do the callin' in sick dance yays!
Feb. 16th, 2007 09:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7It's hard for me to adequately convey the depths of my despair of last night, given that I am in such a good mood this morning. But let me point out that the fact that I am in a stellar mood and have a generally sparkly outlook on life does not change the fact that I keep tilting my head to the left because there's an imbalance of pressure in my clogged sinuses, and also it feels like somebody's stabbing me somewhere between my left nostril and ear, only inside my face. (update: now the stabby is in my right sinus somewhere. ping! ow!)
But somehow it's possible to be exceptionally cheerful even when this is happening-- even when unmedicated, so it just goes to show you that the importance of having a roommate/lifepartner with absolutely stellar conversational skills cannot be overrated.
I was actually sobbing by the time I got in the door last night-- to sum up, a Shift From Hell (it was so bad that when I went to cash out, after having sat in the hallway in line to get into the office for 20 minutes I opened my cash box to count my deposit and realized that I had come all the way down the hall with the box empty and all of my money was still in the drawer in the cash register, and I had even noticed that the box felt a little light and had attributed it to being nearly out of change-- and when I went back to the bar to get my money drawer, as I passed Gate 8 the Jetblue announcer was informing the 150ish people sitting there that the replacement pilots for their plane (which was grounded because the crew that had flown it in had been flying too many consecutive hours and so was banned, by FAA rules, from flying any longer) would be at the airport in approximately an hour, and so they'd update the departure time then-- yes, it was that kind of day; and that was the earliest Jetblue flight; two more were scheduled for after that-- so at least I could warn the bartender, who found it all hilarious with the kind of humor reserved for those about to die of exhaustion-- don't look at me like that, I washed all the glasses and got him more ice before I left the poor bastard to die), and then I swung by practice but didn't get there until it was nearly over, which was frustrating but not unexpected, and then on my way home I got pulled over on the same street as I got pulled over in December and ticketed for "going too fast for conditions" because I was going 40 on Colvin. Colvin motherfucking Boulevard. Coming out of a 45-mph zone into a 35-mph zone, I was doing 40. Jesus Christ, call out the motherfucking National Guard. I am obviously a hazard to the precious life and limb of the like two citizens of Tonawanda that would be out at 10:45pm on a wretchedly cold Thursday.
I looked at the ticket. Dude didn't even have the balls to write the speed on there because Christ, I didn't even think speedometers were that accurate.
At least this cop had the decency to admit that it was fucking ludicrous for the last one to have written me a ticket for operating a motor vehicle without insurance. "I didn't realize I'd handed him the old insurance card," I said. "Obviously I have an up to date one, since I just handed it to you. If he truly believed I didn't have insurance it is inexcusable that he let me drive away from there under my own power."
"Well," the cop said, "we can look it up online and see if you have insurance. So he had to've known that you really did have insurance."
"Then why," I said, trying very hard to be calm, "why did he write me a ticket for not having insurance? When I have insurance and could prove it and he you can look it up anyway so he didn't even need me to prove it?"
The cop sort of hemmed and hawed and implied that it was probably because the guy had to write me a ticket for something, having stopped me, and so since he had cut me a break on whatever offense had caused him to stop me, then he'd given me the insurance ticket instead, right?
"No," I said frostily, "he was quite pleased to give me the ticket for having inadequately stopped at the stop sign, and then the insurance ticket on top of it, even though I showed him the up to date insurance card that I have just handed to you, sir."
"Er," the cop said, "I wasn't there, I'm afraid I don't know."
In other words, Yeah my coworker was being a total dick and I am not allowed to say that.
(He said, "well I guess just giving you the ticket is better than making you get towed." "Yeah," I said, "but if it came to that, and I'm standing there waving the up-to-date proof of insurance at him, do you think he really could actually have forced me to get towed?"
"Um," and there wasn't really an answer to that.
"SO WHY BOTHER WITH THE TICKET?"
"You can just get it dismissed in court," he said.
"I know. And I will. SO WHY BOTHER?"
No answer.
I was polite, despite how it sounds. As polite as it's possible to be when sobbing and furious.)
This cop did also have the decency to be astonished when I told him that apparently the court will only hear my case during my working hours and would not entertain the possibility of any times besides Wednesdays in the middle of my shift. "No," he said, "they're very happy to work with you--"
"She said five pm on Wednesdays and that is it," I answered him. "I called this very morning and she said that is the only time they have, and I work during that time so there is nothing I can do. She would not even let me finish the sentence to ask if there was another time. Nope. Wednesdays. I have no idea how I am going to get the time off."
"That's... odd," he said.
"Yeah I thought so too," I answered. And blew my nose resoundingly into the Burger King napkin that was the only paper product in the car not already saturated with the violent green goo from my head.
So, fuck you, Tonawanda pigs! I will be happily voting against your pay raises if you have nothing to do but lie in traps on Colvin Blvd. If you were, like, protecting me from drug dealers or something, then I wouldn't mind, but if you honestly have nothing better to do than write completely bogus tickets (that your coworkers even quietly admit are completely fucking bogus) then you know what? You can all go fuck yourselves. And your rude-ass court clerks? Fuck them too, with a hot dog stand umbrella, sideways.
UGHH. And then I got stuck in my driveway trying to park the car, and considered abandoning it there but realized I'd have to climb the snowbank with my skate bag, and also the car was enough in the street that it'd get towed. Which, while it meant that they'd have to get it out of the snowbank, not me, would be extremely inconvenient. So I cowboyed the fuck up and managed to park the fucking car.
And so when I came in I was actually sobbing and it was just a bad scene.
Z hugged me a lot without me asking, proving that he is not in fact a bad person, and cheered me up before I went to bed, but I still woke up with my face all swollen and I spent the whole night with my nose blocked up solidly to the point that you can't tell it's supposed to be able to be used for breathing. Let me tell you there is nothing sexier than bright red chapped lips combined with an inability to breathe through the nose so that you're panting through your mouth, while your nose leaks slightly because you can't blow it. I'm so fucking sexy I don't know what to do with myself.
I did decide yesterday, on a slightly related note (ie how God-damned sexy I am), that my interim career plan, between quitting the bar and subsisting on the royalties from my published novels [hah! No, we don't laugh at ourselves. Forget I said that; I am 100% committed to my dreams], is Internet porn. I'm totally serious. There's totally a niche for longhair, big-boobs, rollergirl softcore porn. I am completely seriously going to get naked on the Internet for money. Just you wait and see. It's ideal, see, because I don't have to leave the house, which is shaping up to be a long-term career goal.
It's kind of a hilarious game of chicken between Z and me to see which of us is actually more serious about being serious, as he's agreed to be my webmaster and has been formulating a business plan. We'll see which of us blinks first. And if neither of us blinks, well, then, there are my boobs on the Internet. Whatever! I have no inhibitions, I think y'all knew that.
But somehow it's possible to be exceptionally cheerful even when this is happening-- even when unmedicated, so it just goes to show you that the importance of having a roommate/lifepartner with absolutely stellar conversational skills cannot be overrated.
I was actually sobbing by the time I got in the door last night-- to sum up, a Shift From Hell (it was so bad that when I went to cash out, after having sat in the hallway in line to get into the office for 20 minutes I opened my cash box to count my deposit and realized that I had come all the way down the hall with the box empty and all of my money was still in the drawer in the cash register, and I had even noticed that the box felt a little light and had attributed it to being nearly out of change-- and when I went back to the bar to get my money drawer, as I passed Gate 8 the Jetblue announcer was informing the 150ish people sitting there that the replacement pilots for their plane (which was grounded because the crew that had flown it in had been flying too many consecutive hours and so was banned, by FAA rules, from flying any longer) would be at the airport in approximately an hour, and so they'd update the departure time then-- yes, it was that kind of day; and that was the earliest Jetblue flight; two more were scheduled for after that-- so at least I could warn the bartender, who found it all hilarious with the kind of humor reserved for those about to die of exhaustion-- don't look at me like that, I washed all the glasses and got him more ice before I left the poor bastard to die), and then I swung by practice but didn't get there until it was nearly over, which was frustrating but not unexpected, and then on my way home I got pulled over on the same street as I got pulled over in December and ticketed for "going too fast for conditions" because I was going 40 on Colvin. Colvin motherfucking Boulevard. Coming out of a 45-mph zone into a 35-mph zone, I was doing 40. Jesus Christ, call out the motherfucking National Guard. I am obviously a hazard to the precious life and limb of the like two citizens of Tonawanda that would be out at 10:45pm on a wretchedly cold Thursday.
I looked at the ticket. Dude didn't even have the balls to write the speed on there because Christ, I didn't even think speedometers were that accurate.
At least this cop had the decency to admit that it was fucking ludicrous for the last one to have written me a ticket for operating a motor vehicle without insurance. "I didn't realize I'd handed him the old insurance card," I said. "Obviously I have an up to date one, since I just handed it to you. If he truly believed I didn't have insurance it is inexcusable that he let me drive away from there under my own power."
"Well," the cop said, "we can look it up online and see if you have insurance. So he had to've known that you really did have insurance."
"Then why," I said, trying very hard to be calm, "why did he write me a ticket for not having insurance? When I have insurance and could prove it and he you can look it up anyway so he didn't even need me to prove it?"
The cop sort of hemmed and hawed and implied that it was probably because the guy had to write me a ticket for something, having stopped me, and so since he had cut me a break on whatever offense had caused him to stop me, then he'd given me the insurance ticket instead, right?
"No," I said frostily, "he was quite pleased to give me the ticket for having inadequately stopped at the stop sign, and then the insurance ticket on top of it, even though I showed him the up to date insurance card that I have just handed to you, sir."
"Er," the cop said, "I wasn't there, I'm afraid I don't know."
In other words, Yeah my coworker was being a total dick and I am not allowed to say that.
(He said, "well I guess just giving you the ticket is better than making you get towed." "Yeah," I said, "but if it came to that, and I'm standing there waving the up-to-date proof of insurance at him, do you think he really could actually have forced me to get towed?"
"Um," and there wasn't really an answer to that.
"SO WHY BOTHER WITH THE TICKET?"
"You can just get it dismissed in court," he said.
"I know. And I will. SO WHY BOTHER?"
No answer.
I was polite, despite how it sounds. As polite as it's possible to be when sobbing and furious.)
This cop did also have the decency to be astonished when I told him that apparently the court will only hear my case during my working hours and would not entertain the possibility of any times besides Wednesdays in the middle of my shift. "No," he said, "they're very happy to work with you--"
"She said five pm on Wednesdays and that is it," I answered him. "I called this very morning and she said that is the only time they have, and I work during that time so there is nothing I can do. She would not even let me finish the sentence to ask if there was another time. Nope. Wednesdays. I have no idea how I am going to get the time off."
"That's... odd," he said.
"Yeah I thought so too," I answered. And blew my nose resoundingly into the Burger King napkin that was the only paper product in the car not already saturated with the violent green goo from my head.
So, fuck you, Tonawanda pigs! I will be happily voting against your pay raises if you have nothing to do but lie in traps on Colvin Blvd. If you were, like, protecting me from drug dealers or something, then I wouldn't mind, but if you honestly have nothing better to do than write completely bogus tickets (that your coworkers even quietly admit are completely fucking bogus) then you know what? You can all go fuck yourselves. And your rude-ass court clerks? Fuck them too, with a hot dog stand umbrella, sideways.
UGHH. And then I got stuck in my driveway trying to park the car, and considered abandoning it there but realized I'd have to climb the snowbank with my skate bag, and also the car was enough in the street that it'd get towed. Which, while it meant that they'd have to get it out of the snowbank, not me, would be extremely inconvenient. So I cowboyed the fuck up and managed to park the fucking car.
And so when I came in I was actually sobbing and it was just a bad scene.
Z hugged me a lot without me asking, proving that he is not in fact a bad person, and cheered me up before I went to bed, but I still woke up with my face all swollen and I spent the whole night with my nose blocked up solidly to the point that you can't tell it's supposed to be able to be used for breathing. Let me tell you there is nothing sexier than bright red chapped lips combined with an inability to breathe through the nose so that you're panting through your mouth, while your nose leaks slightly because you can't blow it. I'm so fucking sexy I don't know what to do with myself.
I did decide yesterday, on a slightly related note (ie how God-damned sexy I am), that my interim career plan, between quitting the bar and subsisting on the royalties from my published novels [hah! No, we don't laugh at ourselves. Forget I said that; I am 100% committed to my dreams], is Internet porn. I'm totally serious. There's totally a niche for longhair, big-boobs, rollergirl softcore porn. I am completely seriously going to get naked on the Internet for money. Just you wait and see. It's ideal, see, because I don't have to leave the house, which is shaping up to be a long-term career goal.
It's kind of a hilarious game of chicken between Z and me to see which of us is actually more serious about being serious, as he's agreed to be my webmaster and has been formulating a business plan. We'll see which of us blinks first. And if neither of us blinks, well, then, there are my boobs on the Internet. Whatever! I have no inhibitions, I think y'all knew that.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 03:48 pm (UTC)I'd buy that for a dollar!
Or ya know...several...
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 04:52 pm (UTC)Just kidding. That's gotta be the world's sexiest picture of me, though, and I can't believe it wasn't already on the Internet. (Wait, it must be, somewhere... Well, it is now.)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 06:30 pm (UTC)Can't let that pass without commenting. Similiar thoughts comforted me for years when faced with my bank statements late at night and nothing to drink in the house, but I made the mistake of letting the opportunity pass until it was too late! Mentioned to my daughter a while ago how I could no longer entertain that option and she callously told me that I still have a great face and should consider a gym membership. Anyway, whether you do it or not, hold onto to that thought--you can still get several years of solace out of it without following up.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 06:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-18 05:12 am (UTC)Oops. Day is only 4 minutes old. Well, I meant yesterday. Saturday. I hadn't found anything to laugh at yet.
About the Tonawanda tickets, that's not so funny. That's money. I would keep calling, like once per hour that you're at home, to find out whether some way has been found for you to come in at a time that you aren't at work. Because paying those tickets is a joke. Either one of them. (He didn't write the speed on the ticket. I think the judge may well throw that out, too.)