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dragonlady7borrowed dave's car to get to work at airport.
realized it had no gas.
got gas. became late.
flustered, missed division in highway and ended up going west instead of east on the 33. Looked at Buffalo's skyline, said, "I should be in Cheektowaga right now."
Turned around. Drove like mad.
Parked in wrong lot.
Ran into work. Five minutes late. Was OK.
Mom and Dad hadn't got my message, and thus hadn't faxed my Social Security card.
Most jobs, they'd be like, "no biggie, bring it tomorrow."
But this?
This is an airport. You can't just have people wandering around.
So I had to drive home to get my passport.
Couldn't find it.
Couldn't find it.
Couldn't find it.
Tore the house apart.
Dude, it's like a four-room house. Where the hell else could it be?
How about in a suitcase full of pens in the living room?
Why the fuck not???
Found it. Drove back. Still parked in wrong place. (Forgot to get ticket signed. Cost me $8 to park there. Yay.)
Had to get frisked to go in to work. Mmm. Fun.
Spent longest fucking three hours of my life (up to that date) running around the Landmark bar in the airport. Made $0. (When you're training, you don't get tips. I made a ton of fucking tips for the woman training me. Oh well. Doesn't hurt to be on her good side.)
Got out late. Ran around. Drove like a mad thing to get home.
Changed clothes.
Went to the other bar.
Had forgotten everything I had learned. Also, was tired enough that I was retarded.
That ruled.
I had no fucking idea what I was doing.
Fortunately, it was a slow night. And by slow night, I mean we had like four customers. Sucked for those making tips, but I couldn't have been happier.
Dave, bless his heart, came down and hung out for the last part of the longest six hours to date of my life.
My feet hate me forever. But not as bad as when I did no-break 9.5 hour shifts at the Kwikfill. Worst fucking job ever. This is cake.
I get to do the same thing tomorrow. I won't be able to work the airport bar's system because the neighborhood pub's system is similar enough that I get disoriented. I'll just have figured it out and then I'll be back to the neighborhood pub again and won't know it either.
Go 14-hour days!!!
I get to do this again Thursday and Friday too. Probably not Saturday, though. Not that I know my schedule more than two days in advance. Or, for that matter, twelve hours. I don't even know where I am now.
I'm not even making minimum wage!!
Fuck yeah. Life is good. In that God, I miss being unemployed sort of way.
realized it had no gas.
got gas. became late.
flustered, missed division in highway and ended up going west instead of east on the 33. Looked at Buffalo's skyline, said, "I should be in Cheektowaga right now."
Turned around. Drove like mad.
Parked in wrong lot.
Ran into work. Five minutes late. Was OK.
Mom and Dad hadn't got my message, and thus hadn't faxed my Social Security card.
Most jobs, they'd be like, "no biggie, bring it tomorrow."
But this?
This is an airport. You can't just have people wandering around.
So I had to drive home to get my passport.
Couldn't find it.
Couldn't find it.
Couldn't find it.
Tore the house apart.
Dude, it's like a four-room house. Where the hell else could it be?
How about in a suitcase full of pens in the living room?
Why the fuck not???
Found it. Drove back. Still parked in wrong place. (Forgot to get ticket signed. Cost me $8 to park there. Yay.)
Had to get frisked to go in to work. Mmm. Fun.
Spent longest fucking three hours of my life (up to that date) running around the Landmark bar in the airport. Made $0. (When you're training, you don't get tips. I made a ton of fucking tips for the woman training me. Oh well. Doesn't hurt to be on her good side.)
Got out late. Ran around. Drove like a mad thing to get home.
Changed clothes.
Went to the other bar.
Had forgotten everything I had learned. Also, was tired enough that I was retarded.
That ruled.
I had no fucking idea what I was doing.
Fortunately, it was a slow night. And by slow night, I mean we had like four customers. Sucked for those making tips, but I couldn't have been happier.
Dave, bless his heart, came down and hung out for the last part of the longest six hours to date of my life.
My feet hate me forever. But not as bad as when I did no-break 9.5 hour shifts at the Kwikfill. Worst fucking job ever. This is cake.
I get to do the same thing tomorrow. I won't be able to work the airport bar's system because the neighborhood pub's system is similar enough that I get disoriented. I'll just have figured it out and then I'll be back to the neighborhood pub again and won't know it either.
Go 14-hour days!!!
I get to do this again Thursday and Friday too. Probably not Saturday, though. Not that I know my schedule more than two days in advance. Or, for that matter, twelve hours. I don't even know where I am now.
I'm not even making minimum wage!!
Fuck yeah. Life is good. In that God, I miss being unemployed sort of way.
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no subject
Date: 2004-12-01 07:49 pm (UTC)Good luck!
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Date: 2004-12-02 01:53 am (UTC)Also, Fred the Local Bar's Bartender With Whom I Will Be Sharing Thursdays sent me home early tonight because I "have nothing more to learn". :) (Also, it wasn't busy.)