elisekatelin

Yuck. So I've had the worst day and its only 8:15 in the morning.


So I have a job. I've worked there for over two years, and as much as I like most of the employees, I HATE my boss. Despite the fact that I am the senior-most employee, she schedules her alcoholic husband for (literally) four times as many hours as me. She's the owner, so I know she does it to save money (and also have a place where he can stay out of trouble,) but with college coming up, I NEED MONEY!!! BADLY! During my first semester of school, I couldn't work as many hours, yet she scheduled me for as many as I could fit on my schedule (AND MORE! she more often that not scheduled me for hours that I had class or that I had asked off for.) THIS semester I have tons of hours I can work. I gave her a list of all the hours I could work (some every single day), and I got my schedule this week and found out I'm scheduled for 8 (yes, EIGHT) hours total in the next two weeks. This of course is compared to maybe 25-30 hours per week this past semester. I HATE HER!!!!!!!!! I can honestly say that if I passed her later in life and saw that she was dying of thirst, I would pass her by and leave her to the vultures. (Quoting Survivor.... I have serious problems.)

So anyway, here on the Eastern shore, there are no jobs. At all. Tons of new expensive housing developments going up, but no jobs. Nonetheless, I found an ad at a doggie kennel and thought I'd check it out. I've volunteered at the Humane Society since I was thirteen. I'm really comfortable with dogs... no problem walking, feeding, grooming, medicating, poop-scooping them, whatever. So I had my "working interview" this morning where I was suposed to follow them around and watch how they do things. So I show up at 7am ready to watch and follow, and the manager says that I'll be working along with them. That's ok. That's not what they told me I was going to do, but whatever. So the first thing we have to do is take the dogs out to the runs. We walk into the super-small kennel area, and I swear the smell hit me like a brick wall. The room was so unventilated that I was literally gagging. They told me I'd get used to it. (I don't mean to sound like a prissy girlie girl -- I'm really not. But the smell... ugggh!) The manager points to a pile of knotted leads, then to a (no kidding) 200 pound Newfoundland who almost comes up to my chest. I've never handled a dog this big, and the little leads are basically strings of cloth. So I open the gate and this monsterous creature leaps up and scratches my lip. Luckily, I was only bleeding a little, so I took the dog out to the run with his name on it, which happened to be beside the run of this yappy little Jack Russell. I put my dog in the run, and he almost knocked down the barrier to go eat the little guy beside him.
So after taking half a dozen more dogs outside, it was time to clean out the cages. The manager mixed up the solution, which happened to be mildly deluted bleach, and then told me to scrub out the cages and then hose them off with this ancient hose that only sprayed super-cold water. (Granted, its about 25 degrees outside.) I start to do this (even though I can't breathe beacause of the smell), and then I see the other employee wash out the cages and sray so little water in them that I'm sure bleach residue is still in the cages. I've seen enough. So I run to the bathroom and tell the desk person that I have something in my eye, and secretly call a friend to come pick me up and say that its a "family emergency." Usually I would feel bad about lying like that, but there is no way, even if pigs did fly in a frozen hell, that I could work there.

Yuck. So I guess now the only thing to do is go talk with my insane boss at the first job.

I need a hug. And a drink.