I'd like to be a hermit, sometimes.
Realized earlier that I haven't posted at all this month (!) so I'm attempting to rectify that.
Interestingness at work today:
Note: the janitors usually leave around 11:30 on Sunday. I went in today at around 11:30. Our "normal" ('-ish?) janitor had already left, which meant the new guy (been here about a week) was still around somewhere. Fine, whatever.
Forward: 12:30. Our assistant manager gets reports from around the store that Sketchy Janitor is still roaming around the store, occasionally running into things, at which point he locked himself in the janitors' closet. Wait, what?
So we go to hang out in the stockroom (where the janitors' closet is), looking unconvincingly casual. Eventually he wanders back out, staggering all over the place and slurring like crazy, at which point Assistant Manager points out to him that it's 12:30 and strongly suggests that it's really about time that he go.
...And so, he drifts around the store for a while. So we get sick of this, and call the cops. He finally drifts out the door, at which point he sits on the sidewalk, which is where the cops eventually find him. They wander in later, after attempting (and finally succeeding) to send him on his way. They agree that, in light of the fact that he can't walk in a straight line and doesn't seem to have a fully-functional mouth, that something is probably up. And, um, he's been banned from the premises, so we should probably look for a new cleaning guy.
We wander back the stockroom again, to investigate. At this point, we find that the janitors' closet reeks. Like, serious odor. Like, the can of aerosol graffiti remover that lives back there. Yow.
So, like...we don't know. Did the aerosol fumes have anything to do with it? Can you get that freaking high from a spray can? And, like...this guy's in his 20's. Um. I associate fume-highs with, like, desperate 14-year-olds. By his age, I seriously expect even the most reluctant stoners to have graduated to smokeable substances.
And they're only at work for an hour and a half. Really, if you want to get high at a store, finish your work and go down to Walmart. Jeez.
AAAAAND later our sewers backed up. This is completely unrelated, but it meant that the men's room and the janitor's closet (because of the big sink therein) spent the day smelling faintly reminiscent of a septic tank. Fortunately, the ladies' never did back up. Unfortunately, between the aerosol and the raw sewage fumes, we were all pretty much chased out of the stockroom for the rest of the day.
...Which turned out to only be a bit of a problem, since there were other things going on: like vomit. Yes. Because the day really needed some puke to finish it up nicely.
Some kid was evidentally roaming arond the misses section and threw up, at which point her dad grabs her and hustles her outside...where she proceeded to let a few more quarts loose right outside our door. Sigh.
And then we have a conundrum, because...is the sidewalk our store? It's not, really. Do we have to clean it up, then? Or what? Because walking through puke is bad, but mopping the sidewalk is also bad.
Solution: Assistant Manager gets a mop and bucket of soapy water, takes it outside where Puke Dad is with Puke Kid, and says: "Here, I brought you a mop and cleaner. I'll go get another bucket of water." Which meant that Puke Dad was more-or-less forced to do a little cleanup work, lest he look like a total dick. And we proceeded to get more water. He managed to kinda mop the [noodles, undigested...urg] over to the sidewalk ramp, at which point Assistant Manager and I proceeded to slosh buckets of water on the mess in an attempt to at least get it out into the parking lot proper.
Noodles, it turns out, have a great affinity for concrete, and are very, very sticky. By the time we were done, it looked like we had been having a carwash on our sidewalk and our part of the parking lot. Ack.
(And by then, there was only about an hour until it was time to go home, and fortunately nothing eventful happened in that time. Hurray.)
AND in closing: I've always felt a sort of burning animosity towards Kanye West. This just drops him into my "Completely Worthless Human Being" category:
"Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed," West said. "I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph."
Sigh. Am I old enough to fear for the future yet?
Interestingness at work today:
Note: the janitors usually leave around 11:30 on Sunday. I went in today at around 11:30. Our "normal" ('-ish?) janitor had already left, which meant the new guy (been here about a week) was still around somewhere. Fine, whatever.
Forward: 12:30. Our assistant manager gets reports from around the store that Sketchy Janitor is still roaming around the store, occasionally running into things, at which point he locked himself in the janitors' closet. Wait, what?
So we go to hang out in the stockroom (where the janitors' closet is), looking unconvincingly casual. Eventually he wanders back out, staggering all over the place and slurring like crazy, at which point Assistant Manager points out to him that it's 12:30 and strongly suggests that it's really about time that he go.
...And so, he drifts around the store for a while. So we get sick of this, and call the cops. He finally drifts out the door, at which point he sits on the sidewalk, which is where the cops eventually find him. They wander in later, after attempting (and finally succeeding) to send him on his way. They agree that, in light of the fact that he can't walk in a straight line and doesn't seem to have a fully-functional mouth, that something is probably up. And, um, he's been banned from the premises, so we should probably look for a new cleaning guy.
We wander back the stockroom again, to investigate. At this point, we find that the janitors' closet reeks. Like, serious odor. Like, the can of aerosol graffiti remover that lives back there. Yow.
So, like...we don't know. Did the aerosol fumes have anything to do with it? Can you get that freaking high from a spray can? And, like...this guy's in his 20's. Um. I associate fume-highs with, like, desperate 14-year-olds. By his age, I seriously expect even the most reluctant stoners to have graduated to smokeable substances.
And they're only at work for an hour and a half. Really, if you want to get high at a store, finish your work and go down to Walmart. Jeez.
AAAAAND later our sewers backed up. This is completely unrelated, but it meant that the men's room and the janitor's closet (because of the big sink therein) spent the day smelling faintly reminiscent of a septic tank. Fortunately, the ladies' never did back up. Unfortunately, between the aerosol and the raw sewage fumes, we were all pretty much chased out of the stockroom for the rest of the day.
...Which turned out to only be a bit of a problem, since there were other things going on: like vomit. Yes. Because the day really needed some puke to finish it up nicely.
Some kid was evidentally roaming arond the misses section and threw up, at which point her dad grabs her and hustles her outside...where she proceeded to let a few more quarts loose right outside our door. Sigh.
And then we have a conundrum, because...is the sidewalk our store? It's not, really. Do we have to clean it up, then? Or what? Because walking through puke is bad, but mopping the sidewalk is also bad.
Solution: Assistant Manager gets a mop and bucket of soapy water, takes it outside where Puke Dad is with Puke Kid, and says: "Here, I brought you a mop and cleaner. I'll go get another bucket of water." Which meant that Puke Dad was more-or-less forced to do a little cleanup work, lest he look like a total dick. And we proceeded to get more water. He managed to kinda mop the [noodles, undigested...urg] over to the sidewalk ramp, at which point Assistant Manager and I proceeded to slosh buckets of water on the mess in an attempt to at least get it out into the parking lot proper.
Noodles, it turns out, have a great affinity for concrete, and are very, very sticky. By the time we were done, it looked like we had been having a carwash on our sidewalk and our part of the parking lot. Ack.
(And by then, there was only about an hour until it was time to go home, and fortunately nothing eventful happened in that time. Hurray.)
AND in closing: I've always felt a sort of burning animosity towards Kanye West. This just drops him into my "Completely Worthless Human Being" category:
"Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed," West said. "I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph."
Sigh. Am I old enough to fear for the future yet?