That's Me, All Over.

So much to do today—my head is buzzing. I keep going over my task list in my head, but for all the little things I can do at work to aid my shopping, there’s nothing I can actually physically accomplish until I leave work. And after work, I have Starbucks. Here’s what I have to do there:

1. Get tips.

OPTIONAL: Wait around drinking a small latte while the shift manager gets around to getting my tips. Make loud passive-aggressive sighing noises if this takes longer than the five minutes of time I had budgeted. Whine (depending on the manager).

2. Get free pound of coffee (Christmas Blend).
3. Buy another pound of coffee (Christmas Blend).

OPTIONAL: Feel slight guilt pang about cleaning the store out of Christmas Blend. Rationalize that if people really wanted it, they’d have gotten there before you. Admire your stealth. Relish your free stuff. Smell the coffee amorously. Ignore stares.

4. Buy my Grama a box of Lotus Tea.

OPTIONAL: Buy anything else that looks good, because it’s Christmas and that’s what you do. Make sure it’s not food, because you can’t return that after you get your credit card bill.

5. Grind one of the Christmas Blends.

OPTIONAL: Ask yourself why you couldn’t do this while you were waiting for your tips, as that would have saved time. Kick yourself for being counterproductive. Unnecessarily spiral into a depression about how useless you are, blame PMS, and resolve to cry after you go home. And after Tae-Bo.

6. Write down schedule for next week.
7. Make sure I actually requested my holidays off.

OPTIONAL: Scream and yell that they scheduled me on a day I wanted off. Call coworkers at home and offer one of my eggs if they’ll work for me instead; up it to a whole ovary if they start to waver. Cry if they refuse—one less thing to do when you get home.

ALSO OPTIONAL: Doing some actual work at this job.

8. Tae the Bo.

OPTIONAL: NO!! There is no option!! You will work that flab until your abs are screaming and you’ll like it! YOU WILL LIKE IT, YOU UNDERSTAND?!

9. Shower.

OPTIONAL: None. I’m gross. Needs to be done. Also, shaving.

10. Sleep.

OPTIONAL: Or not; I’ll be too busy going over tomorrow’s list.

This holiday needs to get here quicker.

Okay—this is a little off-color, but I have to ask: Why do women pee on toilet seats? Not all of them, I mean, but it seems to happen pretty frequently at my work bathroom. And I don’t mean ‘how?’, because I know how it happens; the woman in question doesn’t want to put her precious bottom where others’ vulgar butts have been. Inevitably, in the indignity of squatting, said woman will leave a little something of her sainted self behind. What the hell? You didn’t want to sit where my butt had been, so you left your PISS on the SEAT? What the hell kinda sense does that make? When one follows the proper rules of hygiene, the skin on your tush should be no dirtier than your face, elbow, or foot. I’m not saying you could eat off of any of them, but they should be relatively free of microbes and offensive, disease-carrying substance… unlike, say, urine. YOUR urine. Which I then have to CLEAN OFF THE TOILET SEAT that I may relieve myself. The real question here, I guess, is, if you do happen to splash a bodily substance on the seat, wouldn’t YOU clean it up? Makes more sense that you should do it, after all, you know where it’s been. You are where it’s been. I don’t know you from Adam, and I never will since you’re conveniently gone right after you’ve done the deed. I’m not a nurse. I don’t do this for a living. Clean up after yourself, lady, or I’ll call your mother and let her know what you’ve been up to.

Just had to put that out there. Sorry—it was a bit random.

Yes, I know it’s not you, I was just sayin’.


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