Thanks, Einstein.

Last night I went into work to find out that Lenny, whom I was supposed to be working with, would not be coming in because she had her schedule wrong. Apparently, she had told Tortilla and another girl that she didn't work until Saturday, which wasn't true...She was scheduled for Wednesday and Friday, but failed to appear on both days. Luckily, Tortilla decided to come in, even though it was her day off, but she took her sweet time getting there. She came in at almost 5pm instead of 3pm, like we're normally scheduled. *rolls eyes* Whatever. So then the assistant manager comes over and starts talking to us about what she's going to do with Lenny. She also points out that she needs someone to work Saturday morning shift and then Sunday night, which leads her to look at me. I was all, "I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning." She didn't look convinced, but it was true. I also pointed out that I share a car, so making last minute changes to my schedule makes it hard. Again, she didn't seem to care. Then she was trying to get me in on Sunday too, but I'm going to the fair, so I'm not going to work. Seriously, if this lady had her way, I would've worked from this past Wednesday all the way until this coming Friday...Or even worse, had I not been in Cali this past weekend, I would've worked for 12 days straight. Seriously, slave labor! Yes, I want the hours. Yes, I love having money. But do I want to be there every flippin' day dealing with the trash that shops there? HELL NO! It's all a bunch of bullshit and I feel like I made some kind of deal with the devil because these bastards won't leave me the hell alone...


I don't think I've slept all that well since I took this job because working there is killing me. I come home mostly every night pissed off at the world and exhausted, but then I don't sleep well. And forget about trying to nap. (I tried that today and my neighbors were being so loud. Then some idiot people were out in the courtyard being obnoxiously loud. All I want is sleep!) Sure, the customers at work make for wonderful blog material and such, but still...It's not enough. I have found myself correcting the misspellings I find on our whiteboard where other workers leave notes. Like yesterday, it read, "Clean stainless steal." Hmm...I'm not even sure that makes sense. Or the other day it read, "Clean the outside of the rotisary." Again, I don't know what that is...I can assume they mean the "rotisserie", but how can I know for sure? What's sad is that some of these things are misspelled by the managers, even in typed up emails...Hello! It's called "Spell Check"! USE IT! *rolls eyes* Then there are all the people who use the wrong words...Like the one girl the other day kept saying, "Prescribe" and "Prescription", but I have no clue what the hell she meant because those were not the words she meant. OH! And then there are like two old ladies at my work who call me by Lenny's name and not mine, even though I have a name tag that clearly reads HEATHER!! And this other girl's name isn't even close to mine, so there's no excuse! Perhaps they think that since we're both big girls, it's all right or that we look alike...Who the hell knows? I know, I know, what am I expecting working there...I swear I can feel my IQ dropping though as these people suck the very essence of my being from me.


I suppose if I was going to sell my soul to the devil, then I could've at least asked for new knees because mine are not doing well. At my follow-up doctor appointment today, it was a different PA and I told her that my right knee still hurts and goes all "jiggly like Jell-O sometimes", but my left knee is also giving me problems. And they both make the "clicking" noise the other PA had mentioned. Her response was, "Lots of people's knees click all the time. It's a build up of air." I didn't say it was "popping", I said, "clicking". And if you felt it, you'd know what I meant. Plus, it's hard for me to walk long distances because they hurt and forget about playing things like racquetball, handball, and rugby. Just kidding. Rugby is totally fine. *grins* Seriously though, I'm telling the woman that they hurt and her response is, "Put ice packs on them and wrap them when you can." Ahhh, yes, there's nothing quite like those ace bandages that slide down or shift if you move. *rolls eyes* I should've been a doctor. I can sit there and tell people all kinds of bullshit without doing anything for them. Of course, this particular PA was a genius, which she proved when I told her I stopped using the anti-itch cream the other girl prescribed because it made my hands turn bright red and they itched and burned worse than before and her response was, "Oh. Don't use it then." Umm...Yeah, I got that memo when the crap made me scratch my hands until they nearly bled. Thanks, Einstein. I do love though that I can go to the doctor, but it'd be nice to get them to do something other than take my $15 co-pay and tell me what I already know...