Yes, I know, everyone has those days where they wonder what the point was of chewing through the leather straps in the morning to get out of bed *shifty eyes*, or perhaps it's just me...Whether or not you have these days is really neither here nor there to me. This is my blog, which means we're going to talk about me and not you, damn it. So, yesterday and today have been those kinds of days for me. Please, allow me to explain...(And whether you "allow" it or not, I'm still going to talk about it. Read it or don't, you know it doesn't matter to me. *grins*)
Yesterday, I woke up feeling, well, like me. It's a rare day in hell that I bound out of bed singing such songs as, "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands," but I wasn't particularly grouchy or anything. I was going to go get my stitches out of my knee, which I was looking forward to. (Not quite as much as I am looking forward to not wearing these super-sexy compression stalkings that somehow make me look like the stereotypical "tourist"...All I need is a camera around my neck and a Hawaiian shirt...Seriously. Perhaps it's my fault because I insist on wearing shorts, but that's not the point. White compression stalkings look dumb.) The stitches have been itching for days. Why? Well because my skin was apparently growing right over them, with the exception of the two inches of string the doc left hanging off each side of the stitches. These pieces of string would rub on my clothes, the sheets on the bed, etc and irritate me. Anyway, I took Phoenix to work, jammed out to good tunes on my way to Sally's to get hair dye (Hooray for no more roots!), then to the bank, and then to the doc. The doctor kept me waiting for what felt like forever. Perhaps it felt longer than it was because I was forced to listen to some old lady bitch her husband out for making her wait since he had insisted on not filling out his necessary insurance forms until AFTER his meeting with the doctor. Not to mention there were like three moms in there with their kids, all of whom did want to be there and were whining. I guess if I were between the ages of 5 and 10 and had to wear a cast, I'd probably be whining too. Still...So, I got called back and my new doctor (My doctor left the practice.) is really a PA, which is fine with me. She asks about how physical therapy is going and I'm like, "They never called. I was told someone would call." Apparently, the place that was supposed to call never got my paperwork. According to the physical therapy lady who called me yesterday, that just never happens. Well, then it's no surprise that it happened to me. Nothing goes smoothly, you know? That's not the point though. So, the doctor proceeds to remove my stitches. And I wasn't kidding when I said my skin was growing over them. They didn't come out easily and really, now they're all scabbed over and look gross. The PA claims that's normal, but seriously, my knee looked better with the Frankenstein-like stitches.
Upon arriving home, I did some things I needed to get done and then I proceeded to start looking for teaching jobs. I need to get out of Walmart before I completely lose all forms of sanity I may have once had. Hey, I'm not claiming I was ever all that sane to start with, but it's getting worse. I found a few places that are still hiring, which then makes me think that since I now have my Chapman transcripts, I should send off for my AZ teaching certificate. Anyway, I find the information and email it to Phoenix so she can print it for me. I then see that if I waste any more time, I'll be late for work. I quickly got ready and left. When I got in the car that new Black Eyed Peas song was on, "Imma Be". Seriously, I don't know why, but I fucking love the Black Eyed Peas. I don't know if it's the beats to their songs or what, but love them. So, I blast the music and rock out on my way to work. Sometimes this helps me to forget that I am freakin' loser who works at Walmart. It's embarrassing to say that, you know?
So, I get to work and find the manager to print out some stuff I need to re-do the display for the NYC make-up. I should've called in sick. It was only a four foot section, but it took me nearly my entire four hour shift to do it. I had half of it almost done when I realized that I had the shelves too low and had to go back and move them up because the stupid diagram didn't show how much space to leave between the shelves like every other diagram for all the displays. *rolls eyes* In the process of "fixing" it, the one shelf had a holder for the lipsticks and, yes, that's right, all the lipsticks fell out and landed at my feet. I was so tempted to start cursing and kick over the entire aisle because I was fed up by that point, but luckily for Walmart, someone came down the aisle. Of course, it didn't make it much better though when the customer pointed out the mess I had on my hands. Really, bitch? Oh, I didn't notice the 9-billion tubes of lipstick at my feet, but thanks for pointing it out. *rolls eyes* Throughout the night, I was bombarded with questions from women about make-up. I wanted to ask, "Can you not see that I'm a lesbian and not a lipstick lesbian??? According to my girl, I look more like a dyke. So, why on earth would you ask me anything about make-up?" Instead, I tried to answer their questions. I fucking hate make-up now.
The customer who took the cake for the night and put me over the top regarding my stress level was this woman who came in with her 12 or 13-year old daughter and her two Bebe's kids who were like between 4-6 years old. I'm not going to tell you what I would normally call this type of person (on the inside), but let me explain how she acted and I think you'll know what I'm talking about. So, this woman and her rug rats make their way onto my aisle and start looking for make-up. The woman says, "All my make-up got stolen. I have to replace it all. What's the cheapest stuff you got?" Seriously, I work cosmetics, HBA (which is all the house stuff from toothpaste to shampoo to lotion to condoms to dish washing soap to toilet paper) and the over-the-counter pharmacy. I don't have the fucking prices of everything memorized. I can tell you where everything is, but not how much it all costs. Still, I take a deep breath and try to help. After helping them, I sat back down on my step-stool thing and went about trying to organize the make-up I was moving. The woman and her pre-teen-ish daughter then went about looking at all the make-up on my aisle. They kept dropping shit on the floor and then saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm making such a mess." Well, then pick it up you lazy mother *CENSORED, CENSORED, CENSORED*!! Don't fucking apologize; just pick it up! When I go shopping, if I drop something, I pick it up! You know why? BECAUSE I'M NOT A...Never mind. Seriously, this woman was the end of my rope. I wanted to curse her out. I wanted to tell her what I thought of her and her freakin' younger kids who kept running their shopping cart into my cart with deleted merchandise, which was moving it ever closer to hitting me.
After this devilish woman left (By the way, did you figure out anything about this woman? Do you think she was a well-to-do white lady?), I sat there trying to finish my display before it was time to punch out and I tried to focus on the music on my iPod instead of the thoughts rolling through my head about how I have an English degree and a teaching credential for CA and how I don't fucking belong at Walmart and wondering how I ended up at Walmart of all places. In the midst of it all, a friend of mine from California called. I haven't talked to her in forever. Unfortunately, my irritation from everything came through over the phone and I felt bad when I called her back after work. I wasn't irritated with her, just the shit from work. However...As nice as it was to talk to my friend, I couldn't help but wonder if she too thinks I'm a loser for working at Walmart...I feel like a loser and I can't think about where I work too much, otherwise it keeps me up at night, which may explain why I couldn't sleep last night. I finally fell asleep around 5:30am. Something has got to give before I go nuts. I can't stay at Walmart; working there is killing me.
As though all of that stuff was not enough, the Universe had to throw yet another thing my way...I submitted a story (or perhaps my novel...I'm not even sure what I submitted since it's been months) to a publisher like forever and a day ago and this morning, of all mornings, I got the "Dear Heather" email telling me how they're not looking for stories like mine. What-the-fuck-ever. I'm so over it all. We're going to Vegas this weekend and maybe I just need to let my hair down and forget about everything. I need to do something though because I can't keep going like this. I need a real job; one that I'm not embarrassed to tell people about. I need some sort of fulfillment in what I do. I don't care that I stock shelves quickly and accurately; I just don't give a flying rat's ass about that. I also don't care that I can push 12 carts at once...I could've lived my life without knowing these things. Something has got to give...Let's hope it's not my sanity.
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