Soon!

So let me explain.

No, don't look at the date I last posted. It hasn't REALLY been months. That's just your monitor having some kind of glitch. I've been meaning to blog. I even took notes of two hysterical events!

I can't find them now, of course.

And I totally haven't been blowing this off and playing Skyrim. Or like every other video game possible. Or just sleeping. I swear.

I've just had totally awesome super secret spy stuff I can't talk about here been happening. It's been so awesome. But I can't tell you. Yeah, remember that one time you didn't die? That was totally thanks to me. I bet you didn't even know anything was going on, that's how good I am.

As soon as I can find those notes, I promise, there will be a post!

Generic Job Post!

First, sorry sorry sorry! I accept my title as the worst blogger ever, no, EVAR, and that it has been far too long since my last update!


But to make it up to my whole two readers, I am making an extra long post, about work!




I don't want to name names, so as far as you all know, I work at GENERIC SUB STORE. GSS is an easy, easy job. Slice meat and cheese, put mayo on it, ring it up, bam. Done. Hardest thing is coupons.

In theory anyways. Sometimes customers make the reality a bit more difficult, sometimes the surroundings are to blame, and other times it's my own stupidity.

Recently, we had one of those difficult customers. An older man asked for a kids meal, with chicken on it. Now, we have a cheat sheet for all our sammichs that shows how many slices of cheese and meat to do for every single size of every single sammich. Near the bottom there is

KIDS MEAL

No chicken. Hm. I figure I'll let it slide and make the guy a chicken sammich anyways. But... how many slices?

Kid's equals half of a medium so... 2 1/2? I decide to be generous and give the guy 3.

To which he FREAKS out. "THAT"S NOT RIGHT!!!" I am told. "I GET FOUR PIECES!!!"

I explain to him that if he wants four pieces, he needs to get the small. He retorts with the fact that I even sliced the chicken too thin.

I. Never. Touch. the thickness of the slicer. Ever. Not once.

After that, he says, "I want light on all the spices except salt."

Which is a very tricky statement. I'm sure, again, I was just trying to mess up his particular sammich, but I took that to mean light on everything and normal salt. Boy was I WRONG. Also, I think people are under the impression that mistakenly putting salt on something is an offense punishable by death.

Maybe I was... asalt-ed.

But I'm sure I saw him, and decided to really screw up HIS sandwich. I mean, I must have zeroed in on this guy, and been like,

Another fun customer... Upon entering the store, asks me,

"Miss? Could you please pull out your hair?"

No, no I had not misheard her. She really did just ask me to pull out my hair. I brushed my hair back, but that wasn't good enough. "No, miss, right there, you have hair that is going to get in my food!"

"I'll uh... Go to the bathroom and pull them out then."

"Thank you!"

And I did. I pulled out my hair. Now, this same lady, whenever she comes in, compliments my now not-as-messy hairstyle. Asking me where I got it done, (Greatclips?) what I asked for, ("Short?") all these questions. I suppose that is her way of saying that, post pluck, my hair is very nice.

Now, as a general note, if you go to a sammich shop, please, PLEASE do not walk away in the middle of telling your poor, under paid, over worked, sammich artist what toppings to put on it. Not only is this rude, but now I don't know if that means you're done (and whenever I decide this, of course, you wanted vinegar on it and now I have to unwrap your sammich...), or if I should wait for you to return (and whenever I take THIS course of action, you were done and why am I wasting your time...). Another thing.

If you say you want everything on it.

Get. Everything.

The sentence "I want everything except onions, pickles, tomatoes, and peppers" IS ACTUALLY "I just want lettuce and olives!" You can't have everything EXCEPT. That makes NO SENSE!!!! If you are making exceptions then it is NOT REALLY EVERYTHING.

Now, something to keep in mind-- I work with knives. Really sharp knives. And a slicer. Bet that would hurt...

Speaking of!!

When I first started working, my boss felt the need to share with me the fact that a few unfortunate workers had actually sliced off the tip off their fingers while working the slicer.

So I have always been really careful working with the sharp pointies. It doesn't matter though. I suffered my first injury within my first week of work. Now, before I was trained on anything else, I was trained on middles. Which is basically just topping and wrapping the sammich. I'm not allowed near the slicer or register. Which seems like a good way to get workers used to everything before doing more important things, but in reality it is so stressful! People walk in, expecting to be helped, and I have to stand there with a huge grin on my face while waiting, (praying) someone else comes to help.

This is important to know, because I was already feeling terribly inadequate going into the lunch rush. I was trying to cut the sammich, and that's when I sliced into my pinkie finger. It didn't hurt too bad (adrenaline? Or God-like pain tolerance?), and I didn't want to drop everything and run into the back, because then it would be *MY* fault people had to stand in line. So I did the thing any reasonable person would.

I hid it.

I tucked my finger into my palm, and continued the lunch rush. I figured as long as blood was not pouring everywhere, I was good. I made it through the whole rush, then on the last sammich was like, "Oh no, I cut myself, better go bandage that...."

But those were not my fault. I blame it on the sharp pointies. The next one was totally just me being a newb at life.

It was early in the morning, and it was just me and my boss working. He needs to go run and get a coffee from starbucks three doors down (heh), and says no one should come in, but to hold the store down while he's gone, for maybe three minutes.

SO! As soon as the door closes, the oven goes off. INSTANT PANIC ATTACK.

My boss loves the bread. In fact, I think he cares more about the bread then some of the workers. He likes the bread exactly perfect, and I think people have been fired for burning it. So when the oven timer is informing me the bread needs instant attention, I am almost instantly filled with fear. I open the oven and the bread seems... bread like. It's wheat, so I can't really look for the 'golden brown' color since... it's that color all the time. I decide that it needs maybe one more minute. Maybe two. As I'm closing the door to the over, a customer walks in. Now, I am barely trained on slicer, not at all on register. But I figure I can stall while topping, at least until boss gets back.

Oh dear. All she wants is a soda. She hands me a dollar and is now waiting expectantly for her change. I must have looked so intelligent, staring at the register.

After a few seconds, she decides she can't wait any longer for miss incompetent to hit the "CANNED SODA" button, she starts to walk out, when I see it! I tell her, wait miss! I found it! I hit it, and then try to input that she gave me a dollar. On the old registers I worked on, you hit the number and it assumed dollars automatically. If they gave you something like 1.50 you had to hit the decimal button. Going with that knowledge, I hit '1' then cash. Hmm, I just gave her a one cent discount.


At this point, she's gone, and my boss walks in. I try to explain to him what happens, and he says, "Well, as long as she gave you a dollar and you gave her a cent change, then it's all good."

BUT I DIDN'T EVEN DO THAT BECAUSE SHE LEFT!!!!!


Last story:


A worker from another store came in, telling my co-worker about a surgery she was having done. Apparently, I looked too interested, because she decided to explain to me what she meant.

"My lips are so frustrating, I'm getting them shortened."

I look at her face and well... They look fine?

That's when she laughs and says, "Oh! Not the ones on my face!"

I needed mind bleach for that one, figured I would share the love. <3

Innuendo!

I've been putting off the post for a while.

Mostly because yes, I can be a bit of a perv. I giggle at inappropriate moments, and love 'that's what she said' jokes. The funny part is my parents know how to up the ante, and turn my immature snickers turn into embarrassed blushes.

The first example of this is when Boyfriend was visiting. We were playing some version of Carcassone, and my dad was explaining the jobs of all the different units. He starts talking about the Mariners when my grandma asks, "So that's what the sea men do?"
Yes, I giggled. Mom rolled her eyes and Dad gave me a look. So we continued.
Dad's almost done explaining the rules, and he says something like this to Boyfriend, "Right, then we tally up the points, and that's how you score." Before I could keep my mouth shut, I blurt, "I would think you wouldn't want him to score!"

 

  
Dad's comeback: "Well, he's scoring in front of your parents."

Yeah, I couldn't think of anything else to say after that.

Another time I was sitting in my parent's bed, and we were all talking. Now, we have a code in our family. 'Watching a movie' can mean two very very different things. It can mean enjoying a dvd, or it can mean... well... *ahem*. Being quite intimate.
So, I thought I was picking up on some subtle flirting on my parents' part, so I asked, "Do you guys want to watch a movie or something?"
At this point it's midnight.
Dad looks at the clock and sighs. "No, because by the time it's done, it'll be like 2 in the morning."
My response?
"I'm doing it wrong...."

Last one: I was bothering my parents, this time it was lunch time. (I find out later that they had actually WANTED to "watch a movie.") After they paid enough attention to me, I retreat back into my room.
Mom comes in, closing the door behind her. "Do you NEVER want me to watch a movie again?"

(IRL it was much funnier.)

Why I am a crazy girlfriend.

I try to be a normal, non-crazy girlfriend. I really do. Sometimes I just can't help it.

Boyfriend is in a ballroom dance class. At first I was like, "Wow, awesome! He's so cultured and amazing!"

And then the crazy started. Because I realized, wait a second. In almost every chick flick ever, there is the 'dance scene.' You know the one. The couple is dancing, their witty banter interrupted by the intricate dance moves. They scoff and chuckle, and by the end of the dance they are completely in love. They can't even help it, it's because they talked while they danced. And Boyfriend is pretty darn attractive, and I live a whole state over. Those silly dancer girls were probably salivating at the chance to live out their Victorian love scenes with him!

I had to fight every urge asking Boyfriend to refrain from speaking.

Then, just last night, he showed me the song they are preforming to. It was like nothing I was picturing. In my ballroom dance class we danced to things like... Bach. But his song... it was...

Sexy.

So the crazy started picturing what kind of moves one would do to this kind of song.
My hopeful expectations versus dreaded reality:

I tried to keep the crazy in check, and simply replied with a forced, "Oh. Neat."

Sister!

So, while this story doesn't actually have to do with something bad happening to me, it's funny and I need to share it. :)

I have two younger siblings, both of whom are quite possibly the coolest little kids around. My brother, 9 years younger then me, and then my sister, who is 13 years younger then me. This particular story has to do with my sister.

Like most young girls, she had a play kitchen were she would 'bake' and prepare 'food'. I believe she was about.. 4 when this particular event happened.

I was walking down the hall, and notice out of the corner of my eye something amiss with her kitchen. She's playing quietly in front of the oven. The over door, which looks like it is barely closing, has doll arms sticking out of it. I ask, "Rini, why are your dolls in the oven?"

She turns around, completely emotionless, and says, "They were naughty." Then she goes back to playing.

And I share a room with this girl.

Snow!

For my freshman year of college, I went to this little private school in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. Come wintertime, I discovered that my desert raised self really had no grasp on what 'cold' truly meant. At first the snow and ice was a cause for excitement, I had only ever seen snow three other times in my *life*, so having it everyday was something truly magical. At first.

Snow and I started to have issues very quickly. I lived in the dorms on the top of a steep hill, and all of my classes were at the bottom of this hill. Very quickly, people came to assume that there would be wet stains on my butt from falling and sliding down the ice hill.

The second thing about Snow that started to get to me was the fact that it was SO WET. My socks were wet, my pants were wet, and as a side note, converses are NOT snow shoes, however stylish they might be.

Then came Christmas break. Finally, I would be going back to the desert, back to warmth and sun. My friend Adam offered me a ride to the airport (that was about... 40-60 minutes away from the school, if I'm remembering right) with his '89 pick up truck. And, yes, Adam was a very good friend of mine, but his shifting abilities were... a little unpracticed. Ah, the joys of a stick shift. The first problem came when he couldn't actually get the car OUT of the parking spot. He had parked on an incline, and because of the ice, he simply could not get enough traction to back out. Now, me being the closet genius I am, I suggest that everyone besides Adam pile into the back of the truck, and that gives it enough umph to back up then get on the road.

So now me and Adam are driving along, and we pass over this old rickety bridge. I think I remember him saying "it's ok," as I slowly realized what was happening. There was a patch of black ice once we exited the bridge, and we were spinning to the left. We continue spinning until we are now facing traffic, in a ditch on the side of the road. He tries to get over the slope, and a thought slowly crosses my mind.

"We're sideways."

Now, we weren't entirely sideways, but I think if even a gentle breeze had hit us we would have rolled to depths unknown (which included an icy lake- the reason for the bridge in the first place). He's determined, but the truck just can't get out. We ended up perpendicular to the road, our weight supported by a few scarily thin trees.

He calls 911 from his cell, (thank goodness for technology) and they ask where we are. "Uhm. We're by the snow. Oh, there's some trees as well."

A tow truck DOES show up though, (along with another tow truck, and a police car), and we ride in the tow truck until we get to a little town where the ice isn't as bad.

I bought him some hot chocolate at starbucks.

So, thinking the ordeal is over, I get ready for the sun back home.

Except, after being there for about a week, the unthinkable happens.

It snows there too.

Fine, Snow, you may have won this time, but surely you can't- Yep. The year after that? When I'm living in Texas? It snows there too. A lot.

The year after when I'm back in the desert? Not actual SNOW, but there were snowflakes.

And this is why I believe that Snow just has a hard time expression his emotions, and he has diverted his efforts to stalking me.

Singing!

When I was in middle school, I was a part of my church's choir. I thought this was amazing- I was always gotting caught singing in the shower, singing in my room with the door closed... and now was my chance to show off in front of the whole church how awesome I was! Nevermind the fact that everyone who auditioned got in...

So, the first time we preform, I notice a key difference between me and the soloist. When I hold out a note, it sounds like this:

When she held out a note, it was more like this:

(I later learned from my violin lessons this is called vibrato, but when I was little I called it 'bouncing'.)

So, in a quick desicion, I decided I'm going to bounce my voice loud and proud.

It was after this out burst that my friend sitting next to me turned to me, with a confused look on her face. "What are you doing? Are you ok?"

My voice has been much less bouncy since then.