I’m pretty sure I was just introduced to a new employee as “This is Amy, she makes copies.” Well, listen, I am SO GLAD my college education didn’t go to waste, and my mom will be SO PROUD OF ME. *preens*
(BTW, I also do other things here; I spend a substantial amount of time blogging, fixing the shitty low-rent copier we bought or maybe rescued from the street when it fell off a truck, checking my various social media networks, and also biting back sharp-tongued sarcastic remarks. But do you use THOSE tasks to label me when you introduce me, coworker? No, you do not. I am hurt. HURT, I tell you.)
Oh, I don’t know if I ever mentioned I had the anger-management meeting here, speaking of how much I love my job. Did I mention that? Probably I didn’t. So far, I do not have to enter anger management, but not because I don’t NEED anger management. I think it’s because they don’t want to PAY for anger management, or don’t know how to find such a place.
When I was asked why exactly I was so angry, I think they were confused by my answer of, “Well, it’s a little hard to keep a smile on one’s face when one is being treated like one is a member of the untouchable class from 8:30-5 daily, so sometimes I erupt in a volcano of righteous fury.” I’m not sure if it was the verbiage or the bluntness that flabbergasted them. I think they like when people are all kitten-rainbows here. I’m not…I’m not good at kitten-rainbows when someone is calling me useless or stupid. My kitten-rainbows are from 5pm to 8:29am daily. Then the little black rainclouds move in. ANYWAY, in the meantime, I was advised to “go have a cool drink of water” whenever I get upset; if I were to follow that advice here at work, my kidneys would be floating by 9am. Also, it confuses me why, if they are SO DISTRAUGHT BY MY ATTITUDE, they just don’t fire me. I mean, I come into work daily convinced I’ll be called into a meeting telling me to clean out my desk. Not that I ever put anything on or in my desk, not in six and a half years, because that way it’s easier to clean out once they do fire me. Sometimes I think it would be a relief, because then the other shoe will have finally dropped.
Well, no one likes their job, probably, and there’s nothing more tiresome than job-moaning. Someday I’ll get off my ass and look for something else, but in the meantime I’m the Queen of Stasis and will sit here daily being introduced as the person who makes copies. As if I work at Kinkos. I mean, not that there’s anything WRONG with working at Kinkos. I just don’t. Work at Kinkos, I mean.
Anyway, ANYWAY, enough of THAT nonsense, work is work, who likes work? (If you decide to comment with a “I LIKE WORK, AMY!” I’m going to scowl at you, so yay, good for you, don’t rub salt in the wound, ok? Thanks.) There are worse jobs. What? There totally are. I could be on my feet for 8 hours a day. I could be dealing with customers 6 days a week instead of just one day a week at my part-time job.
There are a lot of jobs I would not be good at, so on days when things are especially terrible here, I like to think of THOSE jobs, and think how much worse life would be were I to be one of those people. Here, let’s discuss some of those jobs. That’ll totally cheer me up, right? Right.
Leader of a country
Listen, when you’re little, people LOVE to say, “You could be PRESIDENT someday!” but who the hell wants THAT job? Mostly, being the president (or king or chancellor or grand high poobah or whatever) means everyone, everyone, EVERYONE takes offense at SOMETHING you do. If you’re lucky, your approval rating is like 62% or something. That means that almost half of your country HATES you. You probably can’t turn on the television without someone making fun of SOMETHING you did, or taking offense at something you did, or saying they would have done something you did differently. Everyone’s watching you ALL THE TIME. Sure, there are perks, like you get really good seats at the theater (but look how that turned out for Lincoln) or you get excellent food (but look how that turned out for Taft, heh, sorry, low blow, had to) or you get gifts or jewels or kids singing for you or whatnot but is it really worth it? Is it really? I mean, look at your life, once you’re president of the United States. You get yelled at for four (or eight) years, you age INSANELY (I am always amazed at the photos of presidents on inauguration day, then four years later, then, if they’re re-elected, eight years later) and then for the rest of your life, you have to be followed around by Secret Service because there’s always the chance that someone wants to be the guy (or gal) that assassinated a president. You remain in the public eye even after things are over. Your KIDS remain in the public eye. People write non-flattering books about you. It is NOT AN EASY JOB. You go in all optimistic and you leave a bitter, twisted wreck (well, if you’re smart, you do – or maybe you leave breathing a sigh of relief that THAT’S over.) No, thanks. I’ll live my life of relative obscurity. I don’t want that many people looking at me. My hair’s always a mess and sometimes I spill food on my top. I’d be made a mockery in like a week.
Character in an amusement park
I know, right, you’re bringing JOY to like THOUSANDS of children. No. Listen. It is HOT.
And kids are all screaming and touching you and some of them kick you because they’re ill-behaved. And if you’re lucky, you get to be Cinderella at Disney, but if you’re not, you get to be Dorf at The Great Escape.
What? Who’s Dorf?
Well, when I was a kid, we used to go to The Great Escape (before it became Six Flags, boo, sellout!) which is in Lake George, kind of between where I currently live and where I used to live. It was a middle-of-the-road amusement park. It used to be Storytown (I’ve totally mentioned this before, I think) and so there was a Storytown section with these run-down concrete things like the Three Little Pigs house and Red Riding Hood with most of the paint chipped off her face so she looked scabrous. I loved The Great Escape.
Anyway, their mascot was this…I don’t even know. Thing? Called Dorf. I cannot find a single reference or photo of Dorf on the internet. It’s like Dorf has been scrubbed from existence. I don’t even know that his real name WAS Dorf. I wonder if my brother and I made this up? I can’t imagine we did, how would we have come up with something like that? That “Dorf on Golf” thing wasn’t even around then, I don’t think.
ANYWAY, he kind of looked like Goofy and kind of like a cowboy and kind of like a sewer rat? And he’d be in this huge suit that looked like it weighed a million pounds and was SO SO HOT and he’d bumble around and NO ONE wanted a picture with Dorf, no one. I mean, come on. No one even knew what he WAS, let alone wanted him in their vacation photos. He’d resign himself to photobombing just to stay relevant. One time we were eating in the picnic area and he kept BOTHERING us, all coming up and dorby-dorbing around our table and my little brother, who was like 7 at the time, was all, “God, stupid DORF,” very cynically, and that made me laugh SO HARD, and I still think of it once and a while (most recently, when I was reading The Fellowship of the Ring – sorry, sj, I know you love him – and Glorfindel came up? And his name sounded like Dorf? And then I was all, “God, stupid GLORFINDEL” and then got the giggles for like twenty minutes, so from then on whenever they mentioned his name I would start off again and I’m pretty sure that’s not what was intended at ALL. This also happens on a regular basis when I think of the Carmina Burana, because of course it was written by Carl Orff. God, stupid ORFF. Don’t get all offended. I love the Carmina Burana. It’s just anything with an “orf” sound in it that does it for me. The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers were also an issue, back when people said their name a lot. Also Worf from Star Trek.)
Anyway, WHOO, was THAT ever a tangent. I can’t even imagine dressing in a hot, hot costume and standing in the sun all day attempting to amuse children because I hate a., heat, b., characters in amusement parks because I can’t see their faces so I find that shady, and c., children (except for YOUR children, yes YOU, who’s reading this, and of course my nephew.)
Food Service Worker
I did this for a while in college. I worked in the dining hall. It was the WORST. It was HOT and people were RUDE and you went home smelling like rotting food and that never quite went away, no matter how many times you washed your hair. For a few months, I got stuck with the dishwashing shift for breakfast. ZOMG HOT TIMES A MILLION, plus it was AMAZING to me how gross people were. They’d build little towers on their trays and they’d come back in through the conveyor belt and there would be ketchup pools and napkins all torn up and towers of waffles all stuck together with syrup and I totally had to clean that shit up before putting it in the dishwasher and that dishwasher was about a zillion degrees hot. Also, once when I was working the hot food line, a girl threatened to wait for me outside and kick my ass because we were out of chicken parm, and one guy threatened to get me fired because I pronounced manicotti “manicotti” and not “manigot” like the ITALIANS do, and the last time I checked, we weren’t IN Italy, we were in a college in downstate New York and that wasn’t a fireable offense. The only thing that kept my sanity there was my friend R., who is STILL my friend (and the mom of The Baby Formerly Known as Baby Girl Awesomesauce who is now known as CeeVee.) R. made me laugh and laugh and we had the best time mocking people and singing along to the music the cooks played in the kitchen (R.! Do you remember me totally rocking out to Meatloaf? “I would do ANYTHING for LOVE! But I won’t do THAT!” Hee!) and then on our way out we’d secretly put peanut butter cups from the candy section in our work hats (shh, I think the statute of limitations for pilfering has passed, don’t you?) and then we’d eat them outside and recap our hot, hot, HOT evenings and laugh. R. made that job bearable. But I wouldn’t go back to that for anything. Gack. Also, I’d be a terrible waitress, because I’m quite unfriendly and no one would ever give me a tip and also I’m clumsy and would fall carrying food to the tables.
Seriously, I can’t even imagine working around garbage all the time. Can you even imagine this? It’s mind-boggling to me. Like, imagine being one of those people who has to ride on the back of a garbage truck. The SMELL would KILL me. I couldn’t even deal with that.
In related what the hell news, where I live, there is a garbage area. I feel like I told you this. Did I tell you this? Eh, if I did, pretend I didn’t. It’s huge, and there’s a place to dump your garbage, and then also a place for your recyclables and such. It’s under a big roof-thing. I’m not sure why. Maybe so birds don’t get in, I don’t know. Anyway, people are CONSTANTLY leaving couches and furniture there, because you have to pay to dump garbage at the landfill, and no one watches the garbage area. So it’s become a well-known fact that if you’re moving in the area (not just where I live, but all around) you can bring oversized garbage there and dump it and no one seems to care, even though there are signs that are all NO OVERSIZED GARBAGE. So there are always couches and mattresses and chairs and armoires and shit outside the gigantor dumpster. I swear this is going somewhere. ANYWAY, lately, this man has been SITTING ON THE COUCHES and reading a book when I come home at least 3-4 nights a week. Those couches are a., probably filled with bedbugs and all manner of vermin, and b., RIGHT NEAR AN OVERFLOWING ROTTING DUMPSTER THAT HARDLY EVERY GETS EMPTIED. You have to hold your nose to walk PAST that thing. He’s sitting probably a foot away from it, all kicked-back on someone’s sketchy potentially-infested garbage-couch, reading a book and relaxing in the shade of the garbage-roof. It is SO WEIRD. Who does that? He doesn’t seem to be homeless. I assume he lives nearby? Are his nasal passages either blocked or malfunctioning? Is he fighting with his roommates and/or wife? WHY IS HE HANGING OUT A FOOT FROM A DUMPSTER, READING? It’s not like there’s not a laundry room and a mail room, both air-conditioned, less than a parking-lot length away, that he could hang out in. I do not get this at all.
I need to take a photo of this guy for posterity the next time I see him even though I totally have a thing against taking photos of humans in order to mock them because I’d hate it if someone did that to me.
Anyway, ew, no, I would not want to be a sanitation worker, the smell would kill me dead in a week.
Oh, and this has NOTHING to do with ANYTHING but this morning, there was a very very VERY loud noise on my porch and I was all WTF is it a killer? And I was all peeking out and saw nothing so I seeeecretly opened the porch door and there was a squeaking noise and a scuffle and guess what it was? A scruffy squirrel with half a tail!
He chattered at me like I was HARSHING his BUZZ (apparently the loud noise was that he was knocking over my turtles I keep on the porch – what, you don’t keep three large garden-turtles on your porch because you don’t have a garden and they are the hear no evil see no evil speak no evil turtles? Well, that’s your problem, now, isn’t it?) and then he made himself LOW and FLAT and limboed out under my porch railing and went over to the neighbor’s porch. When I peeked over, he was watching me with a VERY angry scowl. Hee! I will name him Hobo Joe and leave him some sunflower seeds! He is my new pet!
See? Now don’t we all feel better? Look at the worse jobs I could be doing! This has cheered me immeasurably. I could never write a totally long blogpost while doing any of those jobs, and plus at least it’s air-conditioned in here.
I mean, I’m still going to go get a drink of cool water because I’m cranky as hell, but at least I’m not FURIOUS. That’s a total win, right? Right.