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Just two more days of work and I'm done. I can laze around and enjoy myself without overindulging in thumb-twiddling to the point where it's no longer fun. This week they have me cranked in for a full forty hours, but I reckon I'll be hitting overtime anyway because whoever does the scheduling - and the angry beam in my head (schuldig) swears it's Jonny the moronic intern (not to be confused with a homicidal maniac). I made it through a long haul, but I can say that I'm tired of the criticism I get at work. It's easy for the managers to come out and stand by the front and occasionally yell into their walkies what they think we ought to do and how we ought to do it, but heaven forbid one of them drags their ass out of bed at the crack of dawn and is on their feet for nine hours keeping the store running. I was especially pissed when Trisha said the other GS girls and the boss Catherine would like it if I kept the desk clean at night before I left. I was doubly pissed off this morning when Heidi called the front lanes (I was back in the purgatory-with-a-facelift called cashiering) and wanted to know why the chargebacks hadn't gone out last night. It was with great satisfaction that I informed her Megan had closed the night before. Obviously someone hasn't been paying attention to the scheduling or they'd know who was leaving the desk a mess at night.
I love you, Del. Don't worry. And I know you're not the type of girl to steal a buddha.
It seems I'm sort of back in my writing groove. I wrote some weird stuff at work that I have to paste into my random writing journal, and I think the impending time off will allow me to get back on track with the murder mystery. I actually wrote a poem, for once. It's not a great poem, but it has a pretty awesome twist. I'll show it to BenTen (who, along with Del, has the misfortune of being my literary sounding board) and get some help.
After feeling dead the last couple of days and going to work feeling pretty shoddy (I had a line all set up for Catherine if she asked: "Je ne suis pas heureuse parce-que je n'ai pas bien dormi") I managed to perk up a bit all in the name of cashiering. The new cashier supervisor, Marion, is awesome when it comes to breaks. He's totally on the ball. As opposed to Nick who, though sweet, sends me off to lunch two hours late.
I can make it, gang, I can.
I love you, Del. Don't worry. And I know you're not the type of girl to steal a buddha.
It seems I'm sort of back in my writing groove. I wrote some weird stuff at work that I have to paste into my random writing journal, and I think the impending time off will allow me to get back on track with the murder mystery. I actually wrote a poem, for once. It's not a great poem, but it has a pretty awesome twist. I'll show it to BenTen (who, along with Del, has the misfortune of being my literary sounding board) and get some help.
After feeling dead the last couple of days and going to work feeling pretty shoddy (I had a line all set up for Catherine if she asked: "Je ne suis pas heureuse parce-que je n'ai pas bien dormi") I managed to perk up a bit all in the name of cashiering. The new cashier supervisor, Marion, is awesome when it comes to breaks. He's totally on the ball. As opposed to Nick who, though sweet, sends me off to lunch two hours late.
I can make it, gang, I can.
