Screw it, I'm starting a regular journal again
(No, this doesn't mean I'll quit writing. Just that I may as well update with non-story-related shit once in a while, to prove that I'm A. a human being and B. not dead. Plus I may as well bitch to the vast and indifferent Internet as to my vast and indifferent family.)
So, work sucked today. I hate Saturdays not just because they're busy as hell, but because I have to work with nincompoops. The weekday morning staff is largely competent, but Saturday we have two wonders I shall call here Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee. Tweedle-dum does prep, Tweedle-dee makes biscuits. Tweedle-dee whines about making all those biscuits, despite it being what she was hired to do. Tweedle-dum likes to think she does everything in the store, in fact, but what she really does best is complain. She complained about Tweedle-dee being hired, saying she 'don't do nothin', but of course she's plenty nice to Tweedle-dee's face, and they both go about cheerfully doin' nothin' together. It's far too much to ask for them to start on the dishes or even fill up my sink before I arrive at NINE (the weekday staff never has a problem with it), and god forbid they make tea if we need it before I get there. So basically I am without help on the busiest day of the week.
For some reason today we were 'pre-washing', which involves washing virtually every dish in the entire store that wasn't in use at that exact moment, nearly doubling my normal workload. On top of that, when I came in, we were almost out of tea (I have to make the tea too). This put me into octopus mode, trying to do eight things at once with only a fraction of the necessary number of limbs.
Then one of the assistant managers for the shift comes back, saying we're out of pies. That's Tweedle-dum's job, but she's elsewhere occupied. So manager asks me if I can take out the pies and box them up. Mind, she asks me this while standing there with both hands free, while I'm frantically stirring one of several buckets of tea. I said that no, I really couldn't, find someone else, but she was already walking away. I swore, threw the stirring-spoon aside and tore open the oven door.
Wrong oven.
I shut it and went to open the right one. But the door wouldn't stay shut. I slammed it, and it flew open even harder, and I slammed it again, yelling an oath that made Jesus cry, and got ready to kick the shit out of it--
The maintenance man, who is an utter sweetheart, caught me gently by both shoulders. "Hey now, easy. I'll take care of it."
He took out the pies and boxed them up while I stood by the sink taking deep breaths and getting my shit together. Then I went back to work. A little later the assistant manager herself came back to help me with dishes and make the tea herself, and I actually wound up getting out of there an hour early. I'm getting dangerously close to liking her. Then again, it did annoy me that she seemed to find my near-breakdown amusing. Have you ever seen a bipolar person flip their shit? It's not pretty. I haven't come near that level of stress at work in a while, and I'm extremely grateful to our maintenance man.
Now that I'm sitting down, I think I might not get up for a month or so. My feet feel like they've been beaten in a Turkish prison, and my back may as well be in three or four pieces for all the support it has. Screw my evening walk, I call this exercise enough.
There will be drinking of whiskey tonight.
So, work sucked today. I hate Saturdays not just because they're busy as hell, but because I have to work with nincompoops. The weekday morning staff is largely competent, but Saturday we have two wonders I shall call here Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee. Tweedle-dum does prep, Tweedle-dee makes biscuits. Tweedle-dee whines about making all those biscuits, despite it being what she was hired to do. Tweedle-dum likes to think she does everything in the store, in fact, but what she really does best is complain. She complained about Tweedle-dee being hired, saying she 'don't do nothin', but of course she's plenty nice to Tweedle-dee's face, and they both go about cheerfully doin' nothin' together. It's far too much to ask for them to start on the dishes or even fill up my sink before I arrive at NINE (the weekday staff never has a problem with it), and god forbid they make tea if we need it before I get there. So basically I am without help on the busiest day of the week.
For some reason today we were 'pre-washing', which involves washing virtually every dish in the entire store that wasn't in use at that exact moment, nearly doubling my normal workload. On top of that, when I came in, we were almost out of tea (I have to make the tea too). This put me into octopus mode, trying to do eight things at once with only a fraction of the necessary number of limbs.
Then one of the assistant managers for the shift comes back, saying we're out of pies. That's Tweedle-dum's job, but she's elsewhere occupied. So manager asks me if I can take out the pies and box them up. Mind, she asks me this while standing there with both hands free, while I'm frantically stirring one of several buckets of tea. I said that no, I really couldn't, find someone else, but she was already walking away. I swore, threw the stirring-spoon aside and tore open the oven door.
Wrong oven.
I shut it and went to open the right one. But the door wouldn't stay shut. I slammed it, and it flew open even harder, and I slammed it again, yelling an oath that made Jesus cry, and got ready to kick the shit out of it--
The maintenance man, who is an utter sweetheart, caught me gently by both shoulders. "Hey now, easy. I'll take care of it."
He took out the pies and boxed them up while I stood by the sink taking deep breaths and getting my shit together. Then I went back to work. A little later the assistant manager herself came back to help me with dishes and make the tea herself, and I actually wound up getting out of there an hour early. I'm getting dangerously close to liking her. Then again, it did annoy me that she seemed to find my near-breakdown amusing. Have you ever seen a bipolar person flip their shit? It's not pretty. I haven't come near that level of stress at work in a while, and I'm extremely grateful to our maintenance man.
Now that I'm sitting down, I think I might not get up for a month or so. My feet feel like they've been beaten in a Turkish prison, and my back may as well be in three or four pieces for all the support it has. Screw my evening walk, I call this exercise enough.
There will be drinking of whiskey tonight.