Better than yesterday...
Well, today wasn't too bad.
I intended to make it out to Dekalb today to get my cartiledge pierced and buy some jewelry at the Magic Door, but did not make it.
Last night was the worst night of work (or anything else) ever. I'm reminded of the movie CLerks and the mantra, "I'm NOT even supposed to BE here today!".
Normally I do not work Tuesdays, but I was written in on the schedule by the store manager and got the call about five minutes before my shift. Of course this means I have to find a babysitter ASAP. My mother refuses because she doesn't think I should be working anyway. Hell, if she'd had her druthers I'd be on public aid the rest of my life rue-ing the day I didn't strive to match her psychotic and illogical conclusions about the world.
ANYWAY, I take the kid to work with me and call my cousin, who agrees to come get him. My first delivery of the night I hit a parked car. This 100 foot long dead end street lined on both sides with cars and populated by about ten kids playing various games (basketball, jump-rope, bullying) in the middle of it was my first destination. Trying to get TO the address the pizza was ordered for was fun (since these ghetto children have no fear of vehicular manslaughter). What was even more fun was trying to pull into a driveway (with cars in it) and turn around to park. That's when my back bumper rubbed the front bumper of a parked car. Of course all of the little hoodlums that were contributing to my general inability to maneuver came running and making a fuss. Then I had to lean out the window and ask twice before a small mob of girls would move so I could park. I hate delivering to this area.
So, I get out and the kids are all "ma'am you hit that car". Duh. That's why I'm walking over to it. I say, "Yes, I know.. do you know who's car it is?"
kids: "It's my sister's boyfriend's car"
me: "Is he home?"
kids: "I'll go get them"
...so I wait. The owner of the car turns out to be the person who ordered the pizza (ha, irony). His girlfriend comes out of the house alone.
the girlfriend: (with serious attitude) "You hit his car?!"
me: Yes, but I have insurance that can pay for it. Is he here?
the girlfriend: "I'm gonna go get him"
me: (thinking in my "inside voice") WELL FUCKING DUH.
So, the guy comes out and looks at the 2.5 - 3 inch paint scrape I left on his car. You have to actually bend down to even see it. It's tiny. I give him my insurance agent's card with my name and # on the back.
Next I get a guy with a $50 dollar bill. We only carry 20 bucks on us at any given time. I haven't got the $33.23 in change he should be getting. I suggest a check or something smaller. He has only a ten. So -I offer to take the fifty, give him twenty bucks and go to the gas station to break the fifty. He agrees.
About ten minutes later I FINALLY find a place that's open (at 8pm on a Tuesday, everything within a mile of the place is closed. Go figure.) and after another dollop of attitude from the gas station attendant I manage to get change for the fifty.
By the time I get back to the store I could just have killed someone. The next delivery was just a guy with an attitude (must have been a theme on Tuesday) and not one cent for a tip. Check for the exact amount. It just continued from there.
Today was a beautiful day, and there was even a thunderstorm. I stopped by the house of the guy who's car I hit, around 1pm. No one answered the door, but I heard kids inside. I left a note saying basically that I needed the guy's name (he just took my card and said we'll leave it until tomorrow) if he wanted to go through my insurance company. Otherwise, if he gets a quote I'll just pay him in cash for the repairs. So far, no response. Maybe I won't have to fuck with the stupid three inch scratch.
I just want all these fucked up situations to end!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I intended to make it out to Dekalb today to get my cartiledge pierced and buy some jewelry at the Magic Door, but did not make it.
Last night was the worst night of work (or anything else) ever. I'm reminded of the movie CLerks and the mantra, "I'm NOT even supposed to BE here today!".
Normally I do not work Tuesdays, but I was written in on the schedule by the store manager and got the call about five minutes before my shift. Of course this means I have to find a babysitter ASAP. My mother refuses because she doesn't think I should be working anyway. Hell, if she'd had her druthers I'd be on public aid the rest of my life rue-ing the day I didn't strive to match her psychotic and illogical conclusions about the world.
ANYWAY, I take the kid to work with me and call my cousin, who agrees to come get him. My first delivery of the night I hit a parked car. This 100 foot long dead end street lined on both sides with cars and populated by about ten kids playing various games (basketball, jump-rope, bullying) in the middle of it was my first destination. Trying to get TO the address the pizza was ordered for was fun (since these ghetto children have no fear of vehicular manslaughter). What was even more fun was trying to pull into a driveway (with cars in it) and turn around to park. That's when my back bumper rubbed the front bumper of a parked car. Of course all of the little hoodlums that were contributing to my general inability to maneuver came running and making a fuss. Then I had to lean out the window and ask twice before a small mob of girls would move so I could park. I hate delivering to this area.
So, I get out and the kids are all "ma'am you hit that car". Duh. That's why I'm walking over to it. I say, "Yes, I know.. do you know who's car it is?"
kids: "It's my sister's boyfriend's car"
me: "Is he home?"
kids: "I'll go get them"
...so I wait. The owner of the car turns out to be the person who ordered the pizza (ha, irony). His girlfriend comes out of the house alone.
the girlfriend: (with serious attitude) "You hit his car?!"
me: Yes, but I have insurance that can pay for it. Is he here?
the girlfriend: "I'm gonna go get him"
me: (thinking in my "inside voice") WELL FUCKING DUH.
So, the guy comes out and looks at the 2.5 - 3 inch paint scrape I left on his car. You have to actually bend down to even see it. It's tiny. I give him my insurance agent's card with my name and # on the back.
Next I get a guy with a $50 dollar bill. We only carry 20 bucks on us at any given time. I haven't got the $33.23 in change he should be getting. I suggest a check or something smaller. He has only a ten. So -I offer to take the fifty, give him twenty bucks and go to the gas station to break the fifty. He agrees.
About ten minutes later I FINALLY find a place that's open (at 8pm on a Tuesday, everything within a mile of the place is closed. Go figure.) and after another dollop of attitude from the gas station attendant I manage to get change for the fifty.
By the time I get back to the store I could just have killed someone. The next delivery was just a guy with an attitude (must have been a theme on Tuesday) and not one cent for a tip. Check for the exact amount. It just continued from there.
Today was a beautiful day, and there was even a thunderstorm. I stopped by the house of the guy who's car I hit, around 1pm. No one answered the door, but I heard kids inside. I left a note saying basically that I needed the guy's name (he just took my card and said we'll leave it until tomorrow) if he wanted to go through my insurance company. Otherwise, if he gets a quote I'll just pay him in cash for the repairs. So far, no response. Maybe I won't have to fuck with the stupid three inch scratch.
I just want all these fucked up situations to end!!!!!!!!!!!!!!