what the fuck?
Jun. 19th, 2005 10:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Am utterly bewildered, and think it's time to give up on my stupid iJournal livejournal client.
Just posted an entry.
Doesn't show up on my friends' page.
Does show up on my recent entries page.
Um, with two comments that relate to an earlier entry appended to it.
...
The dates on the comments have also been changed, as far as I can tell.
The entry just previous to this one. There's a comment from Kat, responding to an earlier entry that I can't find. And my response to it. Both comments claim to have been posted this morning. Both certainly were not.
The notification email of the comments arrived June 18th, according to Gmail. The comments, according to Livejournal, were posted June 19th. That's a new one on me.
The post in question was this post: Am feeling gross. Customer gesticulated wildly just as I approached his table with a tray containing 2 20-oz glasses of Sam Adams, a glass of pinot grigio, and a rocks glass of Crown Royal. He knocked both glasses of beer over onto me. One fell onto the floor and broke all over my shoes.
The whiskey and the wine were both fine: I didn't drop the tray. But his arm had actually connected with both beer glasses, and I couldn't stop them falling.
He said he was sorry, and his party left a 13% tip, taking so long about counting out the money that they made me late to the cash office so I had to wait in line for an hour. (Yes, I'd given them the check and told them that as soon as they paid I could go home and change. They didn't hurry. I stood by the table and wrung out my apron.)
My shoes were filled. My trousers were soaked. My apron was soaked. My shirt was wet. My vest was wet. I reeked of beer. I will never, ever, ever drink Sam Adams Boston Lager again. It is repulsive. The smell of it is ingrained into the fibre of my being. It's just plain disgusting.
I already had a headache and was feeling nauseated. So the beer intensified it. I got to the cash office, waited in line (mentally charting routes to the nearest garbage can in case the nausea turned active), counted out my bank, and was inexplicably $17 short. Was written up. "Does that mean I'm suspended for a day?" I asked hopefully. No-- it has to be over $20 discrepancy. Well, shit.
I think I know what happened-- I swear to God I had a roll of dimes and a roll of quarters, but I didn't when I opened my bank this morning. I must have taken them out to count them Weds night, and then left them sitting in the cash room. The next person in would not have needed to waste any time to pocket a free $15! But then, it doesn't matter. I'm not off often, so I don't really give a shit.
I am still feeling disgusting (edit: not disgusting in that I feel that I am a repulsive person-- no, disgusting in that if I eat I will hurl. I think I might have some sort of stomach bug), so haven't managed to eat dinner. Am amused by people's comments about the Random Anonymous Dispenser Of Disturbingly Irrelevant Advice, and have inwardly decided that to get Drive-By-Life-Adviced like that must mean that I am now officially an Interesting Blogger. People like Dooce get Drive-By-Life-Adviced all the time, so if it puts me in her category, I'm totally psyched. (Her blog is so popular she makes her living from it. Which is not something I would mind one bit.)
Oog. And the Overmanagerdude asked if I could come into work early tomorrow, instead of at 11, because they're short someone (for the love of GOD, why are all the people junior to me quitting??? one more and I'm in the Club again and DAMN YOU, I would have to hurt someone. [Actually there are two people junior to me still left but one of them is a manager's pet, so they'd stick me in the Club before her. And I would file a union grievance, but I don't think they realize that I actually would do that.]). And I agreed, because they were in a bind, but then, I realized that means that instead of cocktailing at Bar Where I'd Make Money, that means I'll be opening Torture Bar Which Has No Customers. FUCK.
If I wake up tomorrow and still can't eat I am SO calling in sick.
On a positive note, Scheduling Manager noticed my desperate "please other bartenders I cannot cannot work the 2nd of July please someone anyone switch with me please or I will shoot myself" note and ... gave me that day off (to go to Dave's graduation party). Which it turns out, he had simply forgotten to give me.
Which means I won't be calling in sick on July 2nd. (Hm. Which means I could call in tomorrow and it wouldn't be suspiciously regular.)
Oog, I wish I had energy because I need to shower and do laundry, but when I'm too sick to eat somehow the fat reserves never spring to the rescue and bail me out. Fuckers! I lug you around all day for nothing. I am going to drag myself into the shower and then go straight to bed, that's just all there is to it.
A random thought: One of the chic and cool bars on the Elmwood strip downtown is hiring. Should I apply?
When I click the link to the post in my notification email, it takes me to the post I just made.
Apparently somehow it replaced the earlier one. I am sure this is iJournal's fault, because I composed that post in it and attempted to post it that way and it hung, so I quit it. I deleted that post from it and posted it using the web client. This morning I restarted iJournal, re-logged-in, and posted that post I just made. Somehow, it had that entry's ID number or something in it, and so it posted it as the time it is now, but backdated it so it's not on my friend's page, and overwrote the earlier entry, and kept its comments but changed their date, which is retarded.
So yes. There you have it. My system of notifiers is breaking down because nobody else can program like Dave. His Gmail notifier is working awesomely, by the way.
Now if only he gave a shit about LJ and would fix me up an LJ notifier/client THAT ACTUALLY WORKED.
Just posted an entry.
Doesn't show up on my friends' page.
Does show up on my recent entries page.
Um, with two comments that relate to an earlier entry appended to it.
...
The dates on the comments have also been changed, as far as I can tell.
The entry just previous to this one. There's a comment from Kat, responding to an earlier entry that I can't find. And my response to it. Both comments claim to have been posted this morning. Both certainly were not.
The notification email of the comments arrived June 18th, according to Gmail. The comments, according to Livejournal, were posted June 19th. That's a new one on me.
The post in question was this post: Am feeling gross. Customer gesticulated wildly just as I approached his table with a tray containing 2 20-oz glasses of Sam Adams, a glass of pinot grigio, and a rocks glass of Crown Royal. He knocked both glasses of beer over onto me. One fell onto the floor and broke all over my shoes.
The whiskey and the wine were both fine: I didn't drop the tray. But his arm had actually connected with both beer glasses, and I couldn't stop them falling.
He said he was sorry, and his party left a 13% tip, taking so long about counting out the money that they made me late to the cash office so I had to wait in line for an hour. (Yes, I'd given them the check and told them that as soon as they paid I could go home and change. They didn't hurry. I stood by the table and wrung out my apron.)
My shoes were filled. My trousers were soaked. My apron was soaked. My shirt was wet. My vest was wet. I reeked of beer. I will never, ever, ever drink Sam Adams Boston Lager again. It is repulsive. The smell of it is ingrained into the fibre of my being. It's just plain disgusting.
I already had a headache and was feeling nauseated. So the beer intensified it. I got to the cash office, waited in line (mentally charting routes to the nearest garbage can in case the nausea turned active), counted out my bank, and was inexplicably $17 short. Was written up. "Does that mean I'm suspended for a day?" I asked hopefully. No-- it has to be over $20 discrepancy. Well, shit.
I think I know what happened-- I swear to God I had a roll of dimes and a roll of quarters, but I didn't when I opened my bank this morning. I must have taken them out to count them Weds night, and then left them sitting in the cash room. The next person in would not have needed to waste any time to pocket a free $15! But then, it doesn't matter. I'm not off often, so I don't really give a shit.
I am still feeling disgusting (edit: not disgusting in that I feel that I am a repulsive person-- no, disgusting in that if I eat I will hurl. I think I might have some sort of stomach bug), so haven't managed to eat dinner. Am amused by people's comments about the Random Anonymous Dispenser Of Disturbingly Irrelevant Advice, and have inwardly decided that to get Drive-By-Life-Adviced like that must mean that I am now officially an Interesting Blogger. People like Dooce get Drive-By-Life-Adviced all the time, so if it puts me in her category, I'm totally psyched. (Her blog is so popular she makes her living from it. Which is not something I would mind one bit.)
Oog. And the Overmanagerdude asked if I could come into work early tomorrow, instead of at 11, because they're short someone (for the love of GOD, why are all the people junior to me quitting??? one more and I'm in the Club again and DAMN YOU, I would have to hurt someone. [Actually there are two people junior to me still left but one of them is a manager's pet, so they'd stick me in the Club before her. And I would file a union grievance, but I don't think they realize that I actually would do that.]). And I agreed, because they were in a bind, but then, I realized that means that instead of cocktailing at Bar Where I'd Make Money, that means I'll be opening Torture Bar Which Has No Customers. FUCK.
If I wake up tomorrow and still can't eat I am SO calling in sick.
On a positive note, Scheduling Manager noticed my desperate "please other bartenders I cannot cannot work the 2nd of July please someone anyone switch with me please or I will shoot myself" note and ... gave me that day off (to go to Dave's graduation party). Which it turns out, he had simply forgotten to give me.
Which means I won't be calling in sick on July 2nd. (Hm. Which means I could call in tomorrow and it wouldn't be suspiciously regular.)
Oog, I wish I had energy because I need to shower and do laundry, but when I'm too sick to eat somehow the fat reserves never spring to the rescue and bail me out. Fuckers! I lug you around all day for nothing. I am going to drag myself into the shower and then go straight to bed, that's just all there is to it.
A random thought: One of the chic and cool bars on the Elmwood strip downtown is hiring. Should I apply?
When I click the link to the post in my notification email, it takes me to the post I just made.
Apparently somehow it replaced the earlier one. I am sure this is iJournal's fault, because I composed that post in it and attempted to post it that way and it hung, so I quit it. I deleted that post from it and posted it using the web client. This morning I restarted iJournal, re-logged-in, and posted that post I just made. Somehow, it had that entry's ID number or something in it, and so it posted it as the time it is now, but backdated it so it's not on my friend's page, and overwrote the earlier entry, and kept its comments but changed their date, which is retarded.
So yes. There you have it. My system of notifiers is breaking down because nobody else can program like Dave. His Gmail notifier is working awesomely, by the way.
Now if only he gave a shit about LJ and would fix me up an LJ notifier/client THAT ACTUALLY WORKED.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-06-20 12:46 pm (UTC)