation-inflected servanthood of hunching in service of unappreciative dogheaded "patrons" who argue with the notion
of credit card fees - these people ought to thirst and rejoice at the occasional display of my ass), but it isn't some
egregious betrayal of civility that only someone as out of touch as Ben would insinuate. We don't exist in the context
of the 1960s anymore, and to be thrust the exhaust manifold of yestertimes is unfair; belts, like Q-tips are maladied
by substanceless manufacturing; my anus flirting with visibility is attributable to this as much as the countries'
economic catastrophy is to its submissive foreign trade complacency.