Working for my money...

I looked back through my older posts here, and the majority of them have something to do with with my agita over being unemployed. Thankfully, I was able to avoid the siren call of crackwhoredom to pay my bills.

I got a job. Thank Jeebus. But for every silver lining, there's an ugly gray cloud-- I'm basically what amounts to a fairly well-paid gas station attendant. More often than not there are only 2 people working at a time-- with one in the back room or getting things done with paperwork. Leaving one person, usually me, at the front to watch the gas pumps, keep the coffee coming, run both registers and that infernal Lotto machine, and serve ice cream. It usually works out well. People, for the most part, are either polite or recognize that being a dick to whoever is behind the counter won't make things better.

But sometimes... it's chaos and I still wish for a staid, comfy cubie job. Something ripped straight from Office Space. Maybe I could get Milton's old desk in the basement.

But hey, I can pay my bills now. And as a bonus, everyone I work with is really cool.

Some days, I am confronted by how stupid people can be. I mean, not just regular everyday stupid, like "where did I put my hat? Oh... it's already on my head..." But truly "my brain cells have melted" stupid.

A few days ago I was at the register and a man came up with two bottle of Gatorade and asked me a question:

"Is this Gatorade lemonade Gatorade or lemonade?"

BZUH?

So I spoke to him as if he were a five year-old and had to literally show him that the nutritional facts on both bottles were identical. I tried to explain that it was just lemonade flavored Gatorade, but he was actually almost arguing with me over it. He'd been sent because someone back home was sick and wanted a drink, and he was confused. But, come on... is Gatorade really something that causes such mental stress?

No really.

I took a catnap before work today and had a dream about David Caruso.

My brain has betrayed me. Why can't I dream about Yul from Survivor, or Johnny Depp? Nooo... I dream that I'm trapped in a car with Horatio Caine. Mind you, it was dark, but he still had his sunglasses on.

He kept calling me "Partner" and told me that I'd need to work with him to figure out what was going on. I woke up when the car door wouldn't open.

So WTF, brain, WTF.

No more dreams of the red-headed, be-sunglassed, over-emotive, scenery-eating devil please!

Are there cobwebs in the internet?

Wow.


I actually kind of forgot this existed. Weird.