Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Like Moths to a Flame

Today I started my first non-online class since Christmas. Its gotten smaller since last time as this is part two of a three part series. There are five students besides myself. The cool thing about that is that we can all stretch out. Each row has three computers at them and there are two sides and four to a side... so 8 rows. Five students. Yep, we each get to have our own space to stretch out our books and maybe put a purse on the chair next to us, etc. Everyone but me. Why? Because crazy hippy woman decides that space is for suckers and sits right next to me.
I was already on the middle computer, so she could have just snuck in and took the coputer to my left, but that wouldn't do. She had to suck and squeeze her way past me and sit to the computer at my right. Maximum touching invloved in this transaction, of course.
As I'm thinking to myself, "I must smell particularly lovely this afternoon" she proceeds to make herself comfortable... in my S--P--A--C--E and flips open her text book, which conveniently covers my mouse. Since I am a gutless turd, I didn't actually say anything, but spent the entire class using the mouse from underneath the cover of her text book, which didn't bother her in the least. It also didn't bother her that her breath smelled like she had been eating out of a dumpster. How in the world do I know what her breath smelled like you ask? Well, Watson, its because every instruction that the professor gave us caused her to lean her face toward mine and watch me write out all the code first.
Annnnd, for the cherry on top, she was NOT getting it. Anything. Everything. "Ooh, Alice, one of these days: bang! Zoom! Straight to the moon!" Every simple little action from opening a new file to coding table cell data was a virtual anomoly to this woman. Every move had to be hand traced for her by the teacher. I would really like to know why someone who can't grasp the concept of opening a file on a computer has decided to become a certified webmaster. That would be like me deciding to be a professional glass blower. It just doesn't make sense.
I'm not trying to knock her or fault her for trying, I'm faulting her for invading my S--P--A--C--E when the chair right next to the teacher (a spot that wouldn't involve me sucking in my spare big rig tire and scooting the chair in so the teacher could assist in her every move) was ready and waiting for an ass to call its own.

I've gone over and over in my head what could possibly make me the lucky one to share my very important elbow space, as I have ironically found myself in this situation more than once. (I am especially sensitive to personal space at the gym and feel that unless someone has announced the other treadmills have been doused with anthrax, you shouldn't be using the one right next to me for any reason.)

I'm not particularly fetching and I'm also not terribly strange looking. I don't think I would be an inviting option for someone looking on either end of the spectrum. I dress conservatively, I don't own bright colors, my makeup is natural tones, and my new Katie Holmes hairstyle isn't scoring me any extra points either. Nope, there is nothing there that would suggest that I should attract someone looking for a fellow Boo Radley, or a potential life partner.
Me: Wearing tan courderoy pants, brown flip flops, and a 3/4 sleeved boatneck t-shirt. My hair is worn half up in a barrett as it is too short for anything else.
Her: Wearing a floral dress with large pockets. Over a pair of grey trousers. Topped off with a purple cable-knit sweater and wild glasses. Her hair is down to her butt and wild.

I have never been told that I look like the kind of person you could just sit down and have a conversation with. Infact, my 6'3", 200lb husband found me intimidating when we first met. I'm not proud of it, but years of working retail has left me jaded and bitter and generally unimpressed with the evolution of the human species.
Me: Loner, rebel.
Her: Hippy, Close talker.

Lucky for me, I usually am perceived as smart... but the kind of smart person who will make you cry, not hold your hand and convince you that one day you'll be able to tie your shoes all by yourself.
Me: Can read at least an eighth grade level!
Her: May or may not see literacy as an important goal in life.

Aroma: I must have a fabulous musk.
Me: Wearing Dior's Addict II.
Her: Wearing the smell of victory over large rodents at feeding time.

I admit it, I feel bad about being SO cruel toward this lady... but did I mention that this class is FOUR HOURS long? And hey, its all entertainment folks. And its all for you.

10 Skeletons

I seem to have gotten this a few times now, so I'm taking the hint. People love me. What can I say.

The rules are: Once you've been tagged, you write a blog/bulletin with 10 weird, random things, facts or habits about yourself.

10. I broke my right wrist twice. The second time resulted in surgery and now its made of 50% metal. If certain fabrics (or anything else) brush across my wrist in the right spot, I lose feeling in three fingers and my thumb for several minutes.
9. The scariest thing a doctor has ever asked me was if I had recently swallowed any small metal discs. (I hadn't, it was an error on an x-ray)
8. I recently stole two onions from the grocery store. And it was sort of on purpose.
7. I used to put really... really... obscene amounts of butter oil (as in small animals could drown) on the free popcorn for the people that came to the forget-me-not shows at 7am at the Fenton Cinema. I still think they deserved it.
6. I once survived several months on only beef consumme, twix bars, and green powerade. Which, by the way, should be the next weight loss revolution.
5. When I have had a bad day, the following things almost always give me some sort of comfort: pugs, the opening credits to Gilmore Girls, Snoopy cartoons, a white blanket with more holes than fabric, hot tea, music that reminds me of my parents washing the car in the driveway, and reading lamps with low wattage bulbs.
4. I am allergic to Mr. Bubble.
3. It has always bothered me that I lost a superball in a tree outside my grandmother's house and I never found it. Where the hell could it have gone. I'm fairly certain that there is some sort of vortex there.
2. I sucked my thumb until I was like 25. The dentist always knew. I hated him for that.
1. I once got my lip stuck to an A&W root beer bar. My mother finds this extraordinarily funny and makes sure to bring it up every couple of years. I'm pretty sure the story will be printed on my tombstone.

Monday, January 28, 2008

I Shoplifted Onions.

I suppose today started as a normal day. I got up. I let the dogs out. I wasted a ridiculous amount of time on the Internet and then I went to the grocery store, loving called "He-y-b Buddy" by my husband and his friend. It is actually called H-E-B. Three letters all pronounced seperately. Not to be confused with Heb. or Heybuddy. Ironically, the town I grew up in had a grocery store called VGs. Also letters only, not to be pronounced... however you would pronounce a V and a G as a word.

Anyway. I hate Heybuddy. It is THEE place to be for the hip and happening of Georgetown. You pick a time of day, any day, its packed. We're talking World War III food rationing in the middle of a Category 5 hurricane prediction packed. I hate it. I try to get the produce out of the way first because that is where everyone likes to cluster. One of the nice things about heybuddy is that it provides a little UPC machine, so if you have a bag of onions, you can set them on the scale, type in the provided code and get a label for your crap so that you can self-checkout: my favorite.

So anyway. I had a hand basket full of mostly produce and I head to the check-outs, where the lines are naturally that of an immigration office or the DMV. I am behind this woman and her son at the self-checkout and she is, of course, having massive problems, which in hindsight, would be the reason why that line was by far the shortest. In her defense, her main "problem" was her retarded son who kept pushing buttons and playing on the bag spinner which is programmed to detect the slightest change in weight to catch you from stealing packs of gum. Every two seconds the machine would sing out: "PLEASE HOLD FOR CASHIER" because this kid was screwing around. The mom would swat at him and giggle at how "funny" he was. After about the 6th time this happened she laughed and swung her head over her shoulder giving me a "isn't he SO cute and funny!" smile. I gave her my "eat shit and die" face and she went back to trying to ring up a zucchini.

Minutes later, when she and her future glue sniffer left the store, I was ready to check out. For those of you who don't believe in Karma, it may be time to start. All those terrible thoughts about what an idiot the lady in front of me was and whether or not I planned to run her over with my car immediately came back and smacked me repeatedly in the face.

The self-checkouts are for 20 items or less.

I assumed that I had 20 items or less, but didn't count. BIG MISTAKE.
I was mostly done with my items when my transaction came to a screeching halt. I was trying to ring up some mushrooms but the computer wanted to know if I was paying with a check and if I had any coupons.

I'm sorry, but if you can pay with a check at the damn thing, having 21 items shouldn't send all computing functions to a grinding halt. It ends at 20. so now, with a line gathering behind me and my brain fumbling to catch up to what has just happened, I felt and looked like a neon colored ass. I hurried to pay for my 20 items and tried to quickly start another transaction for my leftover onions and cilantro. Yes, two items over. Two. Well, in my haste to hurry and swipe my next item and jam it into a bag, I upset the bag spinner which made me then remove all my bags, dig out the rogue cilantro, and place it in a new and uninhibited bag. That's probably when I started to notice the annoyed whispering behind me. I think I was sweating even...
So, I am trying to reconfigure the bag situation when one of the friendly neighborhood heybuddy cashiers comes over to see if I need assistance... or a helmet. I assure him I'm fine and he goes back to his little watch post.
Naturally, at this point, I'm not all right. The label has gotten wet on my onions, no doubt from the constant cold shower that the celery is subjected to in the produce aisle. I can't scan the effing onions. So I hit the button that says; "no barcode" hoping that it will give you a list to choose from or something, but instead it alerts the cashier boy who tells me that "all [I] have to do is lift the onions off the scale."
Really? That's what I have to do? That's going to ring up the onions?
I no longer cared. I paid for my stuff, grabbed my bags, grabbed the onions, and grabbed the handbasket... I never put the onions in my bag... I don't know that I consciously planned to 5 finger discount two onions... but I did.
I am an onion thief. It didn't even completely hit me until writing this that I feel really, really bad about this! But at least I'll have something for confession if I ever go to church again...
Wow, I'm really going to hell. And I'll probably be an onion farmer. This sucks.

In case anyone still had any reason to believe that it was safe for me to be in a store, let me go on:
Last weekendish Mike and I were at Sam's Club and they had this sliced pineapple there. We decided that it would be great for juicing and I reached over to get a package and that's when it happened.
My motor skills failed me.
The lid, which was not securely fastened, shifted ever so slightly, to which I overcompensated and somehow, beyond any reasonable comprehension of mine, the pineapple launched out of my hands and took flight, resulting the only way it possibly could: crash landing.

What would a situation like this be if it didn't have an audience. Shocked old people looked at me incredulously as the temperature in my face and ears shot up 80 degrees. Mike, who would later tell me that he saw the whole experience in slow motion, was doing a hearty pirate laugh and thankfully helping me pick up the naked, shivering pineapple chunks who found themselves so unexpectedly on the filthy floor at Sam's Club. I barked at Mike, Mr. Funny, to guard the spill while I found a government funded disaster relief organization.
I sought out the very first employee that I could and confessed my crime. I had catapulted a pineapple through their produce section and it was now in need of a mop. I was really sorry. And really stupid. And really sorry.
The employee, who was obviously going for some sort of employee of the month award, told me to tell "that guy" and pointed to a man working over in the butcher's hut. He was wearing a bloody white lab coat. This didn't seem to me like the man for the job, but who was I to be making these sort of assumptions, I can't even hold a container of pineapple.
So I told him.
He told me to tell "her" and pointed to someone handing out samples.
This little game went on and on and on until I finally ended back up at the sample lady who had been replaced by TWO sample ladies doling out shellfish in dixie cups. Mmmm. I once again recanted my tale... which is fun because I come out looking so good in it. The first girl informed me in a serious of "noises" that she didn't speak or understand English and if I would just take her little cup o' shrimp, her day would be much brighter.


The second girl told me to tell the butcher man.

I realize that this whole situation is my fault and mine alone, however, in cartoons, this is the point where steam comes out of your ears or you develop a comical tick.
I took a deep breath and without pausing for any sort of response yelled: "I have already told NINE different people and not ONE of you can be bothered to a.) clean it up, b.) find someone whom YOU KNOW can clean it up, or c.) hand me a mop. It is my opinion that I have officially gone above and beyond the call of duty for a consumer and I don't care what happens, have fun with your shellfish and avoid breaking a hip in the fruit aisle!"

After all that, we still haven't made any juice with the pineapple and now I am an onion thief.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Death Proof Saturday and Sherbet.

Tonight we made the trek out to downtown Austin for dinner at the ever popular Guerros from the movie Death Proof.

Yep, that would have been us standing there by that "No Parking" sign. Only instead of finding Stuntman Mike and his death proof car, there were space heaters and Mexicans selling girl scout cookies.

It was kind of exciting to be there as we recognized things from the movie and it was completely packed. We didn't have to wait too long before getting a table and the world's worst waiter.
Actually, let me back up for a second to make sure you can soak in every last detail of this excursion.
First off, we were told that the wait for a table would be a minimum of 45 minutes, which I am thinking may have been a scare tactic because we only waited twenty minutes at the most. At the time I was glad that we didn't decide to throw in the towel and go across the street to "Home Slice" pizza. Since we thought we would be waiting, Julie asked if I wanted to get a drink. So we tried to make our way over to the bar, but we had only gotten a few steps inside when I told her that it was NOT worth the trouble to get through the crowd. As I said this, some red headed psycho girl spun around like she was ready to throw her drink in my face and tells her friend: "Did you hear what she said?!" To which I responded to Julie that I would be fine without a drink and went back to wait outside as I apparently offended this drunk girl by not wanting to shove people to get to the bar where I would order a Dr. Pepper.
Outside was just as jammed as inside... but mainly because a group of 30 middle aged idiots wanted to stand around on the street infront of the restuarant with their doggy bags and see how much of a fire hazard they could cause.
We were then seated by a man, who as far as I can tell, had no penis. I say this because the guy was wearing the TIGHTEST jeans I have ever seen and there was NOTHING getting in his way. They weren't even a flattering tight kind of jeans, they were making it look like his legs couldn't possibly support the weight of his torso and head. And don't even get me started on this new trend where some men think its cool to dress like girls (tight pants, mascara, girly haircuts...) Its really very... gross.
Our waiter on the other hand, was all man and all ours. He was a little dirty. Tattoo ridden. He dropped the glasses of water on our table as if we offended him, right away sending Julie into a consumer rage. He finally showed up to take our actual drink orders and all we got for the whole table was a mixed drink for Pedro, and a Dr. Pepper for me.

Pedro got his mixed drink pretty quick but my Dr. Pepper was MIA for quite awhile.
Whenever the guy asked if we needed anything he would actually walk away before we could answer!!!! I'm not even exaggerating.
But the best, BEST part of this dinner was the food itself. Tastewise, it didn't suck. But that's the best I'm giving it.
We ordered nachos for an appetizer to split among the four of us. I want you to take this moment and ask you to conjure up in your brain an image of what nachos look like. Now let me tell you what we got.
We got three... count 'em, THREE, round chips with refried beans and cheese on them. I will point out, in fairness, that we didn't read the description of the nachos, we just assumed we knew what we were getting. Ooops.
I guess everything else was all right. The only other complaint I have is centered around my meal, I think everyone elses' went okay. I like to consider myself to be someone who isn't picky. I don't special order things. I don't ask for extra this or none of that, so when I ordered their famous tacos (burritos) and the waiter asked me if I wanted lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and sour cream, I said: "sure, that's fine."
To which he replied: "Sour cream?" and I said; "Um... yeah. That'll be good."
To my utter delight, I was greeted with a sour cream burrito. There was a teaspoon of meat and two ice cream scoop fulls of sour cream and that's it. It was pretty much the most disgusting thing I have experienced in my 27 years of being able to chew solid food. I wiped ALL the sour cream off and picked at the burrito thing a little but ultimately didn't eat it and still didn't complain. Not even when he asked to take our plates for us and then left empty handed before we could answer.

Despite dinner's obvious downside, we actually had a really good time and went back to the Pedro's to watch Fight Club. The Mikes had wanted to make some drinks so we had planned to stop at a liquor store, but to our surprise, every liquor store in the tri-county area was closed and it wasn't even 9:30. Again, not a drinker, but doesn't that seem like you're alienating some of your best clientele as a liquor purveyor? Do the drunks really come rolling in at 3:30pm or something? I swear to God, Texas is worth than Florida in some respects. It has all the quirks of living in death's waiting room, minus the Jeopardy marathons.

Just when I thought the night was over and nothing else could go wrong, I discovered two things.
1.) Strawberry Sherbert is nearly impossible to find. They have orange, lime, and rainbow. Hell, they even have pineapple and lifesave flavor, but strawberry? Nooooo.
2.) Did you know its called SHERBET? I have been calling it SHER-BERT! As in SHER-BERT and SHER-ERNIE. The entire fabric of my existence has unravelled. Its very sad. And yes, I do feel that picture of the Dr. Pepper can deserves that much space.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

200 Foot Pole.

Yesterday Mike and I were driving behind one of those REEEALLLY annoying trucks that make a 1/3assed attempt (you know, less than a half-assed attempt) to cover the top of their rolling death machines. The fun thing about these portable crap haulers, is that whatever comes rolling out of it is always a surprise. It could just be sticks and branches, papers, coffee cups or trash, or it could be giant rocks. Either way, its a roll of the dice as to whether your windsheild will be smashed or you'll die. I must not be the only person who feels this way, as the truck, rather than fixing the Saran wrap loosely wrapped around the top to keep its contents from causing a 79 car pile up behind it, had a warning on the back which read:


I'm sorry, but yes, you are responsible for windshield damage, you ass knob! Can you imagine what would happen on I-35 if when reading that sign we had slammed on our breaks waited four minutes for the thing to get 200 feet in front of us and then continued on at 15 miles an hour to match its pace and thus not exceed the 200 foot rule of responsibility?
Well, I will tell you what would happen. Traffic would back up from Georgetown, Texas to EGYPT. Yes, cars would literally stretch across oceans, that is how insane the traffic would get.

Is that really all it takes, some stupid sign? Well, if that's the case, I'm running out tomorrow and getting a sign for my back windsheild that says:


I figure if I have a nice 200 foot buffer on all sides of me, I won't have to concern myself with any sort of traffic laws. And should some turkey think that its okay to drive any closer to me, any sort of infraction would be rendered his fault as I am clearly not responsible.

I think this is a great idea, this 200 foot warning buffer. I recommend you all do the same.


Thursday, January 17, 2008

Up All Night

Its been almost a month and I think I am mostly better. One lingering problem is my inability to sleep at night. I have never in my life had insomnia, but lately, I just can't fall alseep until its time to get up. Its driving me insane.

Tonight, I thought I may have had the problem licked-- I was asleep by 11:30pm, however, awake again at 12:57. I tried to fight it, but by 1:36am, I was wide awake as Midas began a set of marathon sneezing. That's it. I'm awake. I laid there and thought about how hungry I was since the whole house seems to be infused with a chili smell from dinner. I tried turning on my side and Maya viewed this as an invitation to come take over my pillow. When I tried to turn back, she was already in the lock and load mindset where she had to lick and wasn't going to take "no" for an answer. I spent the next several minutes sheilding my face, pushing her away, trying to hide under the covers, but pugs are relentless lickers. Finally I managed to twist myself into a position where my hand was over my face and she was able to just lick my hand until there was no skin left-- a pleasant alternative to her jamming her tongue into a nostril.

Once the 20 minute lick fest had ended, I suddenly found myself obsessing over some dry skin on my leg. Then biting at my fingernails. Then I was thirsty.

A shameful amount of potato sticks and 7-up later, here I am on the internet at 2:15 in the morning. I'm actually looking forward to this three-day weekend, despite the fact that we have nothing planned because I'll have someone to force me out of bed early and hopefully get over this weird sleeping thing. I miss sleep. I miss dreams about Marge Simpson and Real Estate Carnies. I miss daylight. How did this happen anyway?

Ohhh yeah... a month of not being able to breathe. Hooray sick.

In other, better, news: Maya had her pre-screening today to become a Therapy Dog. Her first class will be February 20th in Houston. I think Maya will be an amazing therapy dog. Everyone who meets her falls in love with her. People have very strong reactions to how little and cute and sweet she is. I really think she would brighten people's days-- especially when there is very little to look forward to in their lives. Despite the manic licking, she definately has a calming effect!

My only reservation is that I will have to take her out to hospitals and nursing homes without Midas and he's going to go crazy. I feel really bad about the fact that he's going to feel neglected, knowing that he lives for "rides in the car" but he could never be a therapy dog. He doesn't love to be cuddled by all people. He barks incessantly at certain people (only certain people) and while I love him like crazy-- he's not everyone's cup of tea.

Maya on the hand is perfect. She loves everyone. She loves to be pet and squeezed and she's more than at home in a lap. Hopefully she'll do some good for someone. Who knows.

Here is a link to Therapy Pet Pals of Austin. I don't know if it will show up as a hyperlink, though, as Blogger has a love-hate relationship with HTML code.... meaning that it hates it. Conventional computer coding means nothing to this website.


Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Woe is Me.

I don't know how 2008 could do this to me. I waited for SO LONG to be rid of that stinky 2007, but thus far, '08 has been an upset.
I'm ready to throw in the towel already and wait for the crap to hit the fan. So far this year, I have been sick EVERY SINGLE DAY. Today, on day 18 of my unending illness, I started to feel better-- so I got up... walked out to the living room and decided to break a toe on our plastic wicker furniture.

At this point I'm just trying to mentally prepare for bad news. Tomorrow someone is coming to look at the house. I was pretty convinced that we'd be here for awhile, so that means it will probably sell. The post office doesn't have a limit on how many change of addresses one can have, right?
I'm also going to the doctor for day 19 of my unending illness. It will probably sound something like this:
Dr: "Are you still feeling sick."
Me: "A little, but I think I'm actually getting better."
Dr: "And you have medicine... and you've been to the hospital... so why are you here?"
Me: "Well, because I still wasn't getting better so I made the appointment... but then by the time I started to feel better we had already entered into the realm of being charged anyway for not keeping the appointment... so... here I am."
Dr: "O-kay."
Me: "Yep.........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................so...............................................................................................................................................................had a good Christmas?"

My class sucks. Lesson learned, not taking an online class here again. I've taken online classes before, but this class, as far as I can tell, is literally reading some crap online. No tests. No homework. No grades maybe? Naturally, my compiler isn't working. I'm not sure what is wrong with it. Yes, I can download a new one, but that's not even the point. At least, I can sit here with a snot rag jammed up my nose, glasses on, and drinking cranberry juice... the perfect picture of what I thought a computer programmer should look like. And at least I can say I was sick for almost a month and lost 16 pounds.
And at least Cambpell's still makes Minestrone soup.
That's something.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

My New Life

Its five in the afternoon-- my new wake up time.
This cold has changed and or ruined my life. I now sleep all day and am awake all night sleepily staring at the ceiling. Not to say that I don't have a new routine to adjust to, because I do have that. Exciting as it may be. I've swapped in any normal 9-5 activities for sleeping. Then around 5pm when I stumble (yes, stumble as if I have been drinking profusely) out of bed I am hit with an immediate wave of guilt that my poor dogs who have been champion sleeping by my side, haven't seen a fire hydrant yet today. So, I feel around on my "table O' Snot rags" for my glasses and bring them outside, where they spend their few happy moments.
In the meantime, I check my messages, as I have undoubtedly slept through several. Then onto email and often times this week from there I would take more pills, more nasal spray, and make more hot tea and go back to bed.

The nightime routine is the BEST, though. I'll watch late night TV until it feels like I SHOULD be tired and then fall into the "routine."

Adjust pillows
Contort around dogs who have already made themselves comfortable.
Sit up.
Blow nose.
Lay back down.
Check clock.
Sit back up.
Make hot tea.
Drink tea.
Back to bed.
Adjust pillows.
Stare at ceiling.
Try to think of something to think about.
Sit up.
Blow nose.
Nasal spray.
Blow nose.
Big sigh.
Adjust pillows.
Add a pillow.
**Commence snoring husband**
Sit up.
Go to kitchen and locate ear plugs.
Back to bed.
Ear plugs.
Back to bed.
Oh man-- take out contacts.
Back to bed.
Earplugs in place.
Pillows... there.
Dogs... steaming
Can't find the chapstick.
There it is.
Apply heavy amounts of chapstick to already nasty lips.
There's Maya! Chapstick attracts dog 2 and shielding face from licking begins.
Check clock.
Decide to see what's on TV. Again.
Sit up.
Maya and I both watch TV in upright position.
Begin Cycle again.

I do not like my new life.

Friday, January 4, 2008

Cheese Pins and Lies

Linens N Things is synonymous with the selling of overpriced gizmoish crap that, lets face it, no one really needs. I have always been amazed at the number of people that will gawk open mouthed at the miraculous invention of a toothpaste squeezer. One such invention proudly displayed in impulse alley currently is the cheese pin.Yes, the cheese pin promises to take care of all of your cheese cutting needs.

What in the HELL is a cheese pin you ask? It is a knob of plastic that you jam into a piece of cheese. You then hold the knob/pin whilst "cutting the cheese" (no pun intended) and this is supposed to alleviate the stress that one would normally feel about slicing cheese sans knob.

Its honestly, ridiculous... yet people think they need it. The whole cheese pin scenario has become a metaphor for my working existence at Linens and Crap. Its honestly, ridiculous and I really don't need it.

Since recovering from my cold, I have since developed any number of chronic and infectious lung conditions that could be any of the following:
Common Cold... from hell
Typhoid Fever
Amoebic Dysentery
the baldness gene
the Bubonic Plague.

I don't know what the hell is going on with my physical health, all I know is that each time I go into work at Linens and Germs, I come home sicker than I was before I left the house that day. Whatever is causing the endless snot stream at the back of my throat is showing no end in sight. I think its time to cleanse myself of the bacterial culture of my job.

But back to the Cheese pins. Its really all about the stupid cheese pins. Do you know what cheese pins really are? They are lies. Cheese lies. Assuming that you do actually find yourself in a position where you are regularly slicing small to medium hunks of cheese, do you really think this cheese pin will help you? Sure, you'll have something to hold on to, but the mere existence of this thing makes it harder to cut. I'm not exaggerating, there is a picture on the box that shows all of four slices of cheese being cut successfully and then the knife runs into said cheese pin.
Soooo typical that such a product would be found at the counter of Linens and Lies.

Here are some of the more recent lies that have disrupted my life, courtesy of my "job."
1. I told them that my last day of work there would be the 28th. My reasoning was that I wanted time to myself before school began again to brush up on everything before I forgot what I already learned. I also didn't want to begin the new year employed by them because now I'll have four days of pay stubs to worry about on next years taxes. Anyhow, I was sick for three days during that time and when I came back I was on the schedule the whole next week. As I tried to explain that I had planned to make the 28th my last day, I was told by the scheduling manager that HE was told that I felt so bad for calling in sick that I wanted to "make it up to them."
How can you argue with that, right? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that even if someone had lied and said that-- I had been on the old schedule for the 29th anyway. So clearly, they KNEW I was a push over and didn't care.
So now, I have worked the last five days straight, without a break, and sicker than I have been yet because I would be "screwing over the whole company" by calling out.

Well. I am scheduled to work a good ten hour shift tomorrow, but since we are in such DIRE need of employees and they aren't bothering to interview the people that have been parading through with applications, I think this officially falls under the jurisdiction of: "Not my problem."
So tonight was my last.

One more fun little Linens n Lies antectdote is in regards to closing. One of the other girls I workED with asked the manager if we could be out by ten if we made sure to get done with all the projects, etc. She had to be somewhere. The manager responded that they weren't allowed to let the employees go before ten thirty.

Okay, let me break this one down for you so that we can all see what a blatant lie it is:
1. The schedule had hours figured until ten o'clock. If it was for sure going to be ten thirty that we were all there, they would have had to figure that into the hours.
2. The lights automatically shut off just after ten. They have to manually be turned back on.
3. All of the other managers that don't hate their home life manage to let us go before ten thirty.
4. What company in their right mind would say; "Well... the store has been closed for an hour... and there isn't anything for anyone to do... but lets all just take a seat and play duck, duck, goose until the clock reaches 10:30. It'll be good for your paychecks!"

Finally, to anyone fool enough to think they actually need a cheese pin in their lives, the sad truth of the matter is, that pretty soon you will realize you were better paying an extra $3.00 for a Julienne slicer and the retarded cheese pin will be tossed to the back of the drawer, forgotten until the next garage sale.

Like the cheese pin, Linens and Things has been tossed into a forgotten drawer in the back of my mind, only to be drudged out again years from now when I'll need therapy to rid my mental health of the woes that I now feel physically.

Thanks for the ride, Linens and Crap. It couldn't have sucked more.

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