Fucking fabulous.
A few nights ago my co-shift manager, Ryan, dropped off his nightly deposit at the bank, as you do, and by the time I showed up for my shift the following day it had dropped off the face of the earth. Much freaking out and phone calling ensued, the end result of which was that the deposit was still hiding somewhere up the bank's ass.
Yesterday I wake up to the sound of Ryan knocking at my door in a very insistent manner and open it only to have him declare that he's just had a yelling match over the phone with the district manager and is afraid that said manager will carry through on his threat to sue for theft, despite the fact that everyone who knows about this can state (and most likely already has stated) with absolute certainty that Ryan did not steal that fucking deposit.
So we hang out for a few hours. Talk, seek legal advice, get Thai food to prove to Ryan that his newly adopted vegetarianism doesn't leave him with a lack of food options, play some DDR, talk some more. In the middle of eating Thai food the manager on duty at our store calls and asks if I'd be willing to work the closing shift. Ryan's shift. On my day off. I think about it for a good 15 minutes and reluctantly agree, fully aware of the implications of this request.
Ryan and I decide to show up at work together, get a last hug in outside the front door, and go to face our respective bullshit. On my end it's lots of "Oh, thank you so much! We really appreciate this. Seriously." Meanwhile, Ryan is taken to the unofficial meeting corner for a stern talking-to. 20 minutes later Ryan is on suspension and Todd, the manager we're borrowing from a neighboring store because ours was canned after philandering with the cute redheaded waitress, proceeds to rewrite the schedule, leaving me with enough hours to net with one paycheck what I'd normally amass with 2 or 3.
I do not need this much money.
I don't even want this much money if it means I'll be at work 50 hours a week. I want Ryan to be unsuspended. I want our proposal to be promoted to co-managers to be accepted. I want time to finish my mother's fucking birthday present in time for her birthday. I want the fat douchebag of a district manager to stop sticking me with more responsibility than he pays me for because he's told me that this month is the trial period to determine whether or not he accepts our proposal. I most of all do not want to be married to my job.
Now if you'll excuse me, I having a fucking camisole strap to finish.
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And finish it I did. Then, because I'm running sort of short on time, I drenched the Butterfly and pinned it to the floor so that it no longer looks like a pile of orange ramen. You get pictures tomorrow.
A few nights ago my co-shift manager, Ryan, dropped off his nightly deposit at the bank, as you do, and by the time I showed up for my shift the following day it had dropped off the face of the earth. Much freaking out and phone calling ensued, the end result of which was that the deposit was still hiding somewhere up the bank's ass.
Yesterday I wake up to the sound of Ryan knocking at my door in a very insistent manner and open it only to have him declare that he's just had a yelling match over the phone with the district manager and is afraid that said manager will carry through on his threat to sue for theft, despite the fact that everyone who knows about this can state (and most likely already has stated) with absolute certainty that Ryan did not steal that fucking deposit.
So we hang out for a few hours. Talk, seek legal advice, get Thai food to prove to Ryan that his newly adopted vegetarianism doesn't leave him with a lack of food options, play some DDR, talk some more. In the middle of eating Thai food the manager on duty at our store calls and asks if I'd be willing to work the closing shift. Ryan's shift. On my day off. I think about it for a good 15 minutes and reluctantly agree, fully aware of the implications of this request.
Ryan and I decide to show up at work together, get a last hug in outside the front door, and go to face our respective bullshit. On my end it's lots of "Oh, thank you so much! We really appreciate this. Seriously." Meanwhile, Ryan is taken to the unofficial meeting corner for a stern talking-to. 20 minutes later Ryan is on suspension and Todd, the manager we're borrowing from a neighboring store because ours was canned after philandering with the cute redheaded waitress, proceeds to rewrite the schedule, leaving me with enough hours to net with one paycheck what I'd normally amass with 2 or 3.
I do not need this much money.
I don't even want this much money if it means I'll be at work 50 hours a week. I want Ryan to be unsuspended. I want our proposal to be promoted to co-managers to be accepted. I want time to finish my mother's fucking birthday present in time for her birthday. I want the fat douchebag of a district manager to stop sticking me with more responsibility than he pays me for because he's told me that this month is the trial period to determine whether or not he accepts our proposal. I most of all do not want to be married to my job.
Now if you'll excuse me, I having a fucking camisole strap to finish.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
And finish it I did. Then, because I'm running sort of short on time, I drenched the Butterfly and pinned it to the floor so that it no longer looks like a pile of orange ramen. You get pictures tomorrow.
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HINT: It involves me. And also, automobiles Yes, I think this is a FINE idea!