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impyI think my middle toe's nail is infected. Infact, I think both are. Which makes work a bitch and a half. Also those stupid inserts that should, in theory, make my feet hurt less seem to make them hurt more. This is quite uncool.
...ohmyeffing god. where the hell did my entry from yesterday go? Oh. There it is. That's when you know your friends list exploded.
I need someone to give me a better reason than "new magazines!" to go to work tonight. If memory serves, I still have one sick day left so I wouldn't really lose money yet... I don't want to go for a variety of reasons. The aforementioned feet, the fact that I'll be my least favorite manager's wench [the floor person who basically does whatever the manager says] and he's a jerk most of the time, I don't want to stay until 8am, I don't want to work with Kathleen, I don't wanna go period.
I found out that the cig count I did the other night? They made Henry re-count 'em because my numbers "didn't look right." Wtf? I actually crawled around on the floor, counted out the damn things, used the calculator, and kept a fantastic score on the blasted things, and my number didn't look right?
Followed by the manager going outside for his 8th ciggie break of the night around 2am-ish. When he finally strolls back in, he catches sight of me with my hands in my pockets [I'd just put my lipgloss away two seconds before] and fusses, "hands out yer pockets! face! face!" Sonofabitch, you've smoked and lost money tonight. I've rung up customers and had to pretend to give a damn for the last 4 friggin' hours. ARGH.
Right now these are the only reasons I have for going:
1) I can keep my sickday
2) I really like magazine day
3) I hate calling in
And you know, none of them really seems like enough to push me over the edge into good girl territory.
Currently reading Saving Francesca. First, can I say yummy Australian goodness? I can and I did, so there. Second, one of these days I'm going to realizewhen will I learn blue isn't red everybody knows this that no amount of books set in high school is going to erase my own crappy years. And if it did, then I'd have a whole new set of problems to deal with. I should say that the book is good. I'm more than halfway done and I wish that more pages would magically appear. And at the same time, I'm always a bit vexed at books where the protagonist magically finds people who end up being friends just by accident. And not one or two friends, but a whole random assortment. Sonofabitch, am I the only one who went through highschool with next to no friends? It's like every summer, just before school would start, two of my friends would dump me. So reading these books? Not helping the perpetual teenage angst.
"Behold! by the power of just being the cool you, you will mystically attract people you've been a horrible bitch to in the past!" Where do I sign up for that magical power?
So far, no reasons to go to work have appeared. It's up to you. If you can't find any, that's cool too.
Did I mention my toes hurt? I don't think I did. Not really.
...ohmyeffing god. where the hell did my entry from yesterday go? Oh. There it is. That's when you know your friends list exploded.
I need someone to give me a better reason than "new magazines!" to go to work tonight. If memory serves, I still have one sick day left so I wouldn't really lose money yet... I don't want to go for a variety of reasons. The aforementioned feet, the fact that I'll be my least favorite manager's wench [the floor person who basically does whatever the manager says] and he's a jerk most of the time, I don't want to stay until 8am, I don't want to work with Kathleen, I don't wanna go period.
I found out that the cig count I did the other night? They made Henry re-count 'em because my numbers "didn't look right." Wtf? I actually crawled around on the floor, counted out the damn things, used the calculator, and kept a fantastic score on the blasted things, and my number didn't look right?
Followed by the manager going outside for his 8th ciggie break of the night around 2am-ish. When he finally strolls back in, he catches sight of me with my hands in my pockets [I'd just put my lipgloss away two seconds before] and fusses, "hands out yer pockets! face! face!" Sonofabitch, you've smoked and lost money tonight. I've rung up customers and had to pretend to give a damn for the last 4 friggin' hours. ARGH.
Right now these are the only reasons I have for going:
1) I can keep my sickday
2) I really like magazine day
3) I hate calling in
And you know, none of them really seems like enough to push me over the edge into good girl territory.
Currently reading Saving Francesca. First, can I say yummy Australian goodness? I can and I did, so there. Second, one of these days I'm going to realize
"Behold! by the power of just being the cool you, you will mystically attract people you've been a horrible bitch to in the past!" Where do I sign up for that magical power?
So far, no reasons to go to work have appeared. It's up to you. If you can't find any, that's cool too.
Did I mention my toes hurt? I don't think I did. Not really.
