Toothpicks & Saran Wrap

Anybody else notice how cold it's gotten?

I've had no choice, because, as I suspected, as soon as the temps dropped, I got chucked back outside. I couldn't be out there when the temps were moderate and the days were nice, could I? Heck, NO! Even after we got more people trained to be inside at the indispensible places, I still had to be there.

In getting ready for the weather change, some genius in North Carolina decided that it's more important to PRETEND to protect the cashier out in the weather. It's better to be cheap.

Either that, or they don't really have winter there, and I highly doubt that they have strong gusty wintry winds there, either.

This year, they decided that all register shelters (notice, it's for the register, not the people running said registers) will be uniform....and uniformly useless.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I do want to be outside, and really, when temps are still 10 degrees above freezing, it's not so bad.

They didn't slash open BOTH sides of the thing as the decision makers wanted, so it does stop the wind from sucking all the heat away. And they haven't confiscated my large sized cardboard windblock--yet. And they haven't replaced my slowly getting less warm heater for the glorified non-heating doorstop they tried to pawn off on me last year.

So I'm really not complaining.

But I am amazed, really, at what the imagination can do with toothpicks and saran wrap (which is basically what this shelter is), and what it can expect.

I like that they see THEIR visibility of my huddled up trying to keep warm work related activities as the most important thing. I like that they think that erecting a toothpick-and-saran wrap register shelter that actually shelters NOTHING except the dead windblown leaves and parking lot debris as a good idea and a sound use of store funds.

What I love best is that their BEST effort is to put out a memo that reads, "Cashiers should dress for the weather."

Hell, the government protects dogs you don't like from having no shelter and excessive exposure to the elements during the cold season, but nobody cares if your nose falls off your face, or you lose feeling and use of your fingers and toes (even if you are layered and dressed for exposure to extreme temps) as long as you don't miss work in the meantime.

*sigh*

But I'm not complaining...I'm just sayin'

'Splain Please

My birthday was at the beginning of the month. Now, for those who know me, they know that I don't make a big deal of my birthday, simply because there have been too many not-so-fun things that usually occur on that particular day. (I also decided that if I wanted to not make such a big deal out of other people's birthdays--therefore *getting off cheap* to quote my mother--I needed to have much the same attitude towards mine.



Most of the background, though, involves stories of plans made and broken due to: projectile vomiting; sparking appliances; and/or expensive car repair. None of it was worth it (and none of it--the fancy plans OR the minor disasters--made those birthdays more memorable.) I decided after the projectile vomiting that skipping the *specialness* of the day was way better for morale and bank accounts than trying to make my birthday worth the effort.



This year, my yearly exams were scheduled for the week following. Two doctors, two days. Lovely. Especially when that 2nd night, I started getting sick. Yeah, baby. So worth it.

But that's not what I need to have 'splained to me.

This is: On Monday, Doc #1 told me, and I quote, "You're young yet." But on Tuesday, Doc #2 tells me, and I quote, "You're not so young anymore, you know."

So, who do I believe? Doc-man, who is, himself, in his mid- to late-forties, or Doc-chick, who is probably all of 28?

In all honesty, the two biggest age related issues I have is that I just wish with all my might that this aging-as-woman thing would get the hell started (and therefore, OVER) and, at the exact same time, my brain needs to stop spinning at the thought that the songs I danced to at my senior prom are now considered "Oldies." I also would very much like to stop saying (Yes, out loud) "Holy CRAP! It was TWENTY FREAKING YEARS AGO! Am I old enough to be thinking in decades?"

Somebody 'splain WHO, ezzacktedly I'm supposed to believe on this young-old thing. And, somebody, please get these two docs together on their diagnosis.

AHA!

Finally figured out why I've been so angry lately. (Okay, *lately* is a term I'm using loosely.)

I am under appreciated at work.

Of course, everyone is, but sometimes, doesn't it just bug the snot out of you? And you get mad because you're working hard (and working well) and nobody, but nobody, even notices? Or worse, they just figure you're supposed to be THIS freaking good at it, and get grumpy when you call attention to the fact that you are not only gloriously fabulous at your job, but that there's a truckload of slackers and jerks you're supporting. And the slackers are complaining about you--you're crushing the grading curve.

Taking off your shoe and bitch slapping them (whoever your *them* may be) isn't an option.

So you get a great big walloping case of PMS that lasts for 6 months. And it's not attractive, but there you are.

Then, by some miracle, somebody notices, and actually writes it down. Maybe they're compelled to do it because it's also time for your yearly review. But that doesn't matter. They've got good things to say, and nickels to back it up.

As it turns out, Mr. *nobody exceeds standards* Manager actually marks you as exceeding standards--without you having to mention it. He pointedly tells you that it's obvious to EVERY.ONE. EVER. that you exceed standards in this one area, and he HAD to mark it this year.

Then, he proceeds to tell you how many nickels you'll be getting this year. And, YEAH, BABY! It's the highest amount of nickels the company allows--but which, according to history, ain't nobody getting. For any reason.

And this year, you got 'em.

So, in spite of being on a raging PMS rant for 6 months, somebody decided to recognize the job you do--and to acknowledge that you are, in fact, a righteously excellent person to have on the job.

Yea, ME!

10 Minutes Today

Apparently, yesterday was penance. 129 minutes on hold with the IRS for nothing, I mean.

Today, I called, the buttons worked, and while I did not speak to a living being, I managed to get the information the Toad needs sent.

Of course, it will take 2 years (or 129 loops of the two songs on the hold loop) for it come, but it should be on the way.

The Toad owes me. Oh, yeah, he owes me BIG.

129 And Holding...

That's how many minutes you will be on hold, listening to TWO classical songs, if you need to call the IRS. And then, you'll no longer be on hold when their system boots you out. You apparently max-out, and they just set you free, while you wonder if you're brain went dead or the phone did.

btw, those two classical songs? The only episode(s?) of Little Einsteins butchered the crap out of both of them by adding insipid words (note: I did NOT call them lyrics.)

So, the entire time you're on the phone to the IRS for your Toad son, you get to have bad flashbacks to Little Einsteins.

Wow. And I thought the Howler was having a bad day.

So far this year, I've had to think or deal with the IRS at least a bajillion times. And I'd like to know why the government is taking all my money and giving it to stupid people who have more money than brains, but they can't get a hold music loop of more than 2 songs.

Self Portrait

Weirdness

Last night when I walked in near the end of my dinner hour, I was told "some guy" called for me. Didn't leave a message, except to say he'd "call back."

I called my Sweetie, who informed me that it wasn't him.

No one called back.

When I got home, my Sweetie said it wasn't the Toad, either.

Thinking about it today, I can honestly say that there is no "some guy" who would call me at work for any reason, especially between 5 and 6 pm.

Now, I wonder if I really do have a stalker. I work tonight. I hope that if "some guy" calls again, I get the call and can find out who it was.

(As a side note, one of the first customers I encountered during my shift made the comment, "Oh, you're married?!" which was weird, too.)