Each Arm

Feb. 21st, 2016 04:08 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (cadmus pariah)

On occasion, I have been asked how I get anything done, because it seems I’m doing everything all at once.  Well, I am doing everything all at once, but it’s really all about what a person gets used to.  It’s also about how a person’s mind works.

 

My mind has always been way too busy for its own good.  Many of my teachers in school allowed me to doodle as I took notes, because the only way I could fully focus on the work at hand was to allow my mind to drift in other matters.  I know that seems counterintuitive, but it worked for me, and I soaked knowledge up like a sponge.  The same concept applied to reading for me.  I have to be reading more than one book at a time, and I have to read each page at least twice, because the first time is a kind of overall imprint, and the second review is more of an in-depth absorption.  I read by paragraph, not by sentence.  

 

I think faster than I can write, even with typing, so I often skip words, which can be frustrating.

 

When I began working in Quality Assurance at BMG, we were all allowed to do as we pleased whilst auditioning new releases, just as long as we could remain focused on identifying sound and technical issues with the recordings.  I got into the habit of writing and working on art while I listened.  It took the pressure of having to listen to shite.  When we began testing video games and upgraded to computers, my focus had to change.  I could audition new releases while testing new games.  I was also tasked to teach myself the computer, then give instruction to my boss and coworkers, so I would often find myself listening to an album, playing a game, and learning the PC by trial and error, all at the same time.  It was never an issue for me.  I adored it.

 

After BMG decided it no longer cared about the quality of its products and I ended up in the Pit (Special Orders Services/Point of Purchase promotions), my need to multi-task came in extremely handy, garnering me a lot of praise from a lot of labels, and some really nice raises.  There were days I would be working on a dozen different promotions projects, and still be writing on my own stuff.  When we got plugged into the Internet at work, I was introduced to LJ and created the Cliffs of Insanity to help me deal with the madness of working in the music business.  Even though the coping mechanism only partially worked, as is evidenced in my obvious madness even today, it further developed my multi-tasking skills, allowing me to be able to listen to music, talk on the phone, communicate via email, process orders, organise promotions, bitch in my journal, and write on my fiction simultaneously.  The more I did, the more I could do, and the more I needed to do.

 

I never had any capacity for patience, though, and what little patience I had, began to deteriorate.  I am now pretty much devoid of any patience, but the mind is still on overdrive, and I often find myself incapable of doing just one thing.  I feel incomplete and lazy.  I feel disconnected, not only from the world as I perceive it, but also from myself.  I also need some distraction in order to keep Cadmus in his Tulpa form at bay.  If it weren’t for multi-tasking, Cadmus would have driven me the rest of the way mad as a hatter long ago.

 

I know a lot of people find multi-tasking to be a pain in the arse but, for me, it is a blessing for a mind that will sleep when it’s dead.

tinhuvielartanis: (CadmusOrphaeus)
I have finally found someone who is willing to help me with grief therapy. It's been a constant runaround since last August, because South Carolina and its doctors are about as organised as a Los Angeles riot. Thankfully 8 August will be the end of that nightmare, and I will be able to start dealing with a number of issues.

Vivienne e-mailed me back with permission from Finn to make a video for his version of More Heat than Light. I wanted to do another comparison piece, this time with the Veils and Shriekback. I've also decided to do band photos for the songs, so I've spent a goodly part of the day collecting pictures for the two videos. Here's hoping all of them will like it.

I have noticed that I have a very difficult time getting my mind to work enough to write properly during the day, so I decided to dedicate the sun-portion of the day collecting the aforementioned pictures and organising book shelves. I figured that would be a good thing to do with my time, as long as I paced myself and didn't get all Virgo OCD on the tasks at hand. I worked pretty well, so I'm going to do something quite similar tomorrow. But tomorrow, I will be making the videos and, hopefully one or more Tim Roth Tutorials.

For now, though, the sun has gone down, it is cooling down because of all the rain today, and I'm beginning to feel the urge to really write. I really must draw Feeding the Tree to a close. I'm just procrastinating because of what Cadmus and Flint must do to drive the gist of the story. It has been a constant battle, and one of the main reasons why I want to kill Flint as soon as I possibly can. Cadmus already has a nemesis in Orphaeus, and he is destined to finally learn about love through his association with Gethsymonae. Flint has no proper place.

But I'm rambling now. It's time to pour some Absinthe and settle in.

The Weekend

Jul. 3rd, 2010 11:27 am
tinhuvielartanis: (Ace Ventura)
I spent a good majority of my time in bed yesterday. It wasn't any sort of discernible illness, nor was it depression. I just did...not...want...to move. All that said, I'm about two days behind on my song-by-song for The Bald One and I haven't proofed a thing of my own in a couple of days.

Seriously, I need to get my arse in gear. Bleeeeghhh...
tinhuvielartanis: (Barry Exact Science)
They shouldn't exist. They're positioned just right to make you long for the weekend, yet realise the weekend is far enough away to make you miserable. When I was still able to work, Thursdays never failed to piss me off. Now that I'm not working, they still piss me off for my friends who must endure them. The only good thing about Thursday is Fringe. I hope I can get it tuned in. Fox is iffy at best on our digital tuning box thingie.

Okay, now that I've been all negative and shit, I guess I should write something positive. How about The Augury of Gideon? I've decided to pull characters and plots from the early days of my Vampire writing into the mix. Sydney, now named Ishtar, is going to be a main character. When I was writing her story yesterday, [livejournal.com profile] acook came rushing into my psyche and embodied Sydney perfectly. Before that even happened, I'd decided that Sydney/Ishtar would be an important figure in the resurrection of Faust/Kallum. It's my desire to see the two of them become very deeply involved.

Here's what I've written on Sydney/Ishtar so far. The Dhampir becomes a Vampire thanks to Dmitri. I'm cutting it for explicit sexual content and length. Click at your own risk.

Sydney becomes Ishtar )

So there you have it. She already senses the existence of Kallum and it's only a matter of time 'til the adventurers bring out the incorruptible body of Faust only to have him wake up upon tasting Ishtar's blood.

Of note

Apr. 21st, 2009 03:10 am
tinhuvielartanis: (ELO)
The young fellow on 2nd and I finally bonded thanks to ELO. Doc asked me to jog his memory about my all-time favourite band. When I reminded him that it was Electric Light Orchestra, Chris piped up (which is unusual for him) and said he really liked them. This may be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

I sleep now. For 3.5 whole hours. ::zonk::

Hi!

Apr. 17th, 2009 01:20 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Tin Grin)
tinhuvielartanis: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
I've apparently caught some thing and was sent home by Dr. Patch when he heard that I sounded like Froggy from Our Gang and looked like Hell's worst nightmare. So here I am. I'm supposed to work tomorrow but Doc told me not to come in if I wasn't significantly better. Honestly, it's been so long, I don't know what to think of a boss like this. ::boggle::

Bleh

Feb. 6th, 2009 11:27 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Pondering Joker)
Today was my "Let's see how many things Tin can do wrong today" at work. I hate not knowing everything immediately and without question. It's the Inner Goddess/Cat in me, I guess. Dr. Patch has the patience of Job when it comes to training new employees 'cos we're all a pack of drooling lobotomy victims when we first come to work for him.

In even better news, I had about a third of a back tooth break off. Can we say exposed nerve from hell, boys and girls. Yeah, I thought we could.
tinhuvielartanis: (Levi)
I worked 'til 12:30 this morning. I'm addlepated. Studying is not an option. Told Doc what the class was called: Human Thought and Learning. He agreed that the class (and the test) would be dead easy. I'm not worried. I'm just gonna cram and do my best.

Heheheheheheheh. I'm only human.

Here's to another day of adventure and four-legged angels in fur coats! Wheeeeeee!
tinhuvielartanis: (Frustration)
I went into work today. I was to work with Elise, the groomer, who started out as a tech, but moved to grooming when Michelle left to be a mother. I'd never worked with Elise before, but I'd heard she was a dynamo on the weekends, being keen to get in and get out quickly, so I decided to get there early so I could get ahead and make an impression on her and show her that I wasn't a slacker. She was already there when I got there, and so were Dr. Patch and Sharon. As we all walked in, Elise said, "I've already done the runs."

"Okay, cool, I'll start on room one," I said, certain I'd get rooms one and two done and over with and could probably do the barn and spend some time with Levi. I was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Room one only had two dogs in it: Toby, the rat dog and professional mess-maker, and Raleigh, the Weimaraner pup and future Dr. Evil. From around 8:30 this morning, when the morning crew probably left, until 4 this afternoon, Raleigh had single-pawedly transformed his cage from a nice large doggie abode covered with about a half a newspaper to a toxic waste dump. He had pulverized the newspaper, creating two piles of newsprint sludge with a mixture of piss and shit. He had also done the Beer Barrel Polka in place all over his cage, spreading the toxic mixture of piss and shit from pillar to post so it could dry into a nice hell-clay that covered the majority of his cage.

I took Raleigh out to pee and poop, which he did, much to my surprise, given the state of his cage, then brought him back to a fresh cage. I'd no sooner gotten him in and given him his meds when Doc opened the door to room one and exclaimed, "What the hell happened in here?" I pointed at Raleigh. Raleigh pointed at me (well, he would have if he could have). About that time, Sharon walked by with a freshly washed Charlie in her arms. "What on Earth is that?" She asked, disbelief in her voice. "Tracy, is that you??"

Thinking about all the flatulence-driven horror through which I've put Aunt Tudi over the years, I said, "Yes, Sharon. Yes, it's me." Dr. Patch scampered from the room and returned with a bottle of XO (an odour-eliminator), which he sprayed all over the cage. It worked only in liquifying the mess, which made it harder for me to clean up.

"You're gonna have to wash that dog's feet off so that shit doesn't dry on his pads," he said. "It'll be nearly impossible to get off by tomorrow morning."

It was already dry on his feet because the waste dump was already dry in his cage. And Doc was right, it was nearly impossible to get off. I spent a good thirty minutes in grooming washing this dog's feet, then drying them. Raleigh wasn't at all receptive to being wet, nor was he very happy about the hair dryer. Just saying I got my exercise like whoa just by washing this hell-puppy's feet. I got him back to room one and put him in the clean cage with some food and water, then set to scooping out the semi-solid bits inside the toxic waste dump. Thank the Mighties for latex gloves!

Once the semi-solids were gone, I took the towel Doc gave me to throw away after use and wiped up with worst of the liquid toxicity. I then sprayed the entire cage down with the cleanser we use to clean and sterilise dog-frequented areas. I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and SPRAYED AND SPRAYED AND SPRAYED SOME MORE. Lawdy Jeebus, my spray finger is numb from pumping that freakin' spray bottle. And, if I'd known about all the paper towels I would have used in such a brief period of time, I would have bought stocks in them ages ago. I'm sure I used at least a roll and a half.

But, get this: by the time I was halfway finished with cleaning the cage from hell, Raleigh had eaten all his food, turned over his water bowl, and had set to pulverizing his newspaper. By the time I had completed cleaning the cage from hell, Raleigh had scooped all the newspaper to the corners of his cage and was proceeding to poop, after he'd already pooped outside just 45 minutes before. Fuck on a stick! Baby Jesus on rollerblades! This dog was obviously out to get me and whomever else was unfortunate enough to have to tend to him during his boarding time at the vet's office! I let him finish his business, then transferred his demonic arse from his newly-destroyed cage to his freshly sanitised cage. I then set to cleaning the new disaster, pulled out the rancid trash bag filled with Raleigh's 700 deadly sins, sprayed some Oust to kill whatever odours might still be lingering, and turned off the lights. "Good night, asshole! G'night Toby!"

By the time I'd finished what was probably one of the worst cleaning nightmares of my entire life, Elise had done everything else except the dishes, which I promptly set to doing. Once the dishes were done, I apologised to Elise, telling her that I usually am faster than this shining example of my work ethic. She told me not to worry about it, that Doc had told her about the horror movie in which I'd been deposited, and she could smell it too. What she didn't know was that I'd had to take this hell-puppy to grooming to wash his feet on top of everything else. She was appropriately horrified and scandalised, and she told me that she knew I usually did better than this, that she wasn't worried about it all. I then asked her if she could smell me, because all I could still smell was rancid shit, and I felt like it was all over me. She told me that she couldn't, but I can still smell it. Aunt Tudi said she couldn't smell me either. I think they're all lying just to save my already bruised feelings. Dr. Patch and Sharon would tell me the truth though. Hell, Sharon was already quick to place the blame on me from the get-go. I think Aunt Tudi has been telling her stories about me and my near-legendary flatulence.

I just pity whomever opens the door to room one tomorrow morning. It's going to be ugly. Beyond ugly. Maybe I should have made a sign or something and taped it to the door. Something like "Open with caution" or "Just go home now!" or "Kill yourself now and spare yourself the indignity of the hell-puppy." Something. Anything. Because they're going to find themselves starring at a toxic mess brought about by a dog who likes to Jitterbug in his own excrement, a canine who enjoys doing the Michigan Rag whilst pissing, shitting, and probably projectile vomiting all at once. This dog is the puppy from HELL and I hope he has gone home by the time I go into work tomorrow.

That dog is a fuckerer and I don't like him one damned bit. That is all.
tinhuvielartanis: (Sheriff Obama)
After filling out way too many applications, taking a 10-key test that gave me one error our of 26k strokes, and driving not quite 150 miles, I'm cooked. Right now, I don't really care if I ever get another job. I'm ready to put a lily on my chest and start playing one of those cartoon harps.

No word from Llew.
tinhuvielartanis: (Tin Grin)
A picture post, mainly featuring the fact that my hair is long enough that I can let it go natural. I don't have to straighten it anymore make it look decent. So see some crinkles behind the cut, and some Aunt Tudi too!

crinkles and 2D )

Scary, neh?

Now you won't sleep tonight. Bwwahahahahah! Seriously, though, I'm happy with the way my hair is going. I'm never cutting it again, but I'm buying tons of gel or mousse or something to accentuate the natural wave.

Oh, and PS: I applied for my old job at Arvato. Can you believe it? It was posted on Careerbuilder.com so I said "screw it" and applied. If they hire me, I'm gonna laugh my arse off. It'll bounce right off and down the road. Some arse collector will pick it up and nail it to their wall.

4 Places

Nov. 18th, 2008 05:17 am
tinhuvielartanis: (Yay....)
I've got four places to go today:

1) Byrnes High School admissions for my transcripts
2) Greenville Tech admissions for my transcripts
2) Wofford College admissions for my transcripts
4) The Unemployment Office to start my unemployment

Because I'm unemployed. I quit the Dollar General and I was let go for undisclosed reasons at Sally Foster.

This distresses me in one way. In another, it may allow me to get extra funding for school. So I'm trying my best to take the high road here but, after everything that's happened this year, I'm just ready to lie down and die. Die die die.

Klonopin

Nov. 15th, 2008 03:11 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Locke)
Klonipin is finally helping me sleep, and sleep good, with funky-ass dreams as an added benefit. The downside is that I'm seriously wibbly when I do get up. Here's a picture of my resignation letter, as well as a pic of my favourite manager Steve, and my work station.



Here's a picture of my resignation letter.


Now, what I really wanted to write was: You motherfuckers ask way too much for way too little and your human compassion was flushed down the toilet after your read that insidious brain-washing book that the company requires all managers in training to read. You're the type who'd gladly drink the Kool-Aid if it added to your store's profits for the month. You can take your cheap-ass low-grade products and shove them up your chocolate whiz-way. Oh, and that insurance I stuck around way too long to keep? It sucks just as much as you do. I pay to have them tell me that they aren't going to pay anything. You can take Cigna and swish it around in the muck in which you regularly wallow. Piss on you, piss on you store, and piss on the dregs of society that continually walk through its doors. Yours very truly, Darth Shriek.

But I didn't, as you can plainly see.

Here's a pic of my favourite manager and the one to whom I gave my resignation. He's a good guy and deserves better than being stuck at Dollar General. Here's Steve, being all cool and shit.


And here's my work station. They could have given me a stool, but they said it was against company policy. I just couldn't take it anymore. Sally Foster should end at the end of this month. When that happens, I'm going to draw unemployment and get as much assistance as possible for school. And I'm going to file for disability. Something has got to change for me. Something's gotta give. It's crazy how I'm trying to do what's considered the right thing, when I'm physically (and mentally) unable. When you can't sleep for panic attacks, you can't function at work.

I'm on my way, dammit.


So there you have it, the end of Dollar General. I'm gonna miss some of the clientele, but some of them need to crawl back under their rocks and die.

The End

Nov. 14th, 2008 11:44 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Farce)
I resigned from the Dollar General tonight. After days of disregard for what is essentially a disability, I decided enough was enough. So I'm not going back. I don't have insurance anymore, but at least I'm established with Dr. Adams-Hudson now, which is fantastic. She agreed that I could not continue with the DG job.

I'm putting our future in the hands of the Goddess here. The Sally Foster gig ends in just a few weeks. After that, I will have no job. At least Dr. Adams-Hudson has me on an anti-depressant (Effexor) and an anti-anxiety medicine (Klonopin). We'll see if they work and I can function like a normal person if given half the chance to work in an office environment again.
tinhuvielartanis: (Hippies for Obama)
Conversation samples from my lovely night at work.

"Obama's citizenship is now in question. It's gonna finally come out that he's a Muslim."

Guess what, you dunderhead: there are millions of American citizens who are also Muslim! Islam is not a country and Muslims are not that "country's" citizenry. And Obama isn't a Muslim but, if he were, that should make no difference regarding his qualifications as president. I'd rather have a smart Muslim than a Christian idiot as a leader any day of the week, thank you very much.

"I can't believe you voted for Obama! With a middle name like Hussein, I don't see how anyone can trust him."

Hm.. Lemme guess. You think he's a Muslim because his name is Hussein. My name is Angelina, which must mean that I'm a Catholic from Sicily. Fucking idiot.

"I'm just not comfortable with a president who's affiliated with known terrorists"

You mean like the Bush family ties to the bin Laden family? Do you not remember how relatives of Osama bin Laden were swiftly spirited out of the country the day of and the day after 9/11/2001? No wonder Americans are so scoffed at by the world. It would appear that the majority of us, or at least the majority for the past eight years, has the attention span of a goldfish.

"Yay! It looks like McCain is leading Obama by several thousand votes!"

Yeah, in South Carolina. The state has a collective IQ of not quite 100 and its people are only exhibiting their mental capacity by voting the way their churches told them to, despite unemployment rates being sky high and folks losing their homes right and left. Smart. Really smart.

I'm glad I only had to work five hours tonight and that I was able to hold my tongue as much as I did. Had I been there any longer, I would have blown a freaking gasket and told all these tackheads exactly what I thought, more so than I actually did. It's so hard living in a red state, a painfully Red state.

It's heartening to see that North Carolina might actually snap out of the Red haze in which it's been fumbling for the past few decades, and go blue. Elizabeth Dole lost her seat. HA! If NC does vote blue, I'm so getting me a "Proud North Carolinian" bumper sticker.

A Decision

Oct. 22nd, 2008 10:40 am
tinhuvielartanis: (Here is the news!)
It can't get much worse. Well, it can and it will without the proper care and treatment, which I can't give and I'm not getting, but that's neither here nor there at the mo. So I've decided that I'm continuing to work the DG job until I'm able able to see the rheumatologist next month. He's the best in the area, being a teaching doctor, and he takes this crap insurance that Dollar General provides for their employees. This may set me on the road to getting disability since it's obvious I can't do what I'm doing and I can't find work doing what I'd been doing. If I'm scheduled, my next day to work is Saturday. Maybe, by then, I can put some weight on my knee and go about business as usual.
tinhuvielartanis: (Yay....)
Okay okay okay, if it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all!

Here's the scenario. ::does her best Sophia Petrillo voice and says:: PICTURE IT! The parking lot of Sally Foster. 4:35 PM. A young Sicilian girl pulls into the parking lot.....okay, I'm busted! I'm not a young Sicilian girl. I'm a middle-aged American woman. But the rest is true, so this must make me a Liberal! If I were a Republican, I would have said that what I'm about to tell you took place in the Hamptons twenty-five years ago during the glory days of Ronald Reagan when there'd be no such thing as an African American running for the, GAWD FORBIYUD, office of the Presifink of the United States of Ameriduh! But I'm not that much of a dirty, rotten, stinking, underhanded, yellow-bellied liar.

So, anyway, Sally Foster, 4:35 PM... I parked my car and stepped out. As I hoisted my person onto my bad knee (do you see where this is going??), I hear a *click* and then my leg bones turned in a manner not conducive to leg-bone turning. Yeah, it hurt. But I hobbled on in and did my job to the sound of my leg bones and knee joint doing their own version of the Country Bears Jamboree right there in my pants. But, by the time 9 PM rolled around, I needed to be, in a wheelchair. I called Aunt Tudi and asked if she wanted to join me in another lovely sojourn at the Spartanburg Regional ER. Filled with glee at the prospects, she threw on her duds and, thirty minutes later, we were underway. Three hours (which ain't too shabby when it comes to the ER) and a couple of X-rays later, Dr. René Auberjoinois came in and asked how I was doing, he was doing great, but he had knees! His words. He then proceeded to tell me that I have no cartilage on the inside portion of my knee joint. It's just bone on bone grinding around in there. He put me in a knee immobilizer and on crutches for two weeks, and he ordered me off my feet (my Dollar General job) for a week. Yee... So I get to call Tami later on this morning with the smashing news that not only will I not be in this morning, but I won't be in for a week! And, when I do go back, I'll have to sit down because I can't stand on crutches for three to four hours straight, depending on when she let's me take my break! So, my job there is pretty much knackered, because I can't count the hopeful applicants to whom I gave applications just yesterday on my fingers and toes on account of I'd run out of digits. And the job at Sally Foster ends at the end of November which means I'll be totally out of work!

But. There's a reason for everything and as I was pulling out of my friendly neighbourhood Walgreens clutching all five of my pain pills (you read that right. five.) to my depressed bust at 2 AM in the morning, Aunt Tudi spotted that reason.

and here it is, by god )

Why not have a gander at that fashion-crashing knee immobilizer?



And, with that, I'm a dead woman.

Angels

Oct. 18th, 2008 05:47 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Yay....)
Yesterday at the dollar store, this elderly man came up and asked me where the raw-hide dog sticks were. I directed him to the right place, then went about my business of checking people out. A few minutes later, the man came up with two different packages of raw-hide treats. He asked me which ones I'd get, and I said that I'd get both, just to give the dog some variety. He laughed and said it sounded like I was an animal lover like him. I told him yeah and filled him in on how many dogs and cats I had. When I told him that I currently had 10 cats, he was flabbergasted and asked me about it. I explained that I did cat rescue and had had around 30 cats at one point. I told him that I tamed the feral ones, got them their shots, and had them spayed or neutered before finding them a new home. He commented that it had to be expensive and I told him that, yes, it was expensive, but I did the best I could, especially in the current economic climate. Then I told him the joke I shared with someone else a week or so ago, saying that, if things didn't get better, I'd have to eat my cats instead of feed them. He laughed at that, then asked where the cat food was. I told him that it was on the same aisle as the dog treats and that I'd hold his bag if we wanted to go back and look at what we have. He thanked me and walked back to the pet food section of the store. I continued to check out customers. About 10 or so minutes ago, the old man returned and I handed him his bag. When he took it, he placed some money in my hand and said, "Buy your cats some food. You're a good person to do what you do, so here's something to help you out." I was the one who was flabbergasted at this. I thanked him as he left. When there was a lull in the parade of customers, I checked out what he'd given me. It was $3.00.


Today, again at the dollar store, this elderly lady hobbled up to the cash register with a cart full of merchandise. She was bare-footed, because her shoes hurt her, and had a stream of dried drool coming from the left corner of her mouth. She apologised for falling in the bra section and making a mess of the bras. I asked her if she was okay, and she said that she was, but she need desperately to sit down and was unable to empty her cart so I could scan her stuff. I told her that she could sit on the bag carousel and I'd unload her cart for her. While the line backed up, I unloaded the lady's cart, then scanned her stuff while she sat on the bag carousel. When I was close to finished, she got up so I could bag her merchandise and she could pay. She paid with her debit card, but was slower than an inebriated slug in doing it. The line got longer. Once she was finished paying with her debit card, I handed her her receipt and held open the door so she could find her way out of the store. By then, my manager Tami had come up and opened the second register to help me check out the backed up customers. She didn't seem very happy about it. I told her about the old lady being unable to do anything and how it got me behind. She was still unimpressed. She's a manager, which means that she has had her capacity for compassion annihilated by the corporate office. Anyway, I checked out a couple more people and the third person, upon paying with her debit, found a debit card left behind by somebody else. I looked at it, then realised that it was the old lady's card. She was the only one prior to my current customer who had used debit. I informed Tami about the card and placed it on our table between the two cash registers. Then I checked out a couple more customers. Upon a lull in the customers, I looked outside and saw that the old lady was still in the parking lot, sitting in her car talking on the phone. I told Tami I was gonna take her debit card out to her, then out the door I went. When I tapped on the old lady's drivers-side window, she lowered it and asked what was wrong. I told her that she'd left her debit card and handed it to her. She started crying, saying that I'd been so good to her in the store, that I was an angel, and she pulled me through the open window and gave me a hug. And then she proceeded to talk as hard as she could about her health problems, how she had torn menisci in both knees, how she was eaten up with arthritis, and how she'd had multiple sclerosis for about 20 years before realising she had it. She showed me the pain patch she had on her left arm, and told me about how that and medicine for fibromyalgia were the only things that allowed her to walk. She was the type of person who talked in a manner that wouldn't allow you to get a word in edgewise. I was out there for a good fifteen minutes, listening to this woman pour her heart out to me. Then I told her I had to go back to work. She hugged me again and reiterated that I'd been an angel to her, that god put angels on the Earth to watch over and help others, and that I was one of those angels. When I finally made it back into the store, Tami was beyond unimpressed. She gave me some pretty dirty looks in between checking out customers. Once we were caught up, she left me without so much as a "see you later, cashier scum!"

But this got me to thinking, what the old lady said about angels. Maybe that old man was an angel, sent to me to say "You're doing good. Don't stop, no matter what happens. Help will come from the most unexpected sources." It almost makes me feel mildly hopeful.
tinhuvielartanis: (wwJDd?)
There was a dude who came into the dollar store who looked and acted just like Buffalo Bil. I had to check him out and all I wanted to do was blurt out "It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again!" But I refrained because I don't need to be reduced to one job. In honour of my encounter, let's have a video.



Now, you know how rich people have pheasant under glass? Well, we poor folks have something different. It's called, quite correctly, plastic chicken under plastic cup.



Pretty, neh?

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tinhuvielartanis: (Default)
The Cliffs of Insanity

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