Oh, hello! Have a Tootsie-Pop.
It’s Columbus Day. (I know, big whoop!) But it normally is a day where all the *important* businesses shut down and celebrate some city in Ohio. Whatev. Since we here at the Gas ‘n Stuff switched to PTO this year, we no longer get all the holidays off. If we choose not to work, we have to take a PTO day. (If you aren’t familiar with PTO, it is where the company claims they are doing you a favor and gives you a lump of days to use for vacation, illness, bereavement, etc.) So, let’s see. A vacation day for some city in Ohio? Not so much. Not surprisingly, I’m one of the very few people at work today, and that suits me… just fine.
There is one other lady here in my department too. Velma is one that you would not normally think of as exciting, but sister has had a life!! She is always doing cool things and is certainly not letting life pass her by in any way. (Hang on. My point is coming.)
So Velma walked by and I started complaining about the rumor that we’re getting snow, and how I haven’t cleared the leaves off the lawn, and all my trees have not dropped all their leaves, and blah blah blah. I need to shut up, but that’s just how I roll. (Here comes the point.) Velma has convinced me to….. compost.
I know.
If you know me at all? You know, too. Kitten doesn’t like to do yard work.
But Velma was telling me all the benefits to it and how great it is for the environment and how easy it is and on and on. (Velma is a talker!) And I’m all “Yeah, but it will smell.” and “Yeah, but it will bring bugs.” (I know.) And she’s all *blink blink* and I could see the effort she was putting in to NOT roll her eyes at me. But the more she talked, the more it made sense.
So when I get home today, I’m going to take the 6 bags of Hosta leaves that I’ve cut back, and move them to the “Compost Corner” (I just now came up with that name) in the back yard. Then, when I tackle the leaves from the 3 ginormous maples in the yard (if the things ever decide to shed… *RUDE*), I’ll add to the pile. Velma tells me this is “Brown Compost”. (I”m getting greener by the minute.) Food compost is known as “Green Compost”. IDK why.
I’m a little leery about doing the green composting. Because I’m pretty sure that *will* smell. Velma told me otherwise, but I’m pretty sure Velma is a little crazy. (Ok, she’s not.) (Yes, she is.) (Not really.)*nods*
So, now, you’re all “What’s the big deal you sissy? People have been composting forever. Big deal.” And I’m all “Don’t judge me!” The big deal is, as I mentioned above, that Kitten doesn’t like to do yard work. I almost bought a condo for the simple fact that I wouldn’t have to do yard work, but that’s a whole other story.
However, as I get older, I am more willing to recognize curb-appeal and pride of ownership, and I do want my teeny little doll house to look pretty. And I am more willing to make aesthetic changes to make it pretty. Well, you know, as long as it doesn’t take more than an hour once a week. *heh*
How could this go wrong, you ask? I know me. It is highly likely that come next spring, I will go out to Compost Corner, and think “ICK! WTF was I thinking? And now I have this huge pile of ICK!” and I won’t have anyway to get rid of it. And I’ll have a huge pile of festering muck and… *shudder*… I can’t go on. But you know what I’m saying.
So, here is me, trying to do my part. I’m going to need encouragement from anyone who already composts. And sympathetic ears from anyone who will be kind enough to listen to my whine about my festering muck. And I will thank both groups in advance.
Oh, hello! Come in and have some cantaloupe. It’s really lovely.
My intention was to write this (or similar) blog post Saturday night. However, life got in the way, so now it will be a “look back”, if you will.
As you may know, I was Slurpee Manager at the Gas ‘n Sip. For the past 2 years, an integration has been in the planning and execution so that we could merge with Pump ‘n Stuff to become one big giant gas conglomerate. The integration involved looking at every part of each company, determining who had better chip selections, who had prettier gas pumps, and who had more kick ass employees.
It became official this past weekend. The Gas ‘n Sip is no more. Pump ‘n Stuff is no more. We are now, collectively, known as Gas ‘n Stuff. We took on some of their stuff, they took on some of our stuff, and now we are all one. I’m still the Slurpee Manager.
So what’s the big deal? Part of this past weekend, all of the Slurpee staff, including the Leg Giggler and the two Co-Chief Pumpers was here, making sure that the Gas ‘n Stuff website was up and running correctly. (What? You would be amazed at the amount of Funyuns and Twizzlers we sell online. Don’t judge!) We were here from about 10pm Saturday night until about 8:30 Sunday morning. It. Was. MISERABLE.
There was a lot of sitting, a lot of “check in” conference calls, pizza, muffins, soda. I spent a bunch of time walking to stay away, since I don’t do caffeine anymore. By 8:30, I was so tired; I honestly thought I was going to vomit. I don’t know how people stay up for 24+ hours at a time. It scares me that medical interns do it. I was hardly able to form a coherent sentence, let alone have the wherewithal to do something important. Like, diagnose a problem or deal with a medical trauma.
So, what have I learned from this? What wisdom did I glean from this experience? I learned that the Slurpee staff is better people than I am that they can stay awake for extended periods of time and not become raging bitches. (Yeah, I became a raging bitch. I’m not proud of it. But there it is.) I learned that the Slurpee staff is a group of extremely talented, extremely intelligent Intertube people who should be very proud of their abilities. I learned that while I, too, am very talented and intelligent, it is a different kind of intelligence that doesn’t really fit with this group. I spent a lot of time feeling completely out of my element; more like I was creating MORE work than completing any. I learned that I need to get serious about finding another home – hopefully within the Gas ‘n Stuff family, but outside of it, if necessary. And I learned that while becoming Gas ‘n Stuff is exciting and may present new opportunities, I will miss the simplicity of the Gas ‘n Sip. I will miss the relative smallness of it. The fewer chip choices. The plainer pumps. After 5 years, it seems like it will be Business As Usual, but it’s still a fairly significant change. And I think I am sad about it.
But, onward now. Look to the future. The change has happened and won’t un-happen. Get on board, or go elsewhere. I have new Slurpee cups to unpack.
Oh, hello! Come in for some scones and tea.
So, clearly, I am 12 years old.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that the Gas ‘n Sip is being merged with the Pump ‘n Stuff, becoming the Gas ‘n Stuff. Well, of course that means new signs. Today, electric man is here to hook up the power to the sign, and of course the wiring is in the ceiling RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SLURPEE STATION.
That wouldn’t be so bad – I mean whatever, it has to be done and today is an easy day so far. But when I look up and all I see is ASS CRACK. BIG UGLY HAIRY ASS CRACK. Then? I have an issue. (Let’s be honest – if the ass in front of me belonged to… say…. Christopher Meloni, Nathan Fillion, Simon Baker, Michael Weatherly, Vincent D’Onofrio…. I wouldn’t have thought twice about drooling. But this one? Think red-neck meets beer gut. It wasn’t good…)
And why am I 12? Because of course, when this hideous apparition appears in front of me? I giggle. And try to take a picture that I can Tweet. And ask for hazard pay.
I’m so immature.
Oh, hello! Come on in and have a glass of port with me.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.
Back Story: One of the very few perks of working at the Gas ‘n Sip is that sometimes we get tickets. To sporting events. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you know that we had tickets to the Boston Red Sox for last evening. Now, I am, admittedly, not the biggest fan of baseball. It’s fairly boring. But, since I NEVER get offered a ticket, I thought it would be fun. There were 4 tickets. I got 1 and the other 3 went to Frank, the napkin dispenser filler, and Aubrey and Wesley, the co-chief gas Pumpers. Yep, me and the 3 boys get to hit the road for some baseball.
I rode down with Frank. He drives one of those froofy cars, FAST! I didn’t know that froofies went 80+ and got so close to the cars in front of them. 😮 What an exciting ride down. The Pumpers took Wesley’s car.
After that exciting ride, Frank and I stopped for 2 of these:
mmmm, beer
We finally go into the stadium, and these are our seats:
pavillion seats, first base line
Aubrey and Wesley were already there. Our seats? Rocked. We had servers. We didn’t need to schlep to the vendors. They came to us. I tried to take a picture of the menu, but it didn’t come out clearly. I could have gotten a lobster roll. Yum, right? $18.20. No. That is not a typo. Hotdog? $6.10. Energy drink? $8.10. French fries? $6.10. Um, no thank you. I’m good.
Here are some pictures of Fenway:
The Outfield
The Green Monster
The maintenance guys making the infield pretty again for the players
And here is a picture of the shmev in front of us with a truly tragic hat:
No, this isn’t one of the Pumpers. But it is truly tragic.
So, why am I freaking out? Well, the Pumpers found my blog. Wesley said, “That’s what you get for putting stuff out on the Interwebs”. Yeah, there is a HUGE difference between virtual strangers reading my deep dark secrets, and boys I see EVERY FRIGGIN DAY reading it. They don’t need to see when I write a post about me being lonely. They don’t need to hear me bitch about the Leg Jiggler – they KNOW the Leg Jiggler!!!
I’ve made a deal with them. They promise secrecy in exchange for free Blue Raspberry Slurpees. I countered that if the Slurpee machine really does go away, I would keep them in orange cheese-flavored food product if I move to the Nacho Bar or the Wiener Wheel. Deal.
So, you phuckers. I know you are reading this, and you know who you are. If I get back to the Gas ‘n Sip on Monday, and there is any indication of my having a blog and/or working at the G’nS, I will grab you both by the short hairs and make you scream like 12-year-old girls. MMMMKAY? (But if you made me a new, slammin’ Gas ‘n Sip name tag, I’d like to see it, please. 🙂 ) (Oh, and my girl Lesley, over at Um…What? would like one too, please.)
kthxbai
Oh, hello! We’re having dinner this evening – barbecue pulled pork, brown rice, steamed Brussel sprouts. Dig in!
Recently, I wrote a post about being lonely, which if I may say so was a big hit. That wasn’t why I wrote it, but I’m thankful for the praise I’ve received.
That said, my post tonight is NOT about me being lonely, but it is about me being restless. Restless in my life. Restless in my job. I feel like I would love to shake things up and move away and change jobs. But of course, if that were to happen, I would freak out and cry and not want to go. Because, as the saying goes, wherever you go, there you are. Moving away and changing jobs won’t cure my restlessness. And can I tell you why? Can I?
BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M RESTLESS!! If I knew that, I could fix it. Maybe I look around and see others making changes or maybe it’s because things at the Gas ‘n Sip are changing, and I’m either jealous or anxious or scared. (Things at the Gas ‘n Sip ARE changing. I believe they are getting rid of the Slurpee Station, so I may end up at the Nacho Bar or on the Wiener Wheel. I think I would really like the Wiener Wheel – I would totally bogart some of that melty orange cheese from the nachos for the wieners. Sales will skyrocket!! More about that at another time.)
What I think I need to do is to spend a little time trying to figure out what is bothering me. What is it that is making me fidgety? Why am I unsatisfied? What am I unsatisfied with? Oh, these huge existential philosophical conundrums with which I am dealing. Sometimes it’s hard to to be me. Wait, conundrums? Conundra? Hmmm. I think I need to go check that.
Oh hello! We’re having sangria this evening. Want some?
There is a very large well-known retailer in this area who usually ramps up staff during the holidays in order to meet customer demand. Additional staff is needed in the store, on the phones, and in the warehouse – picking items from the shelves, and packing boxes to ship. It’s pretty common that if you live in this area, either you or someone in your family has worked for Great Big Retailer.
About 13 years ago, I first got a part time job with Great Big Retailer answering phones for the holiday season. Taking orders from people all over the country. I was young and thought it was fun. For the most part, people working there and people calling in were very nice. It was a friendly environment, and the employee discount kicked ass! I did the phones for 2 years. Then I got a better job, better pay, and thought it was not necessary to work a second job.
Fast forward, to 2 years ago. I decided that money was tight and Great Big Retailer was a good place to get a second job again. But this time, I was sufficiently aged and jaded about people and knew that I would have no patience with people calling in. So I asked for warehouse. I didn’t care if it was picking or packing, but then I knew I would be able to go in, do my job, and leave. It would be brainless, and for a part time job, it payed pretty well. I became a packer at the warehouse of Great Big Retailer. That year, they hired on about 100 people to pack boxes and get them out to be shipped. We had to match up bar codes with order sets and make the boxes and stick the label on. Really. Not rocket science.
Now, one thing about the 100 seasonal employees… there are a significant number of immigrants that are hired every season. Equal employment opportunities. Great! I’m all for it. However, and this is a HUGE generalization, on average, the amount of work produced by said immigrants was dramatically lower than others. Please believe that I am not a racist. There was a significant number of US citizens who didn’t produce well either. Nope, not racist. Lazist. When it comes to work, if you are lazy, you WILL irritate me. We are all paid the same, we all have the same “quota” to get out. So DO NOT make me pick up your slack.
When I say not rocket science, let me explain. Every item is sent down the shute with a bar code. You scan the code, and sort it into a slot until all items in the order are there. Then you print the packing slip, and label. The computer tells you what size box to use. And the packing tape is dispensed already cut to the right length, and wet so it sticks. Monkeys could do this job.
I did that the first year and was acknowledged for being a fast packer. (Can you say that? *heh*). Anyhoo. The money was good, so I went back last year. However, last year, there was different management and the vibe was very different. Management initially said that the agreed upon hours – 6 to 10 – were not being offered. (Since I work full time at the Gas ‘n Sip, I couldn’t start until 6 so that I had time to travel and get something to eat.) I wasn’t the only one who had the hiring agreement in hand that shows we were promised those hours. After a big hoo-hah, we were allowed to continue the season with our promised schedule.
Something else was very different last year as well. The economy SUCKED! Orders into Great Big Retailer were down about 30% from the year before. There was much time standing around. If I’m going to work a second job, and give up part of my life, KEEP ME BUSY! And then there were the changing schedule. We were expected to commit to at least 25 hours/week, and yet we were often scheduled for as little as 4. Can’t plan on second income that way. Again, I stayed until about a week before Christmas and left, again with a promise that I would be rehired this year if I wanted.
Fast forward again to last week. I got my rehire letter, called, went for an interview and was told that they had “restructured” the schedule this year. The only available hours were 2:30 to 10:30 OR 6:30 to 11:30, and the expectation was to commit to 30-40 hours a week, with the week running Sunday through Thursday, and Friday if necessary. Okay. That kinda suck, but okay. I can’t possibly do the 2:30 shift, but 6:30 is an option. Yeah, but then I can’t start until mid-NOVEMBER. NOVEMBER. Which means only 4 weeks of work. 4. 4 weeks. WTF am I going to do with that?? It’s not even worth it. So, I will not be back at the whore house this year. I will have to suck it up and either get a job in some retail store (okay, that is so not going to happen) or be good and live without overspending (*gasp*).
So why “whorehouse”? Yeah, it’s just too close to warehouse to NOT call it that. We, the packers, were either “ass packers” or “box packers” and the pickers were “nose pickers” or “ass pickers”. So I just told people I worked at the whorehouse. It made for good stories. I met some wonderful people, had some fun, and who knows. Maybe next year I can again go be a whore for Great Big Retailer.
As for this year? I’ve decided to relax, and live my life. And enjoy the hockey season that’s coming up. And not being exhausted all the time. And now that I put it that way, I wonder why the heck I ever did it in the first place.
More sangria? 🙂
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