Working at the store turned into a full-blown Bravo series. Like… if you've ever wondered what would happen if you combined Survivor, The Bachelorette, and Jerry Springer in the break room of a discount retailer. This was it.
Enter: Corey.
Corey was tall-ish, dark hair, dark eyes, and just cocky enough to be annoying. He flirted with every woman who walked past the pallets like it was part of his job description. Always smirking. Always leaning. Always acting like he was God's gift to the grocery side. And to be fair? He was cute. Unfortunately, he also lived with his parents and was, how do I say this gently, functionally marinated in vodka at all times. You know. Just enough alcohol to keep things lively. Not enough to qualify as a stable life choice.
At the time, I was still with Craig, …Sort of. We had been seeing each other for six months, but he refused to put a label on it. No girlfriend. No exclusive talk. Not even a pity Facebook soft launch. It was the relationship equivalent of "vibes only and God bless."
So when Corey and I started hooking up? Yeah, I felt a little guilty…
…but not ruin-my-life guilty. Corey and I lasted about two months. The sex wasn't earth-shattering, but compared to Craig? It was at least above sea level, and frankly my standards at the time were somewhere between "does he breathe" and "please don't emotionally ruin me." What I did not know, was that Corey was also sleeping with Carrie. My manager. And by "sleeping with," I mean "actively speed-running his way into an elopement."
Yeah.
Carrie had been with the same man for ten years. Ten. Years. They had a five-year-old daughter together. And somehow…
SOMEHOW…
she looked at Corey, resident buzzball enthusiast, part-time pallet Romeo, full-time living-with-his-parents enthusiast, and said: ✨ Yes. This is my forever. ✨
They dated for one month and got secretly married while I was over here living my life like: "Wait… what fresh clearance-rack chaos did I just dodge?"
But oh. OH. It gets worse. Because Corey wasn't just juggling me and Carrie.
No no no.
This man had a full customer loyalty program running. He was also sleeping with two girls from my department. My employees. MY. EMPLOYEES.
And those two girls? Both messing around with Mike. Corey's coworker. His frenemy. His low-budget ginger rival. Mike was tall, freckled, and permanently looked like the human embodiment of: "I was supposed to peak in high school and something went wrong."
Mike was BIG MAD. Because in his mind, he was the store heartthrob. Suddenly Corey had rolled in with his Sonic cup of vodka and stolen: the attention, the drama, and apparently half the female population of aisle nine
Cue. The. Mess.
Mike finds out. Mike starts rumors. Mike's sister, who worked in our department and had four baby daddies by age 22 and the attendance record of a seasonal ghost, immediately grabbed the popcorn and a blowtorch. She fanned the flames like it was her spiritual calling. Honestly, if chaos were an Olympic sport, she'd have medaled gold. She did eventually get fired during the fallout, not by me, praise be. Because I was not emotionally or professionally equipped to terminate someone who thrived on drama like it was oxygen.
And then… came the meeting.
We all got called into the office like a group of hormonal teenagers who had been caught behind the gym. I walked in feeling like I needed to open with: "For the record, I clocked in on time and I regret everything."
I calmly explained: I had already ended things with Corey. I was not participating in whatever multi-lane romantic pileup this had become. And frankly? I was mostly annoyed with myself. Because I had broken my golden rule: Never. Hook. Up. With. Someone. You. Work. With.
Especially if he still has a curfew, technically he didn't but he did live at home. And yet here I was…
…explaining my dating life…
…to my cousin…
…who just so happened to be Corey and Mike's boss.
Because apparently when you date one local alcoholic and briefly entertain his ginger rival, it becomes a full HR documentary. Even Mike tried to slide into the narrative. "We had a thing."
Sir.
We hung out once. If by "thing" you mean, one lukewarm conversation, one slice of pizza, and zero romantic chemistry …then yes. A "thing."
But just when I thought the drama had peaked? Carrie said: Hold my Monster. She pulled me aside while we were stocking shelves. Now. Naively. Foolishly. I thought this was going to be a mature conversation. You know. Two adult women. Mutual understanding. Maybe even a little retail sisterhood moment.
Past Lola, sigh, reader, friend. I was violently incorrect.
She got in my face like we were about to throw hands between the disinfectant wipes and the granola bars. Let me be clear: I wasn't denying anything. I wasn't hiding anything. I wasn't even interested anymore. I was just trying to stock tampons and mind my business. But Carrie?
Oh, Carrie was running on pure insecurity and approximately three energy drinks too many. She was furious. Not irritated. Not mildly annoyed. Furious. The kind of mad that comes from realizing your brand-new husband has the romantic boundaries of a golden retriever at a dog park. She was MAD that I had dared to touch her man.
Even though, and this is important, I had touched him first. Months before she even downloaded him into her life.
Now. Let's review the scoreboard: I was technically dating Craig (loosely, emotionally, questionably). Corey was technically drinking vodka out of a Sonic cup. Carrie was technically still living with her baby daddy when she started seeing him. If we're assigning points in this chaotic Olympic event… I had seniority.
Yet this woman came at me like I was trying to steal her husband. Ma'am. Respectfully. You married him. You don't win him. You inherit him. Like a slightly unstable timeshare. And honestly?
I think what really bothered her wasn't that I'd been with him. It was that Corey had liked me. Because Corey, in one of his rare moments of emotional clarity, had said things like: "You're too good for me." and my favorite, "You deserve better."
And for a man who couldn't commit to a lease… that was basically a handwritten love letter. So there we stood. In a silent standoff between the Lysol wipes and the granola bars. Carrie glowering. Me holding a box cutter and several life choices. And all I could think was: Girl. You didn't win. You got the grand prize.
And just when I thought the drama had peaked? It hadn't. Because after the elopement? The fairytale lasted approximately the lifespan of unrefrigerated sushi. Corey got fired.
Remember that whole "casually marinated in vodka" situation? Yeah. Turns out when HR hears you've been juggling half the female staff and someone casually mentions you might also be drinking on the clock… they test you. They drug tested him. At work. After all the drama surfaced. He failed. So Romeo lost his job. Which, shockingly, did not strengthen the foundation of his month-old marriage.
Carrie started spiraling. At first it was subtle. She looked tired. She was snappier. She started calling in more. Then it became obvious. She was going out every weekend. Drinking. Calling in every other day. Showing up looking like she hadn't slept in a week. She started losing weight rapidly. Not the healthy glow-up kind. The "this is not okay" kind. She tried to tell everyone it was sleep apnea.
Now. I am not proud of this. But I am curious and petty. So I googled the correlation between sleep apnea and alcoholism. And wouldn't you know? There's a strong link. Because alcohol relaxes your throat muscles and can worsen or trigger sleep apnea. Which means if you're suddenly having severe sleep issues while also suddenly partying like you're 21 and childless…
…it might not be your CPAP machine. She brought in a doctor's note eventually. Claimed sleep apnea was the reason for all the absences.
Management basically said: "Cool diagnosis. Still can't call in every other shift."
She got fired. Corey had already been fired. Now the two of them were unemployed, newly married, and bonded primarily through mutual bad decisions.
The cherry on top. I found out later, from Corey himself, that one night, in the middle of the night, Carrie packed up all her stuff. Didn't say a word. Didn't leave a note. Didn't even wake him up. She left him. Went back to her baby daddy.
The marriage? Lasted maybe two months. She burned down a ten-year relationship. Eloped with a man who failed a workplace drug test. Lost her job. Spiraled into what looked like alcoholism. Then vanished back to her old life like this entire thing was a temporary fever dream.
And Corey? Well, when you marry someone who thrives on chaos, you don't get stability. You get the sequel. So in the end?
Nobody won. Nobody "stole" anyone. Nobody came out on top. Except maybe me.
Because I got front-row seats to the most unhinged season of: The Pass Around Employee.
And the only thing I walked away with was a reinforced rule: Never sleep where you stock tampons. Especially if he lives with his mother.