Grievances a la Smith

I don't know if it's because it's that time o' the month combined with a nasty cold, combined with yet another gray Minnesota day, but I'm finding myself whipping through emotions. Highs followed by immediate lows. I had a theory once that bipolar could be in two forms: the obvious one, and one that's more frequent. Lows and highs in the same day. Not weeks of being bed ridden then weeks of obsessive house cleaning or something. Really happy and then immediately unhappy. That's me. Maybe I'm just more emotional than the average person. And maybe, like I said, it's them hormones kickin' in again.

For Xtina: I think winter kicked my ass this year. I need some UVs in a major way.

For Smith: You got me on the grievance kick. You've heard some of them, but I'm starting to believe they all stem from me and how I perceive things. I had a brilliant moment in the car as I drove back home (Kato) from home (Otown). I was rocking out to Bon Jovi (then sadly Billy Joel), and I decided I'm at the point where I want to change things. My things. To work harder for the things that I really want (a job, a finished thesis, a smaller ass, fiction or nonfiction or whatever comes out). Unfortunately, though, nursing a hangover was not how I intended to spend the first day of my revolution. In great Katy style I suppose I'll put it off for tomorrow.

Go here http://jesssmith.blogspot.com to hear the rest of the story. She's pretty accurate.

This is what it was supposed to look like:

Lesson: When you pay $8.95 for a haircut, you probably won't get what you want. Umm. The back is longer than the front in this picture. What was hair cutter lady smoking?



Here's something cuter than me:

Sebastian will be joining us in a month. He's twice as big as his brother and sister. This weekend he spent most of his time eating, whining cuz he wanted to eat, and peeing on the carpet.

Sebastian, *Baxter, and *Sienna (Note the giant head of the third):

*Possible puppy names as determined by the boy's mother and sister.

My first day back at school has been..umm..oh. Crap.

I wish wish wish I could be reflecting on another first day of teaching, of fresh faces, of clever responses to introductions. Instead, I get another day of waitressing. Lucky me. Good news is that it hasn't been awful this week, I've made some good money, and I still haven't received the rejection letter yet. I did get one today, but it was for a job I applied for, oh, two months ago. I had pretty much given up on it anyway. But I do appreciate the letter. It meant someone spent at least a fraction of the time I spent updating and revising and mailing my resume to print out a stock letter and handwrite an envelop. Thanks.

Yesterday a customer consistently thanked me or questioned me using my name. "Thanks, 'Casey.' "Could I get some more pop 'Casey?'" It bugged me. Just because my name is on my shirt doesn't mean you should be allowed to call me that. Too presumptuous. And then, maybe he was just making the point that I was valid enough as a person to have my name remembered. Can't really say which it is, but he left me a very nice tip so I'll assume good things.

Sebastian, the puppy that is to be ours in a few weeks, is apparently fat, and he pees a lot. I'm not sure I'm ready for this. Pictures to follow when I go home this weekend.

Something resembling a thesis was turned into the advisor last Sunday. I recognize it is not finished, that I am missing analyses in the second chapter, and that advisor will likely not be too pleased that I didn't have the page numbers for a couple direct quotes. But it still felt good to have the thing out of my hands for a little bit.

If you left beer at my place last weekend, it's been drank. Drunk? Perhaps. If you left champagne, Smith and I have plans to drink it. If you left whiskey, Panko, I'll make you take shots the next time you're here. If you left your shirt, Dodge, I will put it on and giggle and pretend to be you (whip and cuffs in hand). If you left peppermint almond bark, again Dodge, I brought it to work and passed it off as thoughtfully made by me. Everyone loved it.

Today when I walk into work I am presented with a new policy to read and sign. If I am sick, I need to call work and let them know at least 12 hours before. This is perfect because I work at 10am so clearly I will know I'm sick the night before and call in. Although, I'm really thinking if I knew I was going to be sick the night before I am actually sick, chances are I'm not really sick in the first place.

If I call in sick, I need to bring a doctor's note saying I was sick. Glad to know I am back in high school once again. Also good that they believe people go to the doctor everytime they are sick. I can't ignore this. I tell the manager I have no insurance and don't go to the doctor everytime I have a headache or sore throat. He declares there are places to go where they don't charge you. I think he is stupid.

If I do not call in at least 12 hours before or show up with a doctor's note, I will get a verbal warning. On the second offense I will be written up. On the third offense I will be immediately terminated. I like how they've used the word terminated. Interesting TERMinology. Ha. I am witty. My manager disagrees.

I get two tables today. I make four dollars. I spend this money at work on a cheeseburger. I hate my life.

In other news, I may actually have my thesis done by Sunday. Let's not plan any celebrations yet.

Yesterday on Manager watch...

Four guys sat in a booth. A moment later they got up and moved to a bigger table. I'm trying to get drinks for another server cuz Manager (who's really owner, so I should call him that) just thoughtfully double-sat her. I'm clearly busy and he says "Why don't you go wipe off that booth." I look at him. I look at the booths. I don't see any dirty booths.
"Which booth?"
"The one those guys just left."
"The guys who just moved to another table?"
"Yes."
Arg. Of course they must have made a mess in the half-second they were there. It all makes sense now. I see why he has lots of money and a new Corvette and I am a silly server.

Later there was a group of nearby business owners waiting for other manager for a meeting. They of course fill up my only large table and ask for pop. Later I ask Owner whether I should charge them for pop, you know, cuz it's about 3 cents.
"Of course you should charge them. I don't go to their business and expect a free tv. Or to their business and expect free flowers. Or to their business and expect free paint. Or to..."
"Yep, thanks Owner-man. I get it."
Except that I don't. Yeah, you prolly wouldn't get a free television from them, but chances are they'd give you a drink if you asked for it.

My only other table was a group of three guys taking a break from work. Problem was they worked on a hog farm. And while the smell slightly reminded my of my grandma's house on a windy day, that kind of smell contained in a small spot is not entirely pleasant. They stunk up my whole section and half the restaurant. People who were sat in my section moved before I could get them drinks. Maybe this was my own fault. Not five minutes earlier I asked the host to seat me with sexy firefighters. I think he heard "smelly farmer." We grabbed the Lysol after they left. I wonder if people do that to my uncle. If that's why he never married.

Mayor Quimby looks better than this guy.

How can days be so slow when everything else seems to happen so fast? Three hours of work can be years (especially when you only get two tables and leave without enough for a half-price meal or people leave $1 because their food took so long or 32cents because they are high school pieces of shit). Yet months have gone by without my noticing. Did anyone else realize there wasn't a December this year? I remember Thanksgiving--too dry turkey, too sweet sweet potatoes. And then there was New Years.

When I took this job I thought Ok, two weeks. I don't even have to learn the menu. I'll have a "real job" in two weeks. Somehow this has turned into three months. Today, as I race to the bar in search of real cream as opposed to "this powdered crap" for a woman who hopes she "doesn't sound like a bitch" (she does). I put the bar rag (towel) on top of the garbage can, slighty right of middle. It's folded in a rectangle, as the servers have been instructed to do (numerous times!). Mr. Owner Guy says "Now, is that neat?" I have a table of 7 to get back to, cream to get for the bitch, a couple who wants their change. I bite my lip to keep from telling him what I really feel about his fucking bar rag, ahem, towel.

All day: I think your table wants a refill. I think your table wants to order. I think your table wants to pay. You missed a spot on that table. In actuality: I had just asked if they wanted refill. They said no. They said they needed a few more minutes to look over the menu. They paid with checks and didn't need change. This guy is running for mayor of this town.

Where was I going with this? Measures of time. Six days until I have someone with whom I may share conversations about the following: shoes, boys, pink champagne, hair styles. Seven days until I have someone to talk to about: GAP, teaching styles, reasons not to use newly purchased vibrators. Nine days until my thesis is expected to be finished. Six weeks until I can bring Sebastian home. (We've given him a name; there's no use pretending we're not taking the little chocolate version of Emerson.) Ten weeks until the beginnings of my tulips start to pop out of the ground.