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Mar. 18th, 2006 09:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7My feet are sore and I am of mixed humor. This is nothing unusual.
I contemplate calling in sick tomorrow: they are short-staffed, and I know I will be roped into staying late again, without recognition or reward. I'm really not very interested in any of it. I had the sort of day today where one wants to scream at people. Canadians, cheapfuck Canadians all over, as usual, and then the girl who came in at night pissed me right the fuck off, and I was pleasant as I could be to her but could not wait to get out of there. I don't want to work with her again. I am tired of all the new people we hire being idiots. I don't know: it's not that bad a job and yet we keep hiring people who are either incompetent or are arrogant assholes, and seriously, I don't get it.
I especially don't get why they don't appreciate me more, but one supposes that's sort of universally the way of things.
I am considering volunteering to work in the Club tomorrow. My foot hurts and I'm tired and if one more fucking table leaves me ten percent and a glowing review of my excellent service I'm going to run after them with their change and say "you need this more than me." Seriously. Argh.
One kid today after the second time he paid with exact change for his beer, I almost asked him if he tipped like that anywhere he was a regular. "Cuz if you do, hon, I guarantee you drink an awful lot of spit."
(Not that I've ever witnessed or participated in any spitting into anything, but sometimes just thinking about it gets me through my day.)
But my grammar fails me as surely as my sense of humor, and I must be off, off, off, must be off to bed. Even though it's still not even ten pm, if I want to go to the Broadway Market and buy my mother painted Easter eggs, I must to bed, to be up early to go before work, because I have decided to be a nice person and not call in sick, but I am thinking of working in the Club so I can sit on my ass, eat bonbons, and work on my novel. I mean, it'll still be more money than calling in, right? I'll tell them my foot's killing me and yet I didn't want to leave them in the lurch with nobody to staff the place.
Yeah. I'm so fucking nice.
Oh-- if anyone wants me to pick them up anything at the traditional Polish Easter market downtown in Buffalo... handpainted wooden mini easter eggs start at $2... and smoked sausage would ship very well... Redlinski's smoked sausage... drop me an email...
(With any luck I'll be there not only tomorrow but again shortly before Easter because we'll need some fresh goods as well.)
I contemplate calling in sick tomorrow: they are short-staffed, and I know I will be roped into staying late again, without recognition or reward. I'm really not very interested in any of it. I had the sort of day today where one wants to scream at people. Canadians, cheapfuck Canadians all over, as usual, and then the girl who came in at night pissed me right the fuck off, and I was pleasant as I could be to her but could not wait to get out of there. I don't want to work with her again. I am tired of all the new people we hire being idiots. I don't know: it's not that bad a job and yet we keep hiring people who are either incompetent or are arrogant assholes, and seriously, I don't get it.
I especially don't get why they don't appreciate me more, but one supposes that's sort of universally the way of things.
I am considering volunteering to work in the Club tomorrow. My foot hurts and I'm tired and if one more fucking table leaves me ten percent and a glowing review of my excellent service I'm going to run after them with their change and say "you need this more than me." Seriously. Argh.
One kid today after the second time he paid with exact change for his beer, I almost asked him if he tipped like that anywhere he was a regular. "Cuz if you do, hon, I guarantee you drink an awful lot of spit."
(Not that I've ever witnessed or participated in any spitting into anything, but sometimes just thinking about it gets me through my day.)
But my grammar fails me as surely as my sense of humor, and I must be off, off, off, must be off to bed. Even though it's still not even ten pm, if I want to go to the Broadway Market and buy my mother painted Easter eggs, I must to bed, to be up early to go before work, because I have decided to be a nice person and not call in sick, but I am thinking of working in the Club so I can sit on my ass, eat bonbons, and work on my novel. I mean, it'll still be more money than calling in, right? I'll tell them my foot's killing me and yet I didn't want to leave them in the lurch with nobody to staff the place.
Yeah. I'm so fucking nice.
Oh-- if anyone wants me to pick them up anything at the traditional Polish Easter market downtown in Buffalo... handpainted wooden mini easter eggs start at $2... and smoked sausage would ship very well... Redlinski's smoked sausage... drop me an email...
(With any luck I'll be there not only tomorrow but again shortly before Easter because we'll need some fresh goods as well.)
