Farewell to Dill (But Not the Ego)
I’ll say it now, plain and simple:
I didn’t hate him.
I liked him. Respected him, even—at least in the beginning.
He knew his shit. That’s what stood out. After years away from stocking, I came back raw and rusty. And there he was: efficient, sharp, focused. The guy knew freight. And he expected the same from me. That expectation? It became a double-edged blade.
He micromanaged the hell out of me. Told me 30 minutes was too long for water. Told me I fronted too much. Told me I was slow.
He wasn’t wrong. But damn if he didn’t breathe down my neck before I even had a rhythm.
Still—I learned. The hard way.
Stock your section. Let closing front it. That was the drill. I didn’t know at first. But I learned. Front the drinks so they’re clean by morning? Learned that too—especially the night I found out the morning shift said the store looked like crap. He came at me for that, and I clapped back: “If the store was locked, then why didn’t the night manager hold us accountable?”
He didn’t like that.
To his credit, he had a point: You close the night clean so the morning walks in ready. It was never about blame—it was about responsibility. That’s something I kept. Even after he left.
But here’s where it split: He wanted a version of me that broke. Instead, I stiffened. Not with ego, but resolve. I wasn’t rude. I wasn’t loud. I just kept showing up.
Even when my phone went to hell. Even when I had no charger. Even when I brought the wrong damn phone to the repair shop. I still clocked in. Still stocked. Still did what I was supposed to.
He didn’t know what to do with that.
The night before he left? He tried to drag out the shift, make us stay longer. I knew what that was. One last push to break the spirit. I didn’t fold.
The next day, he was gone.
I laughed. Not from spite. From shock. From the absurdity.
I told the lady in Vitamins what happened. I told her the ego had to go. But the truth underneath the Gremlin mask? I did offer olive branches. Multiple. He just wouldn’t take them.
No night manager wants to stay 90 minutes past closing. But no real worker should be expected to shatter just to fit someone else’s mold.
So this is for Dill:
I don’t gloat. I don’t celebrate. I just kept moving.
If you’re reading this somehow? I hope you’re somewhere better. Somewhere that fits you.
Because I never hated you. I just couldn’t let you crush me.
#BearBlog #FarewellLog #NoEgoZone #RespectWhereDue #StockAndStand #GremlinProtocol #IStayedStanding #BookOfBoris
🔹 Post-Farewell Reflection – Bonus Note
My sister told me not to get angry when people don’t work like I do. And she’s right. I’ve learned to clock in, breathe, and carry the load if I have to.
People move slow, slack off, or vanish mid-shift. That’s not my concern. I front the shelves. I clean the backroom. I close the store like it’s my damn name on the building.
Not because I’m better. Because I give a damn.
Let ‘em be lazy. I’ll keep stacking quiet wins—one clean aisle at a time.