I consider myself pretty lucky where jobs are concerned. Other than that 7-month stretch where I was unemployed, I have had a pretty sweet job situation for most of my life. There was a string of fast-food jobs wherein my friends could stop by and say hi and tease me about whatever ridiculous uniform I was rocking. Then there was the convenience store, which was more like a dating circuit. Honestly, I never got asked out or dated/flirted more than when I worked there. The uniform was markedly improved. Then I got into the optical field, and learned the wonderful world of eyeglasses from some awesome people whom I formed long-term relationships with.
When I worked in Vegas, I ended up with a national company that was going through many transitions. For a ten month stretch, the office I worked at was operating without an optometrist, which meant I was on duty souly to keep the doors open in case anyone wandered in while looking for the thrift or car repair shops that neighbored our store. I was a licensed optician, making $25/hour, and my days consisted of doing crossword puzzles, watching Ellen, sometimes a light workout, and writing letters back home. I was an over-priced cockroach sitter. I would sometimes watch drug deals going down in the parking lot out side, and on occassion would have to rid my store of junkies looking to lift something from me to support their habit. But most of the time, I got to spend on self-reflection and self indulgence. Sometimes I think about those days and how, it was boring and lonely, but really low-stress.
The place I worked before this was constantly busy, I was constantly being micro-managed, but again, I made some great friends and we had some awesome laughs at work.
Now I'm in a pretty prestigeous health clinic, in a department (optical) that gets lost in the mix of more important doctors offices. It is pretty slow most days, and since I'm usually the only optician on staff, I hide out in my little office, blog, read old journals, play games on my iPhone...I know I should be doing something more productive, and I will probably get busted one of these days, but I will say this, my job is quite enjoyable! I have a few interruptions from the doctors' staff or from patients asking for quotes, and some days are so busy I work straight through my lunch, but for the most part, I admit I've got a really cush job here. I know when I move on to the next city or the next job, I will look back on these times and smile about how good I've had it.
Well, time to get back to work!
Enjoy your day.
image source: constructionownerslawblog.com
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
The Bad Date
Though my commute to work is short, I always enjoy listening to the local radio station in the morning. The morning DJ's banter is inviting to me, and usually starts my day off with a welcomed chuckle. This morning they were talking about bad dates, and how everyone has one. For a minute I thought about it. How could I compare the dozens of bad dates I've had in my time, and come out with the worst?
Then I remembered Hairy. That's not really his name, but I honestly can't remember what it was, and it's a fitting nickname if nothing else. I met him when I was a clerk at a convenience store. Putting myself through college, working and partying and just being a 20-something kid. Hairy was a customer of mine. I was definitely not attracted to him, as he looked a little like a less-attractive version of Danny Devito, but with lots of Fozzy Bear, curly black hair, and a blanket of thick chest, back and shoulder hair to match. (huh, shudders!) He considered himself quite amusing, but I can't remember ever agreeing. At one point, he asked me out, and despite me already knowing it wasn't going to go anywhere, for some reason I agreed to dinner. He took me to a cheap but popular Mexican restaurant, and quickly showed his lack of temper when we had to wait fifteen minutes to be seated. Once in our booth, he made a comment to our waitor that we had been waiting so long that we should get a discount on our bill. I was humiliated and tried to make it abundantly clear that he didn't speak for both of us. "Everyone else had to wait, too. The food must be awesome here!" He wouldn't let it go, and was a jerk to the waitor the entire time. In the end, we got his precious discount on the meal, which he paid for, and we went back to his place to watch some college football. I have never been a fan, and was only mildly interested in pro football, which spawned a "you people" argument. I was already desperately wanting to end the date as I was so turned off by him. He was ten years older than me (mid-to-late thirties) and as it turns out, still lived with his parents and drove their vehicle. He had a beer belly and loved college football so much that I sank into the couch next to him and daydreamed about someone else for about a half hour before he spoke to me or looked in my direction. Then, he leaned back and tried the old stretch-and-put-the-arm-around-her-shoulder move, and I stood up, thouroughly disgusted and told him that I was not interested, that our personalities do not mesh, that he's too old and I was not attracted to him and that I was certain it would be a waste of our time to spend any more time together. He reduced me to one of those girls who just accepts a date in order to get "wined and dined" and that why did I waste his money if I wasn't interested? I laid fifteen dollars on his stained coffee table, which covered the entire cost of dinner, drinks and tip with that discount we got. As I exited his parent's house, he screamed obscenities at me and I sped away cussing under my breath. Why didn't I go with my gut instinct on this one? Shudder.
The worst part about it? He continued to patronize my convenience store, and acted all sweet and innocent like nothing ever happened. What a whack job!
I'd love to hear about others' bad dates. Drop a comment if you dare! I know I'm not the only one!
Then I remembered Hairy. That's not really his name, but I honestly can't remember what it was, and it's a fitting nickname if nothing else. I met him when I was a clerk at a convenience store. Putting myself through college, working and partying and just being a 20-something kid. Hairy was a customer of mine. I was definitely not attracted to him, as he looked a little like a less-attractive version of Danny Devito, but with lots of Fozzy Bear, curly black hair, and a blanket of thick chest, back and shoulder hair to match. (huh, shudders!) He considered himself quite amusing, but I can't remember ever agreeing. At one point, he asked me out, and despite me already knowing it wasn't going to go anywhere, for some reason I agreed to dinner. He took me to a cheap but popular Mexican restaurant, and quickly showed his lack of temper when we had to wait fifteen minutes to be seated. Once in our booth, he made a comment to our waitor that we had been waiting so long that we should get a discount on our bill. I was humiliated and tried to make it abundantly clear that he didn't speak for both of us. "Everyone else had to wait, too. The food must be awesome here!" He wouldn't let it go, and was a jerk to the waitor the entire time. In the end, we got his precious discount on the meal, which he paid for, and we went back to his place to watch some college football. I have never been a fan, and was only mildly interested in pro football, which spawned a "you people" argument. I was already desperately wanting to end the date as I was so turned off by him. He was ten years older than me (mid-to-late thirties) and as it turns out, still lived with his parents and drove their vehicle. He had a beer belly and loved college football so much that I sank into the couch next to him and daydreamed about someone else for about a half hour before he spoke to me or looked in my direction. Then, he leaned back and tried the old stretch-and-put-the-arm-around-her-shoulder move, and I stood up, thouroughly disgusted and told him that I was not interested, that our personalities do not mesh, that he's too old and I was not attracted to him and that I was certain it would be a waste of our time to spend any more time together. He reduced me to one of those girls who just accepts a date in order to get "wined and dined" and that why did I waste his money if I wasn't interested? I laid fifteen dollars on his stained coffee table, which covered the entire cost of dinner, drinks and tip with that discount we got. As I exited his parent's house, he screamed obscenities at me and I sped away cussing under my breath. Why didn't I go with my gut instinct on this one? Shudder.
The worst part about it? He continued to patronize my convenience store, and acted all sweet and innocent like nothing ever happened. What a whack job!
I'd love to hear about others' bad dates. Drop a comment if you dare! I know I'm not the only one!
Friday, March 30, 2012
Strange Confessions Friday
It's Strange Confessions Friday.
Writing the number five is not a comfortable thing for me, and if I have to write several of them in a row, I actually get nauseaus. Now that is weird, and I am well aware of it. I have control over it, but it isn't something I enjoy doing. Maybe something really dark and secretive happened to me when I was five and I have just supressed it.
Wrinkly fingers have really grossed me out to the point of uncontrollable shivers since I was a kid. I think it had something to do with my mom, who used to chase me around when her fingers were wrinkly, and in a Wicked Witch of the West voice would proclaim, "I'm gonna give you the wrinkles!" Blech! Now, it's my kids who try to torture me when their fingers get wrinkly. At least I can threaten them and they will stop. To this day, it pains me to have to sustain any prolonged amount of wrinkling of fingers or toes, and I usually need to get out of the water as soon as it starts, or I begin to shiver uncontrollably. It's like nails on a chalkboard to me.
The other thing that makes me shiver is the sound (and feel, for that matter) of when a finger swipes across a ceramic plate (usually when hand-washing dishes) and it makes a squeak. There may be a connection between my loathing of hand-washing dishes, wrinkly fingers and that particular sound. It was a nearly lethal combo for me when I was younger, as I remember proving my discomfort with marble-sized goosebumps on my skin and tears springing to my eyes, having to bite my lower lip to make it through a load of dishes. You can imagine, it is still my least favorite job, and I always use the dishwasher.
If you have the ability to pop a joint, any joint, in and out of place, don't do it around me. Not that I'm not thouroughly impressed, but it makes me want to pull my eyelids off.
And the whole flipping your eyelids inside out is another thing I can do without. What are you thinking, people? This is why David Letterman came up with the Stupid Human Tricks segment, because people keep giving him material.
I think I'm a pretty normal girl, considering, but that would definitely depend on who you ask, and how deeply they know my secrets.
What's your strange confession?
Writing the number five is not a comfortable thing for me, and if I have to write several of them in a row, I actually get nauseaus. Now that is weird, and I am well aware of it. I have control over it, but it isn't something I enjoy doing. Maybe something really dark and secretive happened to me when I was five and I have just supressed it.
Wrinkly fingers have really grossed me out to the point of uncontrollable shivers since I was a kid. I think it had something to do with my mom, who used to chase me around when her fingers were wrinkly, and in a Wicked Witch of the West voice would proclaim, "I'm gonna give you the wrinkles!" Blech! Now, it's my kids who try to torture me when their fingers get wrinkly. At least I can threaten them and they will stop. To this day, it pains me to have to sustain any prolonged amount of wrinkling of fingers or toes, and I usually need to get out of the water as soon as it starts, or I begin to shiver uncontrollably. It's like nails on a chalkboard to me.
The other thing that makes me shiver is the sound (and feel, for that matter) of when a finger swipes across a ceramic plate (usually when hand-washing dishes) and it makes a squeak. There may be a connection between my loathing of hand-washing dishes, wrinkly fingers and that particular sound. It was a nearly lethal combo for me when I was younger, as I remember proving my discomfort with marble-sized goosebumps on my skin and tears springing to my eyes, having to bite my lower lip to make it through a load of dishes. You can imagine, it is still my least favorite job, and I always use the dishwasher.
If you have the ability to pop a joint, any joint, in and out of place, don't do it around me. Not that I'm not thouroughly impressed, but it makes me want to pull my eyelids off.
And the whole flipping your eyelids inside out is another thing I can do without. What are you thinking, people? This is why David Letterman came up with the Stupid Human Tricks segment, because people keep giving him material.
I think I'm a pretty normal girl, considering, but that would definitely depend on who you ask, and how deeply they know my secrets.
What's your strange confession?
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Wizgaahnzin
I figured I might just dust off this old blogity blog because a reeeeal gem has come along to solidify my feelings about Wisconsin folk. Or, as you outsiders like to pronounce it, WesKAWNsin. You're so cute!
So, my theory about the fantastic Sconnie eeaccent is this: The amount of accent present in Sconnie natives is directly related to the amount of education/intelligence. Seriously, college educated folks like my in-laws (quite well-to-do) have nearly no accent despite living here their entire lives. But people who, say, are in the agricultural business...well let me just say, Ho jeese, theeat's creeazy, eh? If you aren't familiar with the accent, please do let me introduce you to it, I'm sure you will find it to be music to your ears.
Welcome to Assorted Trim and Door Theeanx Deeeon.
And if that wasn't enough, a lovely video to display to you the overly enthusiastic love of the Packers:
This is evidence that all the rumors about Wisconsin and drinking are true. Believe it people. This is what I'm dealing with! No wonder Wisconsin produces so many mass murderers! Hoaly geezah! Iee gotta git owt a heeur.
So, my theory about the fantastic Sconnie eeaccent is this: The amount of accent present in Sconnie natives is directly related to the amount of education/intelligence. Seriously, college educated folks like my in-laws (quite well-to-do) have nearly no accent despite living here their entire lives. But people who, say, are in the agricultural business...well let me just say, Ho jeese, theeat's creeazy, eh? If you aren't familiar with the accent, please do let me introduce you to it, I'm sure you will find it to be music to your ears.
Welcome to Assorted Trim and Door Theeanx Deeeon.
And if that wasn't enough, a lovely video to display to you the overly enthusiastic love of the Packers:
This is evidence that all the rumors about Wisconsin and drinking are true. Believe it people. This is what I'm dealing with! No wonder Wisconsin produces so many mass murderers! Hoaly geezah! Iee gotta git owt a heeur.
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