*crawls into hole, dies*
Dec. 24th, 2004 11:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7I guess I should cut this, because people are probably in the mood for Christmas cheer. I'm sorry. I wanted to be.
I spent the earlier part of the day dealing with the fact that the woman working the until-4:30 shift sharing the bar was being ill-tempered and territorial. She about took my head off because a customer of mine moved to the bar (her territory) and I continued to wait on her. Dude. She'd been buying stuff from me all day. I was just continuing. Jesus. Someone comes up to me and hands me money for something, I'm supposed to refuse them? Half a dozen times I'd go hand the money to Grumpy Woman, but she'd get pissed off at that too. I couldn't win, and I tried not to be much bothered by it, but my armor wasn't exactly at full strength. I am coming down with a chest cold of some sort and my throat is killing me and I'm feeling, y'know, sick and pathetic. Not precisely at my professional, hard-working, thick-skinned best. But I'm not going to call in sick on Christmas/Eve. That's not fair to the other poor schmuck who'd have to work for me who'd already made plans for the day. See, that makes me a good person. See below about not good people.
It was moderately busy, but mostly it got busy on the other side of the security barrier, as more and more people arrived at the airport to pick up people who were on planes that weren't landing. See, there was lake effect snow. My first clue was that when I sent food orders over to the nearby kitchens (on the other side of security), they weren't coming. They just weren't sending the food. Which meant that my already-grumpy passengers (flights were starting to get delayed) were getting ferocious.
I made a negligible quantity of tips for the entire shift.
Which. By the way. Was more than an eight hour shift. Shall I explain?
When Grumpy Woman left at 4:30, she was replaced by Happy-Go-Lucky Fella. Happy-Go-Lucky Fella (HGLF, we'll say: also, file him under not good people) showed up to work today without his security badge. Meaning he couldn't do his job, as there's a security door we have to go through, and also if we want coffee or milk or baguettes, or, well, most anything, we have to run over to the other bars or coffee shops to get it-- and he couldn't leave the room without his badge.
It seems highly likely that HGLF "forgot" his badge accidentally on purpose, because he thought they'd let him go home early.
This is not what happened.
What happened is that I had to stay and close the bar.
With him happily waiting on customers (and making money, from the by-now resigned and happily drinking travelers) while I did all the heavy lifting and repetitive opening of the security door. And, might I add, made no money.
He must've made more money in that half a shift than I made in my entire shift.
And I had to stand there.
And stand there.
And lift some heavy things.
And stand there.
Because I couldn't leave. Not even after everything was done.
Because I had to escort him to the other bar, which was swamped with people (and at which you make more money).
So, HGLF didn't get to go home, but he had a pretty good night. At my expense.
I got out to my car an hour and a half late. And there were two feet of snow on it. And I was tired. And I was sullen. And I was resentful. And I hate HGLF for the rest of his hopefully-short life.
So there I am, over an hour and a half late, in the half-plowed parking lot, with a snow brush, my car in a snow drift, me in my sneakers covered all over my whole body in light fluffy snow like the Abominable Snowman, sobbing. Just sobbing. Sobbing about how tired I am. Sobbing because I missed Christmas Eve dinner. (Best part-- I said resignedly to HGLF that I'd just called home to tell them not to wait dinner. "I'm missing dinner too," he said. Well no SHIT, boy. You were on the schedule until 9:30. You KNEW you were missing dinner. You had THREE WEEKS' NOTICE that you'd be missing dinner. YOU HAD TIME TO MAKE OTHER PLANS, YOU LITTLE FUCKER. "Well I have to open tomorrow," he says. SO DO I, and you KNEW that.) Sobbing because there were about fifteen cubic feet of snow between my car and the nearest plowed roadway. Sobbing because there were rumors in the airport (unsubstantiated ones, naturally, because all the bar tvs? Tuned to CNN and Fox News, who are not going to tell you shit about Buffalo) that Erie Co. had a no-travel advisory and the roads were closed. (That happens here. Turns out it wasn't the case. Not that anyone could tell me that.) Sobbing because it was almost nine and I didn't know if I'd be able to get any Christmas Eve at all.
I made it to Dave's mom's house, soaked to the skin, just after 9 pm. I was tired, and nauseated. I ate some of Christmas dinner. It was probably tasty. I couldn't tell you for sure. (I ate it entirely alone, because everyone else was busy, except Bert, who isn't much of a conversationalist. I hate to eat alone.) I opened some of my presents, but felt weird because nobody else was really opening presents. Then Dave opened a present from his mom and sister-- a sock monkey and a book of pictures of sock monkeys, and they all laughed for a good hour.
And I felt really... left out.
Well, this isn't my home. I'm not at home. These aren't my traditions and inside jokes.
Right now my family is at my uncle's house eating something bizarre that he's concocted, and huddling on the love seat by the gas fireplace. Then they'll go home and put out milk and cookies for Santa. Then they'll all go to bed so Mom and Dad can do some mysterious thing to make Santa appear. Then, tomorrow morning, they'll all get up at seven on the dot and go running into Mom and Dad's room and jump on their bed. And then they'll go downstairs and there will magically be gifts under the tree. And then they'll open stocking gifts, and then they'll eat sticky buns, and then they'll wait for Uncle Pete and Gram to come, and then they'll open the rest of the gifts, and then...
You know. The traditions. That's my family. And I have a place in all those traditions, and they all exuberantly and demonstratively love me, and want to include me, and value my presence, and I know their mannerisms and they know mine, and... well, they're my family. This isn't, and here I am alone because Dave's grumpy and sullen and has gone down to finish his Kringle gift that he's not done with yet. (Mine? Lame.) I told him I needed a hug before he went downstairs and he stood woodenly, annoyed, as I sniffled on his shoulder because I was tired and exhausted and homesick and heartsick that I don't get a Christmas. Dave just isn't the demonstrative type, I guess. Also, not the reassuring type. Also, not the type who deals with girls who cry, I guess.
I'm sorry. I know there are people all over the world having much worse Christmasses than me. I met many today. No planes took off or landed in Buffalo from about four until probably sometime after midnight tonight. There were people stranded all over the place. People are stuck hundreds of miles from home. Dave's cousin Helen is supposed to be here tonight, but her flight was rerouted to Syracuse. She doesn't know anyone in Syracuse. God knows when she'll get here.
So yes, it could be much worse.
But that doesn't mean it's better.
I just wish I was with people who loved me, and say so, and... I should stop now because it's not going to get any better if I whine, either.
So, in short, Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, or appreciate it, and a big hug to everyone regardless of Christmas, because everyone needs a big hug. And I hope you're all doing better than I am. And you know, I still won't say that I don't like snow, but really, next person who sings "white christmas" to me is getting smacked. Unless they mean it. In which case they get hugged. Because everyone needs hugs.
Especially me.
I spent the earlier part of the day dealing with the fact that the woman working the until-4:30 shift sharing the bar was being ill-tempered and territorial. She about took my head off because a customer of mine moved to the bar (her territory) and I continued to wait on her. Dude. She'd been buying stuff from me all day. I was just continuing. Jesus. Someone comes up to me and hands me money for something, I'm supposed to refuse them? Half a dozen times I'd go hand the money to Grumpy Woman, but she'd get pissed off at that too. I couldn't win, and I tried not to be much bothered by it, but my armor wasn't exactly at full strength. I am coming down with a chest cold of some sort and my throat is killing me and I'm feeling, y'know, sick and pathetic. Not precisely at my professional, hard-working, thick-skinned best. But I'm not going to call in sick on Christmas/Eve. That's not fair to the other poor schmuck who'd have to work for me who'd already made plans for the day. See, that makes me a good person. See below about not good people.
It was moderately busy, but mostly it got busy on the other side of the security barrier, as more and more people arrived at the airport to pick up people who were on planes that weren't landing. See, there was lake effect snow. My first clue was that when I sent food orders over to the nearby kitchens (on the other side of security), they weren't coming. They just weren't sending the food. Which meant that my already-grumpy passengers (flights were starting to get delayed) were getting ferocious.
I made a negligible quantity of tips for the entire shift.
Which. By the way. Was more than an eight hour shift. Shall I explain?
When Grumpy Woman left at 4:30, she was replaced by Happy-Go-Lucky Fella. Happy-Go-Lucky Fella (HGLF, we'll say: also, file him under not good people) showed up to work today without his security badge. Meaning he couldn't do his job, as there's a security door we have to go through, and also if we want coffee or milk or baguettes, or, well, most anything, we have to run over to the other bars or coffee shops to get it-- and he couldn't leave the room without his badge.
It seems highly likely that HGLF "forgot" his badge accidentally on purpose, because he thought they'd let him go home early.
This is not what happened.
What happened is that I had to stay and close the bar.
With him happily waiting on customers (and making money, from the by-now resigned and happily drinking travelers) while I did all the heavy lifting and repetitive opening of the security door. And, might I add, made no money.
He must've made more money in that half a shift than I made in my entire shift.
And I had to stand there.
And stand there.
And lift some heavy things.
And stand there.
Because I couldn't leave. Not even after everything was done.
Because I had to escort him to the other bar, which was swamped with people (and at which you make more money).
So, HGLF didn't get to go home, but he had a pretty good night. At my expense.
I got out to my car an hour and a half late. And there were two feet of snow on it. And I was tired. And I was sullen. And I was resentful. And I hate HGLF for the rest of his hopefully-short life.
So there I am, over an hour and a half late, in the half-plowed parking lot, with a snow brush, my car in a snow drift, me in my sneakers covered all over my whole body in light fluffy snow like the Abominable Snowman, sobbing. Just sobbing. Sobbing about how tired I am. Sobbing because I missed Christmas Eve dinner. (Best part-- I said resignedly to HGLF that I'd just called home to tell them not to wait dinner. "I'm missing dinner too," he said. Well no SHIT, boy. You were on the schedule until 9:30. You KNEW you were missing dinner. You had THREE WEEKS' NOTICE that you'd be missing dinner. YOU HAD TIME TO MAKE OTHER PLANS, YOU LITTLE FUCKER. "Well I have to open tomorrow," he says. SO DO I, and you KNEW that.) Sobbing because there were about fifteen cubic feet of snow between my car and the nearest plowed roadway. Sobbing because there were rumors in the airport (unsubstantiated ones, naturally, because all the bar tvs? Tuned to CNN and Fox News, who are not going to tell you shit about Buffalo) that Erie Co. had a no-travel advisory and the roads were closed. (That happens here. Turns out it wasn't the case. Not that anyone could tell me that.) Sobbing because it was almost nine and I didn't know if I'd be able to get any Christmas Eve at all.
I made it to Dave's mom's house, soaked to the skin, just after 9 pm. I was tired, and nauseated. I ate some of Christmas dinner. It was probably tasty. I couldn't tell you for sure. (I ate it entirely alone, because everyone else was busy, except Bert, who isn't much of a conversationalist. I hate to eat alone.) I opened some of my presents, but felt weird because nobody else was really opening presents. Then Dave opened a present from his mom and sister-- a sock monkey and a book of pictures of sock monkeys, and they all laughed for a good hour.
And I felt really... left out.
Well, this isn't my home. I'm not at home. These aren't my traditions and inside jokes.
Right now my family is at my uncle's house eating something bizarre that he's concocted, and huddling on the love seat by the gas fireplace. Then they'll go home and put out milk and cookies for Santa. Then they'll all go to bed so Mom and Dad can do some mysterious thing to make Santa appear. Then, tomorrow morning, they'll all get up at seven on the dot and go running into Mom and Dad's room and jump on their bed. And then they'll go downstairs and there will magically be gifts under the tree. And then they'll open stocking gifts, and then they'll eat sticky buns, and then they'll wait for Uncle Pete and Gram to come, and then they'll open the rest of the gifts, and then...
You know. The traditions. That's my family. And I have a place in all those traditions, and they all exuberantly and demonstratively love me, and want to include me, and value my presence, and I know their mannerisms and they know mine, and... well, they're my family. This isn't, and here I am alone because Dave's grumpy and sullen and has gone down to finish his Kringle gift that he's not done with yet. (Mine? Lame.) I told him I needed a hug before he went downstairs and he stood woodenly, annoyed, as I sniffled on his shoulder because I was tired and exhausted and homesick and heartsick that I don't get a Christmas. Dave just isn't the demonstrative type, I guess. Also, not the reassuring type. Also, not the type who deals with girls who cry, I guess.
I'm sorry. I know there are people all over the world having much worse Christmasses than me. I met many today. No planes took off or landed in Buffalo from about four until probably sometime after midnight tonight. There were people stranded all over the place. People are stuck hundreds of miles from home. Dave's cousin Helen is supposed to be here tonight, but her flight was rerouted to Syracuse. She doesn't know anyone in Syracuse. God knows when she'll get here.
So yes, it could be much worse.
But that doesn't mean it's better.
I just wish I was with people who loved me, and say so, and... I should stop now because it's not going to get any better if I whine, either.
So, in short, Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, or appreciate it, and a big hug to everyone regardless of Christmas, because everyone needs a big hug. And I hope you're all doing better than I am. And you know, I still won't say that I don't like snow, but really, next person who sings "white christmas" to me is getting smacked. Unless they mean it. In which case they get hugged. Because everyone needs hugs.
Especially me.
no subject
Date: 2004-12-25 06:32 pm (UTC)Oh, and as requested... one hug, extra large size.
-q
no subject
Date: 2004-12-26 12:07 am (UTC)