#100

Well, this is actually the hundredth posting to my blog that I started a year and a half ago. I wanted this post to be momentous but (maybe fortunately) not a lot interesting has been happening.(I wrote that bit about a week ago, but things have happened since then.)

I am still stuck at Kamp Winge-a-lot, and don't see being able to leave until the end of the month when, hopefully, I will have saved up enough to get where I am going and not have to worry for a little while. This is paramount, because I am going such a long distance, to a place with which I am not familiar. I have friends there, and I am working on getting a place to stay and a part-time job, but it is still a big move for me. To be practical, I can be homeless as easily in Wyoming as I can here. It doesn't require a new skill set. But, I intend to hit the ground running, so to speak.

I was transferred to the Butcher Block at work, primarily in Seafood. It is considerably more work, but it promises 30-40 hours a week, and I don't have to scrounge for them, either. Both the Asst. Manager and the Manager of the department are very glad to have me working there because (1) I have a good work ethic and show up on time and actually work while I am there, (2) I am intelligent enough to not have to repeat things to all of the time and (3) I am efficient and organise tasks well.

Amazingly, the Store Director (the same one who fired me in the first place, all those months ago) now considers me one of his most valuable employees. I know this because he has told me this sevral times, and told other employees the same thing, and he is not prone to hyperbole. I have worked with meat, frozen food and produce before, and the same skills pretty much apply to Seafood.

Of course, there are a few drawbacks (but, what would life be without them?): some of my fellow employees do not seem to share my work ethic, coming in late, leaving the department when it is busy and doing things in a haphazard way, which leaves me with that much more work to do, which I do, because I am conscientious.

I really was hoping that my century posting would end on an upbeat note, but, apparently, life has other plans for me:

The 12th was the anniversary of my father's death. I thought I got through it rather well; no major depression or sadness, just kind of a vague feeling of loss. Then, sometime during the night, whilst I slept, some unmitigated heap of semi-simian excretions stole my new phone, which I paid a whole week's salary for. I got to use it for not quite three weeks.

Then, I was on my way to feed the cats, after work, and passing through the mass St. Patrick's Day Parade orgy along Perkins road, when I hit a piece of a bottle that some thoughtful fellow had left for me in the road. As a friend of mine, who is a cyclist also, remarked: "Dude, you hit that just perfectly." The glass cut completely through my rear tyre and inner tube, cutting them almost completely in half. As it is a Sunday, and I open the Seafood Department tomorrow, I will be walking until at least Tuesday.

Then, somehow, I managed to say something to make one of my closest friends angry at me. I am going to stop talking to people entirely (this will be made easier by my lack of a mobile), except for what is minimally necessary to conduct business. You know, you aren't crazy if everybody does hate you.

I went online to check on getting a replacement phone (I had insurance on this one), only to discover that the deductible is $100. I am eligible for a mail-in rebate of $100, but God only knows when that will reach me, if it does at all. All this, while I am trying like crazy to sock away enough money to get out of my present circumstance and out of Louisiana.

Am I cursed? Have I done something terribly wrong? Do I somehow deserve all of this crap? Sometimes, I really think that something is out to get me.

You know the old saying, "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade"? I have enough lemonade. I have pretty much cornered the market on it. So, here I sit, at Middleton Library, composing this, because I no longer have a phone to post anything from. When I leave here, I will go and feed the cats (hopefully without pissing anybody else off) and walk the three miles back to fucking Kamp, where I will spend a rollicking and revivifying evening with some of the stupidest and most pathetically useless people I have ever met. Then, tomorrow, I will either walk or ride the crappy Baton Rouge transportation system to and from work. Tuesday, if something else doesn't drop on my head like a giant cow-flop from heaven, I may, just maybe get my bike repaired, so I can return, ever so slightly, to the agonising tedium of what passes for an existence these days.

Yeah. I complained that things were bad and a friend told me: "Cheer up. It could be worse." So I cheered up and, sure enough, things got worse.

Sorry about the pessimistic viewpoint, but I just don't see much to feel positive about. I wish something good would happen, for a change. Is it really my point of view? Am I just not seeing all of this shit in a positive light? Or would succeeding in doing so simply qualify me as delusional?

Help? Somebody?

Poo Days Redux

Either the grocery side of the store is punishing me for being sick or they are just cutting hours again in order to get management bonuses: it matters not, the reason, but the effect is the same. I be's fucked up de butt. After three days sick, I called work to find that I have been scheduled to work 12 hours this past week. 12 MOTHERFUCKING HOURS!!! WHO CAN LIVE ON THAT??? Thank you. This is a great way to insure employee loyalty. YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

So, yesterday, when the liquor manager called me and asked could I please come in and work, because one of his regular employees had an emergency to attend to, I said yes, even if it was only 4.5 hours, because I need the money. So, I took a shower, rode down to work, and worked from 11:30 until 16:00. Well, about 15:00, the manager of another store, about 5 miles away, called to ask if I could work for her, as one of her employees was out sick. So, when I got off work from my store, I rode directly to her store (I covered the 3.5 miles in 20 minutes!) and worked until close, which wound up to be about 22:15. I had no breaks, not even a 15, and nothing to eat all day, because I had not had time for it.

Things went okay, except that three little shits came in and stole a bottle of high-class vodka. Earlier, at my store, a guy came in and walked out with two bottles of liquor, mumbling "you ain't gonna catch me" on the way out the door. Well, I got his license plate number as he drove away, in A BIG EXPENSIVE PICK-UP (why pay when you can steal?). We called the police,but they never showed up. Typical, here in Baton Rouge. The three little shits, all dressed out in the most expensive GANGSTA crap, left in a nice mid-sized car. I can't afford a car. I don't steal, either.

Okay: I am not racist. How come about 90% of the guys who steal in my store are black? It's true. I have seen white guys stealing, but most of they guys who steal from me are black. Not only that, but only about half are the "crack addict" types, who sell the stolen liquor to buy crack :the other half are kids who have money, more than I do: what's up with that?

Anyway, I hadn't eaten all day. When I don't eat all day (which is often), I tend to get watery diarrhea. I did, twice. Had to run to the toilet, and soiled one of my favourite pair of trunks. This happened twice. Great fun. Had to wipe my butt and my underwear: thank God, it didn't come through my pants. When I got home, I changed underwear and scrubbed my trunks until they were spotless. Hey, I admitted to being almost fanatically fastidious, many posts ago. My house may be a bit messy, but I am always clean.

It was cold on the way home, but I wore my new tights (THANX, LISA XXOO), so I was actually warm going home. Bought cheap frozen food at work, and ate a pot pie, a bowl of peas and a potato, before going to sleep. Best meal in a week. Fresh undies, too.

If I would steak anything, it would be food, or cat litter. But, then, I don't think like a thief.

More Bitchin' and Moanin'

Pulled a double the other day at the store. Happened like this: I thought I had to be in for 11, but it tuned out I was on schedule for 6. So, feeling like a total spazz, I changed back into riding gear and was on my way out, when my boss stopped me and asked me if I wanted to work. Turned out that two people had not shown up at all, and the store was really busy, and so, I went back upstairs and re-dressed, and worked 12 hours, with an hour for lunch, in the middle. The first half, I worked in the main store, and the latter, in the liquor department, my old haunt.

It was intense. We were so busy that I got one chance to run to the toilet and no break for almost six hours. A horde of the most imbcelic and insane customers descended upon me like, uh, locusts or something: perhaps cicadas.

Okay. When I go to the store, and I buy stuff, I pretty much know two things: (a) how much the stuff I am buying actually costs (this may easily be ascertained by reading THE FUCKING SHELF TAG, YOU MORON) , and (b) how much money I have to spend for it (you can look in your pocket or at the balance coloumn of your checkbook or CALL THE FUCKING BANK INSTEAD OF DISCUSSING THE BITCH YOU FUCKED LAST NIGHT OR THE LATEST SHADE OF MAKEUP YOU HAVE ON ON YOUR CELL WHILE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE CONDUCTING BUSINESS, YOU DICK/AND/OR CUNT!). Gawd, that felt good! Mental defecation is good for the soul.

So, I get this extremely well-dressed black lady in her 60's, the kind that you would think would be a wonderful customer, only she has the sale paper in her hand, and she's in for the sale, only there is an issue with the cost of, um, like, every other item. The first was BOGO (q.v.), only she had two different items, from the meat department. So, I had to call J., from the meat department, and he explained it to her in great detail, but she either failed to grasp the concept or was a good scammer, because he finally said "just give it to her", which meant I had to do a POS coupon on it. Okay, that crisis averted, she hands me a "rain check" ticket for orange juice, only the coupon is a year old. I bring to her attention that there is (written on the coupon) a 30-day expiration date, and she gets huffy, so I have to get J., the manager on duty, who tells her the same thing, and finally, exasperated, tells me to honour it. Think it's over now? Oh, no. No such fucking luck.

The third item rings at $1.59, but she claims it is $.99, because the tag said so. So, I summon a third person, this time from grocery, who checks the item and comes back and tells us that the item next to it is the one for $.99, so she doesn't want it, and I have to void it off. Still ain't over.

Next thing, she has ten items that she says are "10 FOR 10" (q.v.), and produces her sale paper, which is two weeks out of date, and the items are now for the regular price. So, once again, I summon a manager, J., again, only, this time, he's had as much of her as I have, because he has plenty of other things to do, and, he tells her, we can't honour it, so, I have to void all ten of the items off, and he has to stand there and validate it, and I have to write every item down, individually, on my Cashier's Report. Finally, she leaves. It took me two minutes to ring her items, and twenty more to sort out HER mistakes, and EVERY ONE WAS HERS. The four people behind her were remarkably patient, and very kind to me.

That was the other day. So, Sunday, I have to open the liquor department at 11, which is the earliest you can sell alcohol in Baton Rouge. I've got my till and stuff, and I'm waiting for C., the manager for the morning, to open the department for me, and this crack whore, waving money, is in front of us, demanding the door be opened. Of course, before I do any business, I have to count my till and sign the paperwork, because I am responsible for the money that I am "sold", every time I take a till. So, while I'm counting my money and doing my paperwork, she runs to the back and grabs a bottle of Wild Irish Rose, which is this awful sweet wine that only stone alkys drink, and puts it on the counter, and, I tell her, "I'll wait on you in just a moment; I have to count my till." She can't wait, and she puts her money down, $4.11, and rushes out.

So, I look up, and she has left not only the money, but her wine, too. And that's why you shouldn't do crack.

My last customer is so impatient that he swipes his credit card right after I ring his first item, and, when I tell him that it didn't go through, that he did it too quickly, argues with me that it SHOULD work faster, and it's MY fault.

And that's why I should do crack: just to get in tune. Oh, well: it's my day off, and I have nothing better to do than write, drink wine, and liten to music all day. UB40 now. I'm chillin'.

Poo Days

Long time no blog. I admit to being a little be-otch. Many, many things be happening, O, Best Beloved. I sure hope this is in Lucinda Grave. I Love sans serif fonts!

Well, I wasn't, at least last week. Poor little thing, I was smitten from below by a nasty virus from Hell. Oh, shit .. LC isn't!!! Oh well. Serifs will have to do. Are you out there? Hello?

Anyway, I got this nasty poo virus. I call it a nasty poo virus because that's all you do, is hurt in your vitals and poo a lot, and the poo is legendary. The beginning is what we here in South Louisiana call "gumbo poo", and ends with the "Hershey squirts". It is accompanied by gastric disturbances that rival the separation of California from the rest of America by gastric default. Can I describe it better? The rumble in the jungle is the rumble in your pants.

So, I get over that. It cost me a day off work, which I can't really afford, being a wage slave. It also wiped (pun intended) out my supply of toilet tissue. So, I had to go to work to resupply my TP.

It has been hot and cold: one day it is around freezing and the next day I can ride in a t-shirt and bike shorts. It has been rather pretty out. Ducks be ducking, on the lakes. I be ducking traffic. Today is no different. Here, I was planning a day with no stress, just writing, watching movies (Fern loaned me a bunch of Almodovar) and (leisurely) putting my new house in order, and I get called in to work. Well, I can use the money, so I am going. Beats beating off (not really, but that doesn't pay a lot), so, it's into my tiny shower and a sprint to the store for me.

It's not cold now, but I'm taking my ski gloves anyway. Last night, my fingers got frosty. The wind is from the North, so it's easy riding to work. Wind in my face tonight, I guess.