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fan-freakin'-tastic
Dec. 30th, 2005 08:17 amMr. and Mrs. Smith wasn't long enough. I need more! Or maybe I need to watch it again and again and again. Dunno. Am I the only one who had to put the subtitles on to understand half of it? ...Probably.
Guess who came home early from work? Yes. Me. Stupidbloodyperiod. I was fine all day, and then around 11 I started to worry, and by 1am I'd run to the bathroom four times. Dude, I don't run to the can four times in an entire night. So I had to call and see if anyone was awake and not inebriated and could come get me, then I had to go throw myself on the mercy of my boss who did not look pleased, listen through two thoughtful suggestions of how I might wish to get on birth control as it'll get rid of this pesky little problem and kill cramps [to which I did not point at my genetic makeup and say, "oh the horror stories I could tell you"], and then call Mumsy again to say "rescue me!" All this would have been fine if I didn't feel guilty. You there, guilt monster! Go away. During the half a shift I pulled, I didn't read any magazines, spend anytime shopping on the clock, I put away a cart full of batteries, moved the candy over three feet [granted, Felicity did have to grab the bottom two shelves], and did not sell cigs to some punkass underage bitchboy who couldn't figure out why we wouldn't break the law for him. His ID says 7/02/1988 which I knew was too young, but hey, I humor the kiddies, and I punch it in. Twice. "Underage!" To which he says, "Yeah, I'm 17, but I'll be 18 in, like, a month." To which Felicity laughs and has him repeat this. We then send him on his way.
...So no guilt. No guilt! ...*guilt*
Well, if I'm gonna feel guilty, I might as well do something to actually feel guilty about. I shall now warn you:
don't let this be you next year
Do not be the parent [in this case, mom type] who drags their two kids, under the age of 10, to the all night store, and then spend the next five [yes, five] hours picking out presents for your extended family. Especially touching was when the kids realized they were picking out their own gifts and you could hear the disappointment six aisles away. If you wonder, "Hmm, do the store employees think I'm a bad mother?" the answer is yes. We do. It's one thing if the kids want to be there, but there's no reason to shop for five hours Christmas Eve/Christmas morning. No. reason. At least not if you're obviously celebrating Christmas. At least the other woman who was also in the store for five hours didn't have her kids along. And she didn't end the night denouncing the horror that is plastic [credit cards] to anyone who was forced to listen.
Another thought: Unless you know the cashier/clerk/person taking your money and perhaps giving you some back, it's probably not the best idea in the world to do any of the following:
-Blow them off when they ask if you perhaps have an item with a barcode.
-Flaunt the fact that you let your kids wander around the store opening toys and food stuff and then just "lost" the packaging. It's kinda stealing, y'know.
-Take the nine billion things you're buying and sort them, at the register, according to who is getting what, and tell your friendly clerk who everything is for and why. Honestly? Most of my fellow employees would take great delight in fucking up your system just on account of you being annoying and making a fifteen minute transaction take half a fucking hour or more.
I need a shower. And a cuddle.
Guess who came home early from work? Yes. Me. Stupidbloodyperiod. I was fine all day, and then around 11 I started to worry, and by 1am I'd run to the bathroom four times. Dude, I don't run to the can four times in an entire night. So I had to call and see if anyone was awake and not inebriated and could come get me, then I had to go throw myself on the mercy of my boss who did not look pleased, listen through two thoughtful suggestions of how I might wish to get on birth control as it'll get rid of this pesky little problem and kill cramps [to which I did not point at my genetic makeup and say, "oh the horror stories I could tell you"], and then call Mumsy again to say "rescue me!" All this would have been fine if I didn't feel guilty. You there, guilt monster! Go away. During the half a shift I pulled, I didn't read any magazines, spend anytime shopping on the clock, I put away a cart full of batteries, moved the candy over three feet [granted, Felicity did have to grab the bottom two shelves], and did not sell cigs to some punkass underage bitchboy who couldn't figure out why we wouldn't break the law for him. His ID says 7/02/1988 which I knew was too young, but hey, I humor the kiddies, and I punch it in. Twice. "Underage!" To which he says, "Yeah, I'm 17, but I'll be 18 in, like, a month." To which Felicity laughs and has him repeat this. We then send him on his way.
...So no guilt. No guilt! ...*guilt*
Well, if I'm gonna feel guilty, I might as well do something to actually feel guilty about. I shall now warn you:
don't let this be you next year
Do not be the parent [in this case, mom type] who drags their two kids, under the age of 10, to the all night store, and then spend the next five [yes, five] hours picking out presents for your extended family. Especially touching was when the kids realized they were picking out their own gifts and you could hear the disappointment six aisles away. If you wonder, "Hmm, do the store employees think I'm a bad mother?" the answer is yes. We do. It's one thing if the kids want to be there, but there's no reason to shop for five hours Christmas Eve/Christmas morning. No. reason. At least not if you're obviously celebrating Christmas. At least the other woman who was also in the store for five hours didn't have her kids along. And she didn't end the night denouncing the horror that is plastic [credit cards] to anyone who was forced to listen.
Another thought: Unless you know the cashier/clerk/person taking your money and perhaps giving you some back, it's probably not the best idea in the world to do any of the following:
-Blow them off when they ask if you perhaps have an item with a barcode.
-Flaunt the fact that you let your kids wander around the store opening toys and food stuff and then just "lost" the packaging. It's kinda stealing, y'know.
-Take the nine billion things you're buying and sort them, at the register, according to who is getting what, and tell your friendly clerk who everything is for and why. Honestly? Most of my fellow employees would take great delight in fucking up your system just on account of you being annoying and making a fifteen minute transaction take half a fucking hour or more.
I need a shower. And a cuddle.
