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dragonlady7I am tired and more than ready for it to be the weekend already. Bleah.
Not that I have today off, because I don't. But tonight-- I have tonight off.
All that I have done this week has gone awry. There have just been the most elaborate wrongnesses, all week.
* Z's interview, which started the week off on a hopeful note, has become more of a stressful thing: they said, "We'll be deciding this week," said he'd either get a letter or a phone call-- "A call is good, a letter is bad," they explained. Well, as of this morning, nothing. Which probably means a letter.
* To briefly recap, Tues it was busy and I hurt my back [not a sharp pull, but a day-long accumulation of tiny strains making it very unpleasant but not unbearable-- count your blessings I guess but good Lord those were two unpleasant shifts] slipping on the wet floor, and ditto for Weds; Weds night I was excited to get out early but due to a lack of cellphone on Z's part I wound up sitting for just over an hour trying to get in touch with him.
* Yesterday was a super-busy shift but another co-worker has adjusted her schedule so that her seniority means she can bump me, so I was down at Torture Bar with a coworker who's amusing enough, but inefficient, which means I have to catch up on things around him. He dropped an entire bottle of triple sec on the floor, meaning the floor was both slippery and sticky. And customers were snarky, rude, unpleasant, unappreciative, and at times downright ridiculous. "This room is a little warm," one man pulled me aside to chide me. "Yes," I said, "It is unpleasantly warm, and neither I nor my company has any control over the thermostat." And walked away. Not In The Mood. Couldn't even make it a joke.
*As I'm cashing out, someone calls the cash office. The cash office lady looks through her little window into the cash room. "Is there a set of keys there?" "Yes," I say, and hold up a keychain someone has left lying on the counter. "They're [cashier]'s," she says. "Hey," I say, "she takes the 30 bus. I'll be on the 30 bus. I'll bring them down with me!" "Ok," the cash office girl says, and hangs up. (Note: that is all she said, "OK." I was too tired to notice that she didn't repeat my message to [Cashier].)
I bring the keys down to the bus stop. I wait 20 minutes for the bus. The bus pulls up, bitchy bus driver I don't like (she drives like she's having a seizure and is always significantly late) gets off with her weird retarded friend (I mean that literally, lest you flame me: he is an obviously mentally-handicapped young man who spends every single bus ride standing beside her talking to her and gesticulating oddly, and never pays a fare: he might be a relative? she might be babysitting him? he never gets off the bus) and goes into the airport for her break without letting us on (they're supposed to let you on), then comes out at precisely the time the bus is to leave, and lets us on. It is not until I am on the bus that I notice that [cashier] isn't there. The bus leaves immediately, before I have a chance to get off.
I call the office. [Cashier] is not up there either. I leave a message: I am sorry, I have them, I will be in shortly after her scheduled time the next morning.
I get a call half an hour later from the manager. [Cashier] needs the keys to get into her locker, into her house. I had feared this. I promise I will be back with them in about 40 minutes, but that's the soonest I can return.
So I get home, collect Z, drive to the airport, apologize to [Cashier], and then proceed to drive her to her home, which is not far from Bailey Ave, which is a major street I know. She is sweet, apologetic, sleepy, and concerned that we will get lost in her neighborhood. (It is on the Dreaded East Side where White People Do Not Venture. The main drag was bars and liquor stores, but all the side streets were charming little houses, mostly well-maintained, and I thought, this is not a slum. I've been there before, and it's a shame how little attention is paid to the monolithic "East Side": parts of it, I have seen, are terrible, but much of it is not, and yet my peer group won't venture into any of it. The rest of Buffalo is divided into tiny neighborhoods with charming names, but for the most part nobody bothers with neighborhood names for the East Side anymore. if it's east of Main St. we avoid it.) We refuse to make her walk from the end of her block and drive down her one-way street to her house. She is so worried we'll get lost. To get back to Bailey all we have to do is drive around a loop of one-way streets. Contrary to the theme of my week... we do not get lost.
The only reason I took the keys in the first place is because [Cashier] rides the bus with me often and is a sweet girl who I like very much. I was only trying to do her a favor. I didn't ever think that she'd deliberately wait for a later bus. But the spastic driver being persistently late means [Cashier] misses her transfer to the 13 bus some nights, I guess, so she was going to take the downtown bus instead because it drops her near Kensington.
But. That's the theme of this week. The best-laid plans going awry.
Today I am going to try to chill out. Just chill the fuck out. Tonight a friend from Rochester will probably be in town. Dinner would be nice. Z has been sad and grumpy this week, so I hope he gets a nice morning Saturday chill in while I'm working.
I am just tired. Not tired like sleep could help me, but tired like I need a break from reality. At least I've gotten a lot of writing done this week-- revising, that is. B_N is a lot tighter-- the last ten chapters and the first ten, at least. We'll see. I wish I could bring it to read at work, but I don't think the management would be best pleased to see that I'd stashed an entire computer in the cupboard at Jakes. (Although I did check: it would fit.)
Not that I have today off, because I don't. But tonight-- I have tonight off.
All that I have done this week has gone awry. There have just been the most elaborate wrongnesses, all week.
* Z's interview, which started the week off on a hopeful note, has become more of a stressful thing: they said, "We'll be deciding this week," said he'd either get a letter or a phone call-- "A call is good, a letter is bad," they explained. Well, as of this morning, nothing. Which probably means a letter.
* To briefly recap, Tues it was busy and I hurt my back [not a sharp pull, but a day-long accumulation of tiny strains making it very unpleasant but not unbearable-- count your blessings I guess but good Lord those were two unpleasant shifts] slipping on the wet floor, and ditto for Weds; Weds night I was excited to get out early but due to a lack of cellphone on Z's part I wound up sitting for just over an hour trying to get in touch with him.
* Yesterday was a super-busy shift but another co-worker has adjusted her schedule so that her seniority means she can bump me, so I was down at Torture Bar with a coworker who's amusing enough, but inefficient, which means I have to catch up on things around him. He dropped an entire bottle of triple sec on the floor, meaning the floor was both slippery and sticky. And customers were snarky, rude, unpleasant, unappreciative, and at times downright ridiculous. "This room is a little warm," one man pulled me aside to chide me. "Yes," I said, "It is unpleasantly warm, and neither I nor my company has any control over the thermostat." And walked away. Not In The Mood. Couldn't even make it a joke.
*As I'm cashing out, someone calls the cash office. The cash office lady looks through her little window into the cash room. "Is there a set of keys there?" "Yes," I say, and hold up a keychain someone has left lying on the counter. "They're [cashier]'s," she says. "Hey," I say, "she takes the 30 bus. I'll be on the 30 bus. I'll bring them down with me!" "Ok," the cash office girl says, and hangs up. (Note: that is all she said, "OK." I was too tired to notice that she didn't repeat my message to [Cashier].)
I bring the keys down to the bus stop. I wait 20 minutes for the bus. The bus pulls up, bitchy bus driver I don't like (she drives like she's having a seizure and is always significantly late) gets off with her weird retarded friend (I mean that literally, lest you flame me: he is an obviously mentally-handicapped young man who spends every single bus ride standing beside her talking to her and gesticulating oddly, and never pays a fare: he might be a relative? she might be babysitting him? he never gets off the bus) and goes into the airport for her break without letting us on (they're supposed to let you on), then comes out at precisely the time the bus is to leave, and lets us on. It is not until I am on the bus that I notice that [cashier] isn't there. The bus leaves immediately, before I have a chance to get off.
I call the office. [Cashier] is not up there either. I leave a message: I am sorry, I have them, I will be in shortly after her scheduled time the next morning.
I get a call half an hour later from the manager. [Cashier] needs the keys to get into her locker, into her house. I had feared this. I promise I will be back with them in about 40 minutes, but that's the soonest I can return.
So I get home, collect Z, drive to the airport, apologize to [Cashier], and then proceed to drive her to her home, which is not far from Bailey Ave, which is a major street I know. She is sweet, apologetic, sleepy, and concerned that we will get lost in her neighborhood. (It is on the Dreaded East Side where White People Do Not Venture. The main drag was bars and liquor stores, but all the side streets were charming little houses, mostly well-maintained, and I thought, this is not a slum. I've been there before, and it's a shame how little attention is paid to the monolithic "East Side": parts of it, I have seen, are terrible, but much of it is not, and yet my peer group won't venture into any of it. The rest of Buffalo is divided into tiny neighborhoods with charming names, but for the most part nobody bothers with neighborhood names for the East Side anymore. if it's east of Main St. we avoid it.) We refuse to make her walk from the end of her block and drive down her one-way street to her house. She is so worried we'll get lost. To get back to Bailey all we have to do is drive around a loop of one-way streets. Contrary to the theme of my week... we do not get lost.
The only reason I took the keys in the first place is because [Cashier] rides the bus with me often and is a sweet girl who I like very much. I was only trying to do her a favor. I didn't ever think that she'd deliberately wait for a later bus. But the spastic driver being persistently late means [Cashier] misses her transfer to the 13 bus some nights, I guess, so she was going to take the downtown bus instead because it drops her near Kensington.
But. That's the theme of this week. The best-laid plans going awry.
Today I am going to try to chill out. Just chill the fuck out. Tonight a friend from Rochester will probably be in town. Dinner would be nice. Z has been sad and grumpy this week, so I hope he gets a nice morning Saturday chill in while I'm working.
I am just tired. Not tired like sleep could help me, but tired like I need a break from reality. At least I've gotten a lot of writing done this week-- revising, that is. B_N is a lot tighter-- the last ten chapters and the first ten, at least. We'll see. I wish I could bring it to read at work, but I don't think the management would be best pleased to see that I'd stashed an entire computer in the cupboard at Jakes. (Although I did check: it would fit.)
