Listening to> 'Ojos Asi' - Shakira
Reading> 'Y: The Descent of Man', Steve Jones - finally finished!
Working On> Trying to find out if I'm angry or not
Film of the moment> None
I would have preferred the Riesling when I was watching the Oscars, but wouldn't you know it, Stinky took it with her. Speaking of which she's been gone a total of four out of seven days. I'll make sure she's still paying full for the rent, the cow.
It's rather good to be alone, except for the absent fears one gets after watching a couple of Law and Order re-runs. You know, the fear of being tortured/raped/murdered in one's flat without anyone noticing your lack of presence. Sometimes I wonder if I lack the necessary processes to register fear. After all, I walk home in the dark as late as eleven p.m. without a dark thought for the consequences. And I still drive around in a car with one window taped shut with a cloudy plastic sheet. Not to mention the times I've eluded death when: street racing, jay-walking, climbing rocks, playing in creeks with strong currents, driving without windshield wipers when raining, mixed drugs and alcohol. It's almost as if I want to die.
Which is the total opposite, of course. Well... most of the time anyway.
These days I'm free to just be angry at everything without achieving much. Saturday was my final day at work. I wanted it to be full of great memories I would hold forever, except stupid cunts kept bothering me. Like this one lady who muttered to her daughter, 'Eets that stupid beesh' when she saw me. I was just about to reach over and strangle that mass of fat she calls a neck when I thought the better of it. IT was my last day and I wouldn't be reprimanded, technically, for it but I decided to be adult in this situation. And overcharged her. BHAHAHAHAHAH! Who's the beesh now?!
Stupid cunt. Aside from that little display of immaturity, I gave everyone at the cashiers chocolate. Mmmm. I usually don't like the stuff, because American chocolate is disgusting. Honestly disgusting. It's a mold on the great name of choclate. I can't stand it >_<.
Instead I bought Toblerone (Swiss) and handed bits of it to everyone. I came back for the second round and handed out Cadbury (British) easter eggs, making sure everyone had a taste. A few cursed me for a hidden agenda of making them fat, but admit it : ya'll want chocolate. No diet will exist in the face of such temptation.
*munches on chocolate*
I'm really going to miss them. Work sucked, my hand ached, everyone always laughed at my crappy car, or the customers would try to hit it with their trolleys but it was great fun. I loved working there. True, we didn't get paid much and the gossip was stale, but it certainly beat working for KFC. The discount we had was tight-fisted, you'd think they'd do better to make their employees spend more in the store. But the main difference were the employees. We weren't as upbeat as Vons workers (whom I have great sympathy since last year's union strike), nor as apathetic as Robinson's-May, but we had our moments. The trouble lay in our customers.
Yes, I said it. Our customers. You wouldn't believe how they treated us in the store. If the setting were in a Nordstrom's, you'd better believe their level of respect would increase dramatically. Instead, as 'Bullseye' is a mid-price hypermarket, people feel they have the right to act as if it is some place where their every whim is catered to.
The worse was the toilet duty. I always tried my best to squirrel out of it, but walked into the trap every single time. Whenever I had to check the bathrooms and clean, I would leave the basket outside as a warning not to enter (our caution/do not enter signs were missing for most of the time). Nevertheless, some inteprid customer would take the time to push away the heavy cart leaden with supplies and enter the bathroom just as I mop. And yell at me when I say the restrooms are closed. Then I decided to bring the cart inside and bar the door from within so that I may not leave, and they may not enter. That did the trick, but I still got the snippy ones bitching at me. I simply rolled my eyes and informed them of another restroom a few feet away. They, of course, would huffily say they don't have time to go there and curse me.
Jesus. If they didn't treat the store like a large rubbish bin, maybe we wouldn't have to resort to closing the bathroom every half-hour to clean it. It just irritated me constantly. Of course, this is not always the case. Some people are very nice and treat us with great respect.
But the majority don't give a shit about our feelings or the fact that we have to pick up after them. And that is what the typical worker in a store beit Wal-Mart, K-Mart or the like are: your personal cleaner. We pick the carts clean of your trash. We clean up your spills. We clean up the things you break in our store, but do not bother to pay for (so much for the ethical consumers!). We leave our lanes to pick up the four pack of toilet paper you 'forgot' to stop by and get. We have to spend our own money to buy new clothes after you open the laundry detergent and spilled it all over us, then demand to get a new one.
And I say this to you, typical consumers of America, with respect: FUCK YOU.
I am never working in the service fucking industry. People are just so bloody selfish and self-centred nowadays. What gives them the right to hassle workers just because they are the consumers? We are consumers too, and I'll bet none of us treat our fellow workers with the same disrespect we've encountered. I keep hearing companies talking about 'lower prices and higher quality', but that's impossible with the race to the bottom.
That mentality is ghetto-ising the hardworking men and women of the service industry who do so much and are paid so little at the expense of low everyday prices.
Customers know that; they know that it's the only job that's available in this economy and feel safe in exploiting the insecurity. A friend was written up when a woman refused to hand over the driver's license for a routine check process, and had to call her supervisor. The woman involved and another who witnessed it from a distance and knew nothing of the situation, left comments to the store requesting my friend be 'reprimanded' for her actions.
But it is the store's policy to ask for ID when the computers ask for it and it's easy to check the signature, and the authenticity when it is in one's hands.
Another incident involved a woman who had no receipt requesting to return a purchase. The co-worker told me the package wasn't in the computer's system, and might be from another store. The customer wouldn't listen and could not provide the receipt, plus she claimed she had paid in cash, so nothing else could be done. Instead, she refused to leave and demanded to have her money returned. She remained at the spot for four hours and had to be escorted outside by the police. Is it no wonder we (union) workers go on strike to demand back our dignity?
When that silent rage permeates the working environment, one can be sure one day it will blow up.
Anyway, enough bitter (Socialist) talk. I also got paid that day. Oh God, that was lovely. I had enough money to buy groceries. *cries quietly*
Bought veggies, soymilk (I told you, I'm allergic to milk and besides who wants to drink treated milk with loads of hormones?), fruits, pasta, brown rice... This means I'm going to have a good diet this week. I made baked macaroni and cheese! However, next week I'm going to crash and eat coffee granules out of the jar. That's because it takes exactly one week for my resolve to dissolve as quickly as it builds up, and I start eating the strangest things. Examples include ice, parsley, paper, nails...
Erm. I'm really dreading the fiction part of my entries. They're absolutely RUBBISH. Every single (there's only been two so far, actually) one. Good God. I've always wanted to be a writer (and an actor, or a cook, or Mae West) and these attempts do not help at all. What am I to do?
Here's what I suggest: leave me a message in my notes or g-book suggesting a topic. I'm not sure if I'll receive many replies, as hardly anyone reads me journal, but if you do please take the the time. Hell, if you want soft-porn Harry Potter twin-cest I might try my hand (hee hee) at that too. Just don't stone me when it turns out to be blather.
I er, have to go now and do exercises before bed. No, not those exercises!
Pervert! Honestly.