Updates
Added more content to the story that I've been working on at Amadain_writes. I also removed the most recent work, as it served the cathartic purpose that I needed it to serve, and it needed to come down.
I finished the DBA class with 3 B's, which means (if I understand correctly) that I get my full tuition reimbursement for the cluster, which will help me out immensely. I also quit my second job today, after being harangued relentlessly by the circle of geriatric and evil witches who hold court at the Gas Station after spending 20 hours there this weekend. I told my friend that, while I had wanted things to work out, I was effectively volunteering my time at less than a third of my hourly wage in order to be harassed by bitter old women who vacillated between unpleasant, unfriendly, and venomous. There was a hierarchy, rival factions battling for control within the Gas Station social strata, attempting to establish their dominance over the New Guy. After one of the MotoMart Matrons exploded upon uncovering a mistake that I had made, and then refused to talk to me about, all the while screeching shrilly for the shift manager, I dropped an F-Bomb while unwittingly standing next to the owner of the establishment. The shift manager reprimanded me, and I left without speaking to anyone else. I called the store manager on my way home, and explained to her that it was just too poisonous for me.
I tried, while there, to work on my leadership skills. Offering positive feedback to coworkers, sharing workload, exhibiting cheerful customer interaction, and being conscientious about my work. This is not, evidently, an effective team building technique within the Gas Station employment atmosphere. One woman told me that I was "so weird", after I told her how much I appreciated her contribution on our shared shift. I would like to be able to say that I found that Gas Station Employees are Not Normal. Unfortunately, I found that they melded with the customer base incredibly well. Redneck old men working farms, redneck young men working blue collar jobs, old women with missing teeth buying cartons of cigarettes and lottery tickets, middle aged women who smoked and tanned so much that they looked 15 years older than they really were, all were as easy for them to relate to as members of their family. My humor was usually too highbrow, and I think that in retrospect, they probably thought that I was trying to derail their carefully crafted social constructs with my command of words with more than two syllables.
Either way, it was an enriching experience, if for nothing else than the novelty. For a few weekends I got to play at being a gas station clerk. I became good at working a register, disassembling and reassembling industrial coffee machines, putting together fountain nozzles, and I was able to explore all of the inner workings of my neighborhood gas station. It could have been worse.
God, I'm tired.
I finished the DBA class with 3 B's, which means (if I understand correctly) that I get my full tuition reimbursement for the cluster, which will help me out immensely. I also quit my second job today, after being harangued relentlessly by the circle of geriatric and evil witches who hold court at the Gas Station after spending 20 hours there this weekend. I told my friend that, while I had wanted things to work out, I was effectively volunteering my time at less than a third of my hourly wage in order to be harassed by bitter old women who vacillated between unpleasant, unfriendly, and venomous. There was a hierarchy, rival factions battling for control within the Gas Station social strata, attempting to establish their dominance over the New Guy. After one of the MotoMart Matrons exploded upon uncovering a mistake that I had made, and then refused to talk to me about, all the while screeching shrilly for the shift manager, I dropped an F-Bomb while unwittingly standing next to the owner of the establishment. The shift manager reprimanded me, and I left without speaking to anyone else. I called the store manager on my way home, and explained to her that it was just too poisonous for me.
I tried, while there, to work on my leadership skills. Offering positive feedback to coworkers, sharing workload, exhibiting cheerful customer interaction, and being conscientious about my work. This is not, evidently, an effective team building technique within the Gas Station employment atmosphere. One woman told me that I was "so weird", after I told her how much I appreciated her contribution on our shared shift. I would like to be able to say that I found that Gas Station Employees are Not Normal. Unfortunately, I found that they melded with the customer base incredibly well. Redneck old men working farms, redneck young men working blue collar jobs, old women with missing teeth buying cartons of cigarettes and lottery tickets, middle aged women who smoked and tanned so much that they looked 15 years older than they really were, all were as easy for them to relate to as members of their family. My humor was usually too highbrow, and I think that in retrospect, they probably thought that I was trying to derail their carefully crafted social constructs with my command of words with more than two syllables.
Either way, it was an enriching experience, if for nothing else than the novelty. For a few weekends I got to play at being a gas station clerk. I became good at working a register, disassembling and reassembling industrial coffee machines, putting together fountain nozzles, and I was able to explore all of the inner workings of my neighborhood gas station. It could have been worse.
God, I'm tired.