To the person posting about starting a union
At this point, working at Michaels is doing things to my body that medical science probably did not intend. Between the $11-an-hour paycheck, the Halloween freight, the Christmas freight, the mice living rent-free in the bunker drawers, and my arthritis fighting me every step of the way, I swear the stress is making my ball hair grow faster—and believe me, at 83, I already have enough going on down there. My balls are hanging so low they practically need their own employee badge, and somehow Michaels has apparently decided they need additional landscaping. I come home from work looking like I just survived a battle with a forklift, a pallet of Christmas decorations, and a family of mice, only to discover that even my body hair has decided to work overtime. At $11 an hour, the least Michaels could do is provide a weed-whacker. Between my cane, my hand cramps, my back cramps, and now this unexpected increase in downstairs maintenance, I'm beginning to suspect the real employee benefit at Michaels is developing problems nobody asked for. Corporate keeps adding responsibilities, and apparently my body has decided to do the same.