Yeah, a month. I know. It's been busy. I'm almost totally whole. There was a confusing incident where I got fired for 18 hours on Thursday, but it's all good now.
I now:
+++have my truck back
++am employed for 48 hours a week
++have a freaking awesome girlfriend
+have a house with enough food to make it to next Thursday
+have a Christmas tree my girlfriend bought for us and helped decorate
=filled up for the first time in four months (Hey, it's not like I drove it. Shut up.)
-am on thin ice at work
--Have $3.78 in the bank (no shit)
---Have $330 on credit cards due on the 19th, which (with the electric bill) is all of my money.
That's about the passing of the month. I can give specifics, but eh. I'm gonna go work through Half-Life 2 now. Peace.
(EDIT, 11:01 AM 12/12/05)
Besides wanting to say that midnight tonight will mark my one month anniversary, someone asked me to explain what in the flying fuck is going on with my job. Well, the explanation wouldn't fit as a comment, so here goes.
Dig. I work for a glass company that is subcontracted to The Methodist Hospital in the Texas Medical Center in Houston.
We used to have eight people on the crew. Just before Thanksgiving, we got run off because the general contractor had run out of money because he needed drywall guys as well to attack the walls blocking the holes. (Whoever bid this job only looked at the blueprints and said, "Oh, well, we need this, this, and this," neglecting to actually walk the floors.)
When the job resumed, Methodist had cut us down to five people. As the youngest and most inexperienced glazier, I was gone first.
Well, last Saturday, three of the guys started some shit when some tools broke and refused to work, instead insisting on going home because they "couldn't get anything done." John and Rinato proved them wrong, and they got in a damn-near-brawl right in front of a tenant.
This is even worse than it sounds. See, in the Scurlock Tower, which is a professional building, "tenant" means "specialist," and my experience in the medical field (combined with my mother, the overqualified nurse) tells me that "specialist" means "complete and total self-absorbed prick." (This is no lie. I'm constantly having near-misses in the basement garage with assholes going 40 up the somewhat blind ramps at 5:XX on any given day of the week.)
Tenant tells Methodist. Methodist tells Binswanger. Binswanger gets on the warpath against these three. They fire every cheap shot they have against John, me, God, and everyone. Their asses are collecting unemployment while Clarence knew better than to believe a bossy vet of the game and an ornery motherfuckin' welder. Raul is the mystery here. I think he listened too long and too hard to Mario's shit, otherwise, I've never had a problem with him.
That was just to get employed a week ago. I was cooking spaghetti when I get a call from John telling me to be at Scurlock at 5:00 PM tomorrow. I work two days without incident until they have a glass truck coming at noon on Wednesday. (Believe me when I say that unloading trucks is the LEAST fun of the jobs.) They work from 12 to 4:30, head up to the union meeting (first Wednesday, 5:00), then be back at 7 to keep working. I... skipped both. "Dentist appointment" at 1 and "had to rush someone to the hospital so she didn't die and missed the call saying no rainout:" at 7.
I get a call at 10:34 the next morning saying that I'm fired for not having a vehicle. I freak out. My vehicle is actually due out of the shop at any moment, and without a job, I can't afford to pay back my grandparents OR the credit card, which gave me $250 for rent last month. I call once (I'm bad about being responsible, like...), don't leave a message, and keep freaking out. I call the body shop, fully expecting to kill someone with words, when I hear "It's ready."
I bum a ride back with my friend Ian, who goes to school across from my apartment and lives four blocks from the shop on the south side of town. I stand in the cold for a while as they figure out that I don't have A/C (non-issue for at least three months down here in Texas), there is something on the back of the cab that needs a touch-up, and I'm missing a small part that they'll get and install for free as apology for taking so long. After some sojourning in Pearland, I get back to the house at about 4 AM. Normal for me, working or not.
When I wake up, I decide I better explain what the hell is "going on" so I can remain employed. I'm not the best liar, but I did it well enough for them to take me back at 7 that night. (Don't tell me I'm a horrible bastard, I know that already.
)
I now:
+++have my truck back
++am employed for 48 hours a week
++have a freaking awesome girlfriend
+have a house with enough food to make it to next Thursday
+have a Christmas tree my girlfriend bought for us and helped decorate
=filled up for the first time in four months (Hey, it's not like I drove it. Shut up.)
-am on thin ice at work
--Have $3.78 in the bank (no shit)
---Have $330 on credit cards due on the 19th, which (with the electric bill) is all of my money.
That's about the passing of the month. I can give specifics, but eh. I'm gonna go work through Half-Life 2 now. Peace.
(EDIT, 11:01 AM 12/12/05)
Besides wanting to say that midnight tonight will mark my one month anniversary, someone asked me to explain what in the flying fuck is going on with my job. Well, the explanation wouldn't fit as a comment, so here goes.
Dig. I work for a glass company that is subcontracted to The Methodist Hospital in the Texas Medical Center in Houston.
We used to have eight people on the crew. Just before Thanksgiving, we got run off because the general contractor had run out of money because he needed drywall guys as well to attack the walls blocking the holes. (Whoever bid this job only looked at the blueprints and said, "Oh, well, we need this, this, and this," neglecting to actually walk the floors.)
When the job resumed, Methodist had cut us down to five people. As the youngest and most inexperienced glazier, I was gone first.
Well, last Saturday, three of the guys started some shit when some tools broke and refused to work, instead insisting on going home because they "couldn't get anything done." John and Rinato proved them wrong, and they got in a damn-near-brawl right in front of a tenant.
This is even worse than it sounds. See, in the Scurlock Tower, which is a professional building, "tenant" means "specialist," and my experience in the medical field (combined with my mother, the overqualified nurse) tells me that "specialist" means "complete and total self-absorbed prick." (This is no lie. I'm constantly having near-misses in the basement garage with assholes going 40 up the somewhat blind ramps at 5:XX on any given day of the week.)
Tenant tells Methodist. Methodist tells Binswanger. Binswanger gets on the warpath against these three. They fire every cheap shot they have against John, me, God, and everyone. Their asses are collecting unemployment while Clarence knew better than to believe a bossy vet of the game and an ornery motherfuckin' welder. Raul is the mystery here. I think he listened too long and too hard to Mario's shit, otherwise, I've never had a problem with him.
That was just to get employed a week ago. I was cooking spaghetti when I get a call from John telling me to be at Scurlock at 5:00 PM tomorrow. I work two days without incident until they have a glass truck coming at noon on Wednesday. (Believe me when I say that unloading trucks is the LEAST fun of the jobs.) They work from 12 to 4:30, head up to the union meeting (first Wednesday, 5:00), then be back at 7 to keep working. I... skipped both. "Dentist appointment" at 1 and "had to rush someone to the hospital so she didn't die and missed the call saying no rainout:" at 7.
I get a call at 10:34 the next morning saying that I'm fired for not having a vehicle. I freak out. My vehicle is actually due out of the shop at any moment, and without a job, I can't afford to pay back my grandparents OR the credit card, which gave me $250 for rent last month. I call once (I'm bad about being responsible, like...), don't leave a message, and keep freaking out. I call the body shop, fully expecting to kill someone with words, when I hear "It's ready."
I bum a ride back with my friend Ian, who goes to school across from my apartment and lives four blocks from the shop on the south side of town. I stand in the cold for a while as they figure out that I don't have A/C (non-issue for at least three months down here in Texas), there is something on the back of the cab that needs a touch-up, and I'm missing a small part that they'll get and install for free as apology for taking so long. After some sojourning in Pearland, I get back to the house at about 4 AM. Normal for me, working or not.
When I wake up, I decide I better explain what the hell is "going on" so I can remain employed. I'm not the best liar, but I did it well enough for them to take me back at 7 that night. (Don't tell me I'm a horrible bastard, I know that already.
)VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
julian_delphinki:
nice 
nice 
paine:
Wow...truth is WAY stranger than fiction. Good grief. 