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dragonlady7I complained of a cold ass, so now Z is curled around me. He has fallen asleep and when I speak to him or scritch his head, he says, "Hm," through his nose. Meaning, "I am asleep and don't bother me."
Which is adorable. I must keep him.
I have just spent in excess of $300 at L.L.Bean, because I need a new backpack. My old one is holy shit, twelve or thirteen years old now. (Wait. I was a sophomore. No. A freshman. Wait. Hm. 1993? 94?) Also the zipper has gone, so I have been stealing Z's backpack, and the bastard keeps stealing it back.
I also bought us both fuzzy slippers, him two pairs of pants, and myself a decent fall jacket, since I sort of don't have one. (I have a, oh God can I say this in writing? A jeans jacket that my mom cross-stitched on. I don't know how old it is, but I should mention that in the right-hand pocket it has a piece of paper with a grocery list on it from 1998, which I have left in there because it amuses me. Oh, 99-- Easter 99-- which I spent with my sister, at college. I bought a ham and some potatoes and some lettuce.)
I figure what the hell? Z's last pair of black pants are purple now, as he got them when he was in high scool. Also neither he nor I bought me anything for my birthday apart from the trip to Toronto, so I am due something.
Work today was actually a ton of fun. I was assigned to train a new hire, but it was her fourth day of training--I myself was only given three days' training, for some perspective. This particular new hire was so completely useless her first day that SCW and I were contemplating violence, but her second day she showed up and was astonishingly competent. Today I said, "Well, why don't we just pretend that you're on your own. You wait on that section, I'll do this one, and if you get in over your head, holler and I'll bail you out."
She chose the busier section, and I kept my eye on her but she didn't need anything. Occasionally she would turn to me and say, "Do you need any help?" I would laugh: I spent all this free time cleaning things. (Scrubbed the dishwasher and sinks, polished the cooler doors and assorted stainless-steel surfaces, polished the brass beer taps, reorganized the storage cupboard.)
It was busy-ish today, but not quite busy enough for two people (which is important: I had been considering making a recommendation to the schedulers that they put a second person on, and kept not quite being sure. Now I'm sure: it's not enough for two people. But it's kind of too much for one, argh. Hey, as of next week, I'm not working that shift anymore; I hope someone new and hungry gets it, because that sort won't mind being slightly too busy for one. Means good money as long as you keep your head). She did the majority of the work. But trainee waitresses, universally, don't earn tips. I expected she'd whine: I felt guilty when I counted out over a hundred dollars in my tip jar, most of which she had put there.
She didn't complain or even sigh at all.
After she made our deposit at the end of the night (which was accurate to the penny, even though there were more than a thousand dollars in sales all told), I told her that she was officially done with training.
"Really?" she asked, excited. (I thought, what? You were there too. You saw you not screw up. Come on.)
"You were great," I said. "You didn't need me at all. You're entirely prepared to work on your own. You'll do just fine." I wasn't exaggerating. She did fine, on a busy day, with almost no help.
Excited, she squealed and hugged me, taking me entirely off-guard. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, "thank you thank you!"
Somebody seems to have kind of low self-esteem. Well, maybe just confidence issues. I owe her a drink, though. She did good and I had a very unstressful shift. Of our thousand-odd in sales, I probably did about three hundred, at the most. I'm hardly sore or bruised at all, and yet my tip jar is as hefty as if I'd gotten drop-kicked around the room like last month.
Wish I'd get trainees on their last days more often. ;)
Which is adorable. I must keep him.
I have just spent in excess of $300 at L.L.Bean, because I need a new backpack. My old one is holy shit, twelve or thirteen years old now. (Wait. I was a sophomore. No. A freshman. Wait. Hm. 1993? 94?) Also the zipper has gone, so I have been stealing Z's backpack, and the bastard keeps stealing it back.
I also bought us both fuzzy slippers, him two pairs of pants, and myself a decent fall jacket, since I sort of don't have one. (I have a, oh God can I say this in writing? A jeans jacket that my mom cross-stitched on. I don't know how old it is, but I should mention that in the right-hand pocket it has a piece of paper with a grocery list on it from 1998, which I have left in there because it amuses me. Oh, 99-- Easter 99-- which I spent with my sister, at college. I bought a ham and some potatoes and some lettuce.)
I figure what the hell? Z's last pair of black pants are purple now, as he got them when he was in high scool. Also neither he nor I bought me anything for my birthday apart from the trip to Toronto, so I am due something.
Work today was actually a ton of fun. I was assigned to train a new hire, but it was her fourth day of training--I myself was only given three days' training, for some perspective. This particular new hire was so completely useless her first day that SCW and I were contemplating violence, but her second day she showed up and was astonishingly competent. Today I said, "Well, why don't we just pretend that you're on your own. You wait on that section, I'll do this one, and if you get in over your head, holler and I'll bail you out."
She chose the busier section, and I kept my eye on her but she didn't need anything. Occasionally she would turn to me and say, "Do you need any help?" I would laugh: I spent all this free time cleaning things. (Scrubbed the dishwasher and sinks, polished the cooler doors and assorted stainless-steel surfaces, polished the brass beer taps, reorganized the storage cupboard.)
It was busy-ish today, but not quite busy enough for two people (which is important: I had been considering making a recommendation to the schedulers that they put a second person on, and kept not quite being sure. Now I'm sure: it's not enough for two people. But it's kind of too much for one, argh. Hey, as of next week, I'm not working that shift anymore; I hope someone new and hungry gets it, because that sort won't mind being slightly too busy for one. Means good money as long as you keep your head). She did the majority of the work. But trainee waitresses, universally, don't earn tips. I expected she'd whine: I felt guilty when I counted out over a hundred dollars in my tip jar, most of which she had put there.
She didn't complain or even sigh at all.
After she made our deposit at the end of the night (which was accurate to the penny, even though there were more than a thousand dollars in sales all told), I told her that she was officially done with training.
"Really?" she asked, excited. (I thought, what? You were there too. You saw you not screw up. Come on.)
"You were great," I said. "You didn't need me at all. You're entirely prepared to work on your own. You'll do just fine." I wasn't exaggerating. She did fine, on a busy day, with almost no help.
Excited, she squealed and hugged me, taking me entirely off-guard. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, "thank you thank you!"
Somebody seems to have kind of low self-esteem. Well, maybe just confidence issues. I owe her a drink, though. She did good and I had a very unstressful shift. Of our thousand-odd in sales, I probably did about three hundred, at the most. I'm hardly sore or bruised at all, and yet my tip jar is as hefty as if I'd gotten drop-kicked around the room like last month.
Wish I'd get trainees on their last days more often. ;)
