Well, I have not blogged in quite a while. Anyone that is Facebook friends with me knows that is probably largely due to my good dog Spanky being in a tough situation. He has an injured back and the early prognosis is that he needed a surgery I could not afford or to be euthanized. I have been crying and crying and trying to figure out what I can do to save my little dog or if I should make that hard decision. Anyway, it has been all-consuming. Add a little family drama, add a lot of stress at work and I've been a hot mess. Nobody wants to read my "hot mess" blogs unless that mess is me, in Pranx, stuck in stall number one surrounded by feces smeared on the wall by the prior person and my bracelet is stuck to the back side of my Pranx. That's the kind of mess my readers like. Or, they like me really pissed off. Today was such a day.
Today, I woke up to a Monday tired and cranky. I had to get to work early as we were having another hiring open house. These things don't run themselves. I gotta make the magic happen. And, by magic, I mean, make everything run smoothly without bitch-slapping or killing anyone. The first strike to my day was wardrobe. What I had thought I would wear just didn't look right. The area surrounding my closet is now mid-calf deep in rejects. I finally decided on all black. It fit my mood. I was dressed like an assassin, minus the ski mask. To add insult to injury, my hair wasn't working either. Turns out there is only so many times you can flat-iron fine hair before it just splits and gives up. Oh, and it is way over-due to be cut because I canceled my appointment in an effort to put more money towards the Spanky fund.
I arrived at work and realized I didn't have all the info I needed for the open house. Mother Trucker. Strike two for the folks that are supposed to have that information to me on time. It's too early to be scurrying around like a rat on a sinking ship, but alas, I am. I'm also completely pissed off because these assassin pants don't have belt loops, so I have to wear my badge around my neck. I'm walking around and that damn badge is flopping back and forth on my belly like a metronome. I don't think that happens to skinny girls, so now that is making me really mad. I finally get ready and go up to the greeter table. On my way, I notice squatters have taken over one of the rooms I have reserved for interviews. Asshats. I have a sign on the effing door! Here I'm testing people to see if they are smart to work here and the ones that already work here CAN'T freaking read a sign! I hate people! I go to the greeter table and there are people there...and a bunch of kids? What? Who brings their kids to this type of function? Luckily, the Dad took the kids outside when I set up shop. Good, I didn't need to deal with that today. Who knows, maybe they were going to apply for the job, too? The huge rush of four people cleared out and then, there I was. Just me and the table...and a bunch of chairs. I had to do this for three hours this morning and another three this afternoon. Not thrilled. It's great to know that a future at the Glass Palace draws them in like flies. Like those big blow flies in the winter that barely move and you can walk up behind and thwick in the ass and kill them.
I don't have enough cell service to even check FB or email. Instead I send an angry text to Valerina. I used the F word about four times in that message. That made me feel slightly better, but not really that much. Then, just when I thought I might fall asleep, the janitor shows up with the vacuum cleaner. Great, like I wanted to listen to that. Mind you, this is the same janitor that I never see actually cleaning anything. He pushes the cart around and parks it outside the bathrooms, but I have never seen actual cleaning take place. Just the other day I walked past one of our training rooms and he was standing there taking a picture of himself with his cell phone. I mean, I guess it is important to make sure the three pounds of gel you put in your hair is still there and if you are in a room without a mirror, you may as well just do a selfie. Anyway, today, while I would just like some peace, he is vacuuming...right in front of me. I guess I'll have to take back my nick name of "lazy janitor."
Finally, my first session of three hours of torture is over. I head back to my desk and Four Feet of Fury is there asking me how it went. I told her I didn't think she wanted to hear anything I had to say. She said she did. I said, no she didn't. She asked me to come in her office. We shut the door. She told me to get it off my chest, let it out, tell her what's on my mind. It isn't like she had to beg. I can't really divulge what all was said behind those doors in the blog due to the sensitive nature of me calling people names, calling my company out on processes I find to be moronic and overall general feelings of despair I had. I will tell you some of the words I used: fuck, stupid, bullshit, backwards, well, you get the drift. I vented and FFF allowed me to do so. I bucked up and went back out to my desk. I looked in the mirror to fix my lip gloss and notice I have some sort of red rash all the way around my mouth. It looked like I had put clown paint around my mouth and wiped it off. What the hell is that? That's fantastic! Now I look like I'm a washed up clown assassin...with bad hair...clown hair. This just isn't my day. I head to the restroom. I go into stall number two, because stall number one is never a sanitary place to be and there is this, like, six-inch hair on the seat. Why do I always have to fight some sort of bodily fluid or body hair? Why can't I just pee in peace in a hygenic location? What really made me mad is that it was a really long healthy strand of hair. I have haggard, fried clown hair that I should be dropping like a long haired cat in a room full of velcro, but no, I'm not. If I can control my hair folicals how come no one else can? So discouraging. Where is that mother trucking janitor now? Probably doing a selfie in the lunchroom.
I settled in for the afternoon session at the open house. A few more folks showed up and then it was quiet again. Sorority Intern came and hung out with me for a while. I hate her guts (not really). She is all young, thin, pretty, perky, smart, a snazzy dresser and I find out today she is the president of her sorority in college. She might be perfect. I wanted to lick her and see if she tasted like sugar, but that probably would get me fired for sure. I looked at her and said, "Promise me you will never loose that sweet little spirit. Go out and change the world, save yourself. Don't be complacent and bitter. Continue to have hope in the human race. Use your degree, don't ever settle. Okay?" She nodded and said, "okay." There. I did my good deed for the day. I was spent.
At the end of a very long day, I took my assassin-clown-face-fried-hair home. I was exhausted. I get to do it all again tomorrow, which doesn't cheer me up. The best part of the day, however, is when I walk in the door and there is my guy, there is my dog and I remember, this is all that counts. Doesn't mean tomorrow isn't going to piss me off, but for a brief moment, there was a sigh of relief.
I better get to bed, I'm going to have get up early to wade through a lot of laundry to find a new assassin outfit and spend the appropriate amount of time frying my hair. It isn't easy making that look work. Not everyone can. Don't be haters.
Today, I woke up to a Monday tired and cranky. I had to get to work early as we were having another hiring open house. These things don't run themselves. I gotta make the magic happen. And, by magic, I mean, make everything run smoothly without bitch-slapping or killing anyone. The first strike to my day was wardrobe. What I had thought I would wear just didn't look right. The area surrounding my closet is now mid-calf deep in rejects. I finally decided on all black. It fit my mood. I was dressed like an assassin, minus the ski mask. To add insult to injury, my hair wasn't working either. Turns out there is only so many times you can flat-iron fine hair before it just splits and gives up. Oh, and it is way over-due to be cut because I canceled my appointment in an effort to put more money towards the Spanky fund.
I arrived at work and realized I didn't have all the info I needed for the open house. Mother Trucker. Strike two for the folks that are supposed to have that information to me on time. It's too early to be scurrying around like a rat on a sinking ship, but alas, I am. I'm also completely pissed off because these assassin pants don't have belt loops, so I have to wear my badge around my neck. I'm walking around and that damn badge is flopping back and forth on my belly like a metronome. I don't think that happens to skinny girls, so now that is making me really mad. I finally get ready and go up to the greeter table. On my way, I notice squatters have taken over one of the rooms I have reserved for interviews. Asshats. I have a sign on the effing door! Here I'm testing people to see if they are smart to work here and the ones that already work here CAN'T freaking read a sign! I hate people! I go to the greeter table and there are people there...and a bunch of kids? What? Who brings their kids to this type of function? Luckily, the Dad took the kids outside when I set up shop. Good, I didn't need to deal with that today. Who knows, maybe they were going to apply for the job, too? The huge rush of four people cleared out and then, there I was. Just me and the table...and a bunch of chairs. I had to do this for three hours this morning and another three this afternoon. Not thrilled. It's great to know that a future at the Glass Palace draws them in like flies. Like those big blow flies in the winter that barely move and you can walk up behind and thwick in the ass and kill them.
I don't have enough cell service to even check FB or email. Instead I send an angry text to Valerina. I used the F word about four times in that message. That made me feel slightly better, but not really that much. Then, just when I thought I might fall asleep, the janitor shows up with the vacuum cleaner. Great, like I wanted to listen to that. Mind you, this is the same janitor that I never see actually cleaning anything. He pushes the cart around and parks it outside the bathrooms, but I have never seen actual cleaning take place. Just the other day I walked past one of our training rooms and he was standing there taking a picture of himself with his cell phone. I mean, I guess it is important to make sure the three pounds of gel you put in your hair is still there and if you are in a room without a mirror, you may as well just do a selfie. Anyway, today, while I would just like some peace, he is vacuuming...right in front of me. I guess I'll have to take back my nick name of "lazy janitor."
Finally, my first session of three hours of torture is over. I head back to my desk and Four Feet of Fury is there asking me how it went. I told her I didn't think she wanted to hear anything I had to say. She said she did. I said, no she didn't. She asked me to come in her office. We shut the door. She told me to get it off my chest, let it out, tell her what's on my mind. It isn't like she had to beg. I can't really divulge what all was said behind those doors in the blog due to the sensitive nature of me calling people names, calling my company out on processes I find to be moronic and overall general feelings of despair I had. I will tell you some of the words I used: fuck, stupid, bullshit, backwards, well, you get the drift. I vented and FFF allowed me to do so. I bucked up and went back out to my desk. I looked in the mirror to fix my lip gloss and notice I have some sort of red rash all the way around my mouth. It looked like I had put clown paint around my mouth and wiped it off. What the hell is that? That's fantastic! Now I look like I'm a washed up clown assassin...with bad hair...clown hair. This just isn't my day. I head to the restroom. I go into stall number two, because stall number one is never a sanitary place to be and there is this, like, six-inch hair on the seat. Why do I always have to fight some sort of bodily fluid or body hair? Why can't I just pee in peace in a hygenic location? What really made me mad is that it was a really long healthy strand of hair. I have haggard, fried clown hair that I should be dropping like a long haired cat in a room full of velcro, but no, I'm not. If I can control my hair folicals how come no one else can? So discouraging. Where is that mother trucking janitor now? Probably doing a selfie in the lunchroom.
I settled in for the afternoon session at the open house. A few more folks showed up and then it was quiet again. Sorority Intern came and hung out with me for a while. I hate her guts (not really). She is all young, thin, pretty, perky, smart, a snazzy dresser and I find out today she is the president of her sorority in college. She might be perfect. I wanted to lick her and see if she tasted like sugar, but that probably would get me fired for sure. I looked at her and said, "Promise me you will never loose that sweet little spirit. Go out and change the world, save yourself. Don't be complacent and bitter. Continue to have hope in the human race. Use your degree, don't ever settle. Okay?" She nodded and said, "okay." There. I did my good deed for the day. I was spent.
At the end of a very long day, I took my assassin-clown-face-fried-hair home. I was exhausted. I get to do it all again tomorrow, which doesn't cheer me up. The best part of the day, however, is when I walk in the door and there is my guy, there is my dog and I remember, this is all that counts. Doesn't mean tomorrow isn't going to piss me off, but for a brief moment, there was a sigh of relief.
I better get to bed, I'm going to have get up early to wade through a lot of laundry to find a new assassin outfit and spend the appropriate amount of time frying my hair. It isn't easy making that look work. Not everyone can. Don't be haters.
