Listening to: nothing
Feeling: bummed
let me start with... fuckers!!!!
okay. so i go home last night, and there's a note in the mailbox. from who you ask? my father. well, rather sandy. want to come to church on sunday? and come to dinner? oh my freakin god, they remembered i'm alive! ahem.. so i crumpled it up and threw it out.
i go to work for nine this morning, and there my day begins.
boredom, followed by hunger, and then by more boredom.
and then i get pissed off because karra is bragging about all her hours, meanwhile i have fifteen this week. she has thirty. what?!
i mention this to anita, and she says to either talk to cindy (head cash, dept. supervisor) and if i can't find her, talk to ken (store manager).
lunch time rolls around, and i can't find cindy. so i get my coat, and am about to leave the lunch room for a smoke when ken walks by. i ask him why me and karra's hours differ so much, meanwhile i completed training before she did, she's still doing on till training, and we were in the same orientation class. hmm says ken, i'll talk to cindy. okay problem solved.. yeah right.
i go for my hour of lunch, and come back to my till feeling a bit better.
cindy comes over and starts YELLING about how our store has a chain of command. if i couldn't find her, i was supposed to talk to mike. who the hell is mike? our assistant store manager apparently. whatever. and then she says that i don't have hours because i don't have a phone. what? so i don't have hours cause i don't have a phone, but i can't get a phone if i don't have hours. right? right. *seething with rage at this point*
ten minutes later cindy comes over AGAIN, and starts YELLING AGAIN. i am not following dresscode. i need a blouse with a folded collar. what? we work in a warehouse, a w-a-r-e-h-o-u-s-e. okay, so she says i have to get a shirt with a collar. i can't, i owe hydro, and mastercard, and rogers, and i'm late with my rent. well, you have until your next paycheck then. what part of i owe too much money to go out shopping did you not get? well you know, value village has a lot of clothes. *about to blow my top and stab her with the mini screwdrivers that are sitting on my counter* thank you so much for degrading me even more, and making me hate you with more passion than i did ten minutes ago.
and to top it off, karra says... i want to go home, i hate working. i don't even need this job.
excuse me while i go scream outside when i'm on my break.
okay, six rolls around and i'm free to go. i get this silly notion to call my dad. smooth move there.
"hi ya kiddo, long time no see"
"yeah, that's cause you ditched me when we were supposed to hang out, and then i couldn't get ahold of you again"
ignores me.
"so, you coming on sunday?"
"no. i don't believe in god, and i have other plans"
"i figured as much"
"yeah, and thanks so much for remembering you have a daughter after four months"
and then i hung up.
was i wrong? i mean, is it my fault he never contacts me? is it because i live too far away for him to drop by or leave me a note? i mean, is five or six blocks too far these days? one has to wonder.
and so, i am sitting here pondering this, and wondering if he will ever see me again, and if i will wake up this weekend and not be able to go back to sleep because i'm crying my heart out in the bathroom. and i wonder if he even knows or cares. that's my dad folks, is he like everyone elses?
my dogs won't eat their dog food. i put out food 2 1/2 days ago, and there's still food. so i go to sobeys and see if there was a recall, not as of yet. so they said that it's weird that three young dogs wouldn't eat, and they said i could bring back the food and they'd do a refund. okay, thanks. that makes me feel somewhat better, because then i can go buy pedegree and not have to worry. whew.
still have to pay our rent, but we have no money. i need wood for the window trim, but i don't want to talk to craig, because he'll ask about the rent. so i am currently in limbo, and cannot paint the living room because i need the wood. sigh. someone hand me a shot of whiskey and a cigarette.
the one, the only, laura michelle* |
