The Saints and King Cakes

Lately, my boss has begun to recognise the fact that my talents have been largely under-utilised where I work (which is a grocery store). It is really kind of ironic, since I have worked for him for a total of 18 months or so, and he is just figuring this out. So, over the past few weeks, he has been shopping me from department to department, and also entrusting me with various projects (like the Food Bank thing). I have responded by exceeding his expectations so much that he has complimented me personally several times (which he is not prone to do) and even suggested that I should consider a management position. This is brilliant, but, coming on the heels of my decision to get the hell out of Baton Rouge, is somewhat belated and pretty much moot.

So, this week, I was in two departments: Seafood and Bakery, and enjoyed the experience immensely (anything beats running a register for 6-8 hours a day!). First, he entrusted me with a project to push shrimp (we had purchased a large quantity of Gulf shrimp). I wound up bagging up about 22 cases of shrimp in plastic bags, weighing it out and hawking it to customers as they passed the seafood department. I sold around 500 lbs. of shrimp, which made him very happy. I wound up with hands like pincushions (frozen shrimp can jab the fuck out of you!) but it was quite an adventure. To me, just about anything is an adventure, these days.

Fresh from my triumph in seafood, I spent 9 hours yesterday on loan to the bakery, where I decorated several dozens of King Cakes. For those who do not know what a King Cake is, it is a filled cake that looks kind of like a giant doughnut, decorated in purple, gold and green, which are Mardis Gras colours. Traditionally, there is a little plastic baby inside, which represents the infant Jesus. The person who gets the "baby" will have good luck and has to buy the next King Cake. There are even little brown plastic babies for multi-ethnic King Cakes. I have never seen an oriental plastic baby, but that dosen't mean that they don't exist. King Cakes are always eaten by people in a group, usually over coffee, because they are a lot like a coffee cake.

Anyway, the bakery was a lot of fun, too. Unfortunately, my parole is short-lived: I will be back on the front end today (unless he finds something better for me to do). The front-end manager wants me on the front end, because I follow all of the procedures and am much more efficient than any of the other cashiers. In one week, I rang almost 12,000 items (the next contender did barely 8,000) and I have an item-per-minute count (yes, they track this stuff) of 27; the next closest cashier has 17. So, the front end manager wants me working for her as much as possible. Gosh. It's great to be wanted.

Anyway, as everybody knows now, the New Orleans Saints won Super Bowl XLIV last night. Hooray. I got to see the last 17 minutes of the game, but it turned out to be the most dramatic 17 minutes of the game. The crowd at Kamp went wild (or as wild as they go, without chemical assistance). I really want to get the fuck out of there. I hate every minute I spend there. It's like being in reform school (I guess), except the staff isn't allowed to hit you. I have never seen a bigger collexion of losers in my life. It's frightening.

Of course, as I have said, they are not all losers: some of these guys are really trying to make good, and most of them wound up in Kamp because of drugs and/or alcohol abuse. These guys, like myself, hate the place. The rest of them want to make it their home, but they won't, because the place isn't run that way: after a few weeks, if a client doesn't have a job or a bank account, and has shown no attempt to get back on his feet again, he is booted. Then, it's back to "under the bridge" ( a popular hobo jungle nearby) or "The Sally" (the local Salvation Army shelter) or just out on the streets. Some of these guys kind of prefer it on the streets, where they can indulge in their vices without oversight. They don't like "The Sally" much, because the people there will test you for drugs and alcohol if they suspect anything.

So, that's about it for now. I am really behind in posts, because I have to use Middleton's computers ( I really need to fix my laptop!) and I can't get there while it is open every day. I have a lot of stuff I want to post, but haven't been able to lately. So, if anybody is actually reading this crap: bear with me. It will get better as things progress.

I am still trying to figure out a way to post images. I would appreciate any help offered.

I am aiming for early March as my escape window. I hope I can attain escape velocity by then.

I Got Scathed

Yeah. Remember how I almost got nailed Mardis Gras by some asshole in a truck who ran me up onto the grass and I felt, like, really lucky because I escaped unscathed? Well, Friday, I got scathed, but good.

I got paid Thursday and paid the balance of my rent and my huge utility bill, which didn't get my power back on. I found out today that this is because Entergy (the fucking shitlords of the universe)tacked an additional $25 "deposit" onto my account, which I now have to come up with, too, bringing my total "deposit" for utilities to a whopping $275. My actual power bill was $67. They are fucking PIRATES!

Got back and met one of my neighbours, who offered to loan me some power via a 100ft extension cable, so I had limited power over the week-end (enough for TV at night and charging my laptop and cell phone). Went to work for 6 on Friday and almost made it. I had just signalled to turn left into the store parking lot when I heard the vehicle that had turned on the street behind me speed up, and then heard tires squeal. I tried to get over as far as I could to the right, but the right rear quarter panel hit me and knocked me over the handlebars. Cleverly, I avoided more serious injury by letting my face take most of the impact.

By the time I could get up to my hands and knees, the silver SUV that whacked me was crossing College Drive. I walked to work, scraped, bruised and bleeding. They called the police and EMS, and I got treated and filled out reports. I didn't get a license plate, so they probably won't find her. It's hard to get a license plate when you are headed over the handlebars, towards the pavement. I worked until 10 and got a ride home. I had to walk to work the next day, but I went to work. I had Sunday off, so I did wash with Travis and Fernando and ate diner with them. I was so stiff and sore Sunday, I almost didn't go. I still hurt. I'm going to have a nice scar above my lip. It will take a long time to heal.

And all for what? Because some cunt in an SUV couldn't wait a few seconds for me to make a turn. I get smashed up, hurt and scarred while she drives away. This isn't my first little mishap: there have been about twenty over the past 40 years or so of riding a bicycle. I cannot state this strongly enough: Baton Rouge is not a bike-friendly city. In fact, a lot of drivers here are openly hostile. A lot of the ones who aren't just don't give a shit: you are just an annoyance, something in the way. You can't possibly catch up to them, so it is okay to leave you, bleeding, lying in the street. You don't drive a car, so you don't matter. Out of all the times I have been hit by cars, only three drivers actually stopped, and one of those, because she saw a police car stop where she left me. When the officer asked her why she left the scene of the accident she replied (and I quote):

"I don't have no cell phone. I was going home to call y'all."

Apparently, this was good enough for him: he didn't even ticket her. She had no insurance. I wound up in a cast for three months, lost both jobs, and got evicted from my apartment. She is still probably out there, driving her fat ass around.

If I sound bitter, I am. I also hurt, and I'm going to have a nasty scar. I hope that bitch burns in hell. I hope they all burn in hell!