Long Day : 12.07.03 @ 5:44 pm
This has been such a terribly long day.
One of those days where nothing seems to go right, nothing at all.
I worked ten to five. A horrible shift that consumes your entire day and exhausts you like no other shift - any mid-day to evening shift kills you.
I am burnt. Burnt out. If I had to have spent one more minute making a fucking latte I was going to start throwing the pitcher across the room. If my boss had asked me to stay, I probably would have started crying right then and there.
But no, I saved that for later.
When you�re flustered, when you�re stressed, you�re more likely to mess up. So it builds up, like dominos, and soon you�re this flustered mess with whipped cream on your glasses and dried on, sticky, chai on your face.
I don�t know where it started. It was around an hour into my shift, maybe. Amplified by my trip to the closest Starbucks to pick up grande lids. That plaza... you just can�t go to that plaza without some traffic related fuck up happening.
Today, I was leaving the plaza, taking a left. There was another car on the side of the road I was trying to get to, but he was turning left and therefore had to stop and yield to me as I had been fucking sitting there for fucking five minutes and he was turning left....
I was already half way through the intersection when he got to the point where he was supposed to stop.
He didn�t stop. Went right in front of me, and stopped there. Right in fucking front of me, where had he stopped five feet back, I could have gone on no problem.
I had to slam on my breaks, which caused snow and ice from the roof of my car to slide down on my windshield and literally blind me while I�m in the middle of a rather dangerous intersection with his fat SUV ass in front of me.
Fucking HATE Northern Virginian drivers.
Oh, but it gets better.
Hours upon hours of being slammed on the bar. Fucking lattes. Fucking mochas.
I have bitchy old ladies who stand and watch me make the drink, I�ll be half way done and
she harps - �Where�s my tall skim latte?!�
�Right here, Ma�am�
She takes a sip of it. In her high pitched, bitchy, harpy voice she practically yells at me - �Is there any coffee in this?! I can�t taste any coffee!�
(You watched me make it, bitch. You saw me put the fucking espresso in it.)
There�s more. I didn�t get my break until three pm. I spend six dollars on my lunch/dinner at Chicken Out and it takes them fifteen minutes - most of my lunch break - to get my sandwich, and there�s no mayonnaise and the lady was bitchy to me about it.
Yes, I�m having a bad day too, bitch. But at least I attempt to maintain fucking customer service.
There�s more.
There was a rush right before I left. A line almost out the door. ______ stands there and talks to his friend, leisurely making his friend�s drink while I struggled with a line of a dozen drinks or more. When I asked for help, he said he didn�t feel like working on the bar.
There�s still more.
I was leaving, and I saw J.
J is a really hot, nice, smart, dancer-girl who�s in my Comparative Government class and a (straight) member of our GSA.
I turned around to tell ____ to give her my discount, and I lost my handle on the box of thing, I had.. I dropped the box everywhere, my Soy Chai spilt all over the floor, my brand new twenty dollar book I had been reading, and me.
I still have Chai on my face.
I started to cry in the car, on the way home.
Inside, I put the box down so I could close the door and Jenny immediately opens it. I push her out of the way. I want to do more, I want to take out her Christmas gift, which she has just seen, and stab her repeatedly with it.
You want your fucking Christmas gift?! HUH?! FUCKING TAKE IT!
[was what went through my mind along with the image of stabbing her repeatedly]
Mom bitched at me. It seems she�s had a bad day too. The moment I�m in the door, I have to do two dozen things.
I interrupt her.
I don�t feel like it, I say.
Maybe I don�t feel like making your supper.
I�m not hungry.
I go downstairs to my room.
And fall down the stairs.
This has been a terribly long day.
/A
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