Work Angst [warning: is long and tedious]
I am so totally pissed. Watching Aladdin seems to help calm me down, but I am still a raging ball of rage.
Our stellar cast today includes:
Tory . . . Art Wench, our Heroine
Christine . . . The Neglected and Tired Sidekick of the Neverpresent Bosslady
Caroline . . . She of Questionable Name
Birthday Girl's Mum . . . Leathermommy Queen
Middle-Aged Housewives . . . The Leathermommies
Assorted Girly Munchkins . . . Assorted Girly Munchkins [not really present, please consider them more as background noise]
So today I was supposed to go back to Artistically Alicia's to help work a birthday party. I get there, and there are twenty bazillion halflings running around and their nicely dressed leatherhide mommies are there, flitting around too. Christine [other lady who works there] yelps with joy upon seeing me, so I'm guessing things are only going to get worse from the small chaotic mess going on in the front of the store. There's also one other lady who's only been working there for two days [Caroline...? I think she said her name was? Can't remember, I'm terrible with names.] and she's very nice and seems to be competent, so yay, more help.
Alicia is not yet there. This sets off no alarms, as she is often a bit late, though it is late in the day...
Maybe ten minutes in, birthday party hasn't started yet, mums and tots are still toddling around. Eventually, a friend of the leathermommy queen starts wondering when we're going to get started.
Leathermommy Drone: We're going to start the party, okay? We should, it's after four, and the party was supposed to stop at four...
Art Wench [me]: Uh, well, Alicia's not here yet, and I'm thinking she'd want us to wait for her to get started...
Leathermommy Drone: But it's after four, the party's late.
Art Wench: Yes, but Alicia's not here yet, so-
Christine: Alicia's not here at all. She's in South/North Carolina. ...On vacation.
Art Wench/Leathermommy Drone: WHAT.
Leathermommy Queen: *learns from interpretting intricate dance from leathermommy drone* Alicia's not HERE? She won't BE HERE? SHE'S LETTING HER INCOMPETENT LACKIES DO IT? [disclaimer: did not actually say last part, but it was pretty clearly implied] I spoke to her on the phone, she didn't say she wouldn't be here!
Art Wench: *muttermutter* Wut way to inform the work force *muttermutter*
Leathermommy Queen: *huff*
So the Leathermommy Queen spends the rest of the day bending my ear about how horrible the party is and how shitty a time the kids are having, and how she's definitely not paying the full balance. And, well, truth be told, I probably wouldn't, either, if the lady I paid a ridiculous amount of money wasn't even there to run the show like she said she would be, but Jesus Daisypickin' Christ, lady, what do you want me to do about it? I'm just an Art Wench, and furthermore, an Art Wench who couldn't give two shits about whether you pay the whole thing or not, because I'm not at fault, and I will be paid regardless.
So I foolishly assumed.
After all the Leathermommies and their screaming children (plus the one adorable little asian girl who only said "is this good?" when they were making little clay butterflies I do not know you, little asian girl, but you are officially on the list of Cutest Things Ever.) left, and the three courageous employees, after suffering the bitching and abuse of the (unfortunately, rightly upset) Leathermommy Queen and her Yesleathermommies, were left cleaning up the mess from the food. The food that the Leathermommy Queen insisted upon serving because the party was running late and some of the kids had to leave, yadda yadda.
Leathermommy Queen: *starts cutting and putting pizza on plates*
Art Wench: Oh, they can't eat yet, they just have to finish up their butterflies and wash their hands--
Leathermommy Queen: No. They're going to eat now, because this party is horrible, and some of them have to leave. *starts plopping pizza and juice boxes onto the tables, which are covered with clay and unfinished butterfly projects, and clay and encouraging the kids to eat, wtf, lady, no*
Art Wench: OKAY KIDS GO WASH YOUR HANDS ELSE THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT WILL BEAT US ALL TO DEATH. [disclaimer: did not actually say that last part]
Anyway, Leathermommy Queen and her leathermommy drones eventually pack up and leave, but not before paying and kvetching some more, and not before her leathermommy tax attorney drone got up in our faces. So they leave. Everyone is relieved, but bitter.
Art Wench: So, yes. They're gone, the nightmare, she is over.
Christine/Carolina: *murmurs of agreement*
Art Wench: So! Um, did Alicia tell you where she might have put my check? Checks? 'Cause she owes me two weeks of pay...
Christine: Oh, uh, she said she wrote it out, that she definitely wrote it out, but that she... forgot where she put it. It's somewhere in there, I guess. *gestures to small ground where the atom bomb was tested, AKA her bright damn purple desk*
Art Wench: ...*frantic search for money*
THE END. FOR NOW. (MAYBE?)
On the lighter, less ranty side of things!
I PRESENT TO YOU... Entries from the journals of those two lovable terrorists of Dystopian Future England, Evey and V. [played by Megan, and Tory respectively]
"Dear diary:
I've been reading up on some books on couples' therapy (they confiscate just about everything these days, don't they?) and I feel like the two of us need to sit down and reevaluate our relationship. I feel like we're not being open with each other about what we expect to get out of this. Every time I mention that we might, you know, spend a special evening together, he takes that as a hint to take me out to commit more acts of mayhem. And yesterday I said V, sweetheart, that is really not what I meant. And he said, "Not what you meant? Look, I just blew up a building for you!" Which is all very well and good, and contributes to the cause of course, but would it kill him just to give me a nice piece of jewelry? God.
-Evey"
"Valued Vessel of Vociferation: Evey has refused to utter one sentence of value to me for the last two weeks. Am verklempt. Decimated another vehicle of oppression (that is to say, the vile public library, with its veritable vacuum of worthwhile literature; there are only so many chick lit books one revolutionary can handle) in her name and the vicious Venus just huffed off to her room. May try flower store next, they refuse to deliver fertilizer for my roses of death.
Verily,
V"
More to follow, perhaps.
Rawr.
[/Tory]
Our stellar cast today includes:
Tory . . . Art Wench, our Heroine
Christine . . . The Neglected and Tired Sidekick of the Neverpresent Bosslady
Caroline . . . She of Questionable Name
Birthday Girl's Mum . . . Leathermommy Queen
Middle-Aged Housewives . . . The Leathermommies
Assorted Girly Munchkins . . . Assorted Girly Munchkins [not really present, please consider them more as background noise]
So today I was supposed to go back to Artistically Alicia's to help work a birthday party. I get there, and there are twenty bazillion halflings running around and their nicely dressed leatherhide mommies are there, flitting around too. Christine [other lady who works there] yelps with joy upon seeing me, so I'm guessing things are only going to get worse from the small chaotic mess going on in the front of the store. There's also one other lady who's only been working there for two days [Caroline...? I think she said her name was? Can't remember, I'm terrible with names.] and she's very nice and seems to be competent, so yay, more help.
Alicia is not yet there. This sets off no alarms, as she is often a bit late, though it is late in the day...
Maybe ten minutes in, birthday party hasn't started yet, mums and tots are still toddling around. Eventually, a friend of the leathermommy queen starts wondering when we're going to get started.
Leathermommy Drone: We're going to start the party, okay? We should, it's after four, and the party was supposed to stop at four...
Art Wench [me]: Uh, well, Alicia's not here yet, and I'm thinking she'd want us to wait for her to get started...
Leathermommy Drone: But it's after four, the party's late.
Art Wench: Yes, but Alicia's not here yet, so-
Christine: Alicia's not here at all. She's in South/North Carolina. ...On vacation.
Art Wench/Leathermommy Drone: WHAT.
Leathermommy Queen: *learns from interpretting intricate dance from leathermommy drone* Alicia's not HERE? She won't BE HERE? SHE'S LETTING HER INCOMPETENT LACKIES DO IT? [disclaimer: did not actually say last part, but it was pretty clearly implied] I spoke to her on the phone, she didn't say she wouldn't be here!
Art Wench: *muttermutter* Wut way to inform the work force *muttermutter*
Leathermommy Queen: *huff*
So the Leathermommy Queen spends the rest of the day bending my ear about how horrible the party is and how shitty a time the kids are having, and how she's definitely not paying the full balance. And, well, truth be told, I probably wouldn't, either, if the lady I paid a ridiculous amount of money wasn't even there to run the show like she said she would be, but Jesus Daisypickin' Christ, lady, what do you want me to do about it? I'm just an Art Wench, and furthermore, an Art Wench who couldn't give two shits about whether you pay the whole thing or not, because I'm not at fault, and I will be paid regardless.
So I foolishly assumed.
After all the Leathermommies and their screaming children (plus the one adorable little asian girl who only said "is this good?" when they were making little clay butterflies I do not know you, little asian girl, but you are officially on the list of Cutest Things Ever.) left, and the three courageous employees, after suffering the bitching and abuse of the (unfortunately, rightly upset) Leathermommy Queen and her Yesleathermommies, were left cleaning up the mess from the food. The food that the Leathermommy Queen insisted upon serving because the party was running late and some of the kids had to leave, yadda yadda.
Leathermommy Queen: *starts cutting and putting pizza on plates*
Art Wench: Oh, they can't eat yet, they just have to finish up their butterflies and wash their hands--
Leathermommy Queen: No. They're going to eat now, because this party is horrible, and some of them have to leave. *starts plopping pizza and juice boxes onto the tables, which are covered with clay and unfinished butterfly projects, and clay and encouraging the kids to eat, wtf, lady, no*
Art Wench: OKAY KIDS GO WASH YOUR HANDS ELSE THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT WILL BEAT US ALL TO DEATH. [disclaimer: did not actually say that last part]
Anyway, Leathermommy Queen and her leathermommy drones eventually pack up and leave, but not before paying and kvetching some more, and not before her leathermommy tax attorney drone got up in our faces. So they leave. Everyone is relieved, but bitter.
Art Wench: So, yes. They're gone, the nightmare, she is over.
Christine/Carolina: *murmurs of agreement*
Art Wench: So! Um, did Alicia tell you where she might have put my check? Checks? 'Cause she owes me two weeks of pay...
Christine: Oh, uh, she said she wrote it out, that she definitely wrote it out, but that she... forgot where she put it. It's somewhere in there, I guess. *gestures to small ground where the atom bomb was tested, AKA her bright damn purple desk*
Art Wench: ...*frantic search for money*
THE END. FOR NOW. (MAYBE?)
On the lighter, less ranty side of things!
I PRESENT TO YOU... Entries from the journals of those two lovable terrorists of Dystopian Future England, Evey and V. [played by Megan, and Tory respectively]
"Dear diary:
I've been reading up on some books on couples' therapy (they confiscate just about everything these days, don't they?) and I feel like the two of us need to sit down and reevaluate our relationship. I feel like we're not being open with each other about what we expect to get out of this. Every time I mention that we might, you know, spend a special evening together, he takes that as a hint to take me out to commit more acts of mayhem. And yesterday I said V, sweetheart, that is really not what I meant. And he said, "Not what you meant? Look, I just blew up a building for you!" Which is all very well and good, and contributes to the cause of course, but would it kill him just to give me a nice piece of jewelry? God.
-Evey"
"Valued Vessel of Vociferation: Evey has refused to utter one sentence of value to me for the last two weeks. Am verklempt. Decimated another vehicle of oppression (that is to say, the vile public library, with its veritable vacuum of worthwhile literature; there are only so many chick lit books one revolutionary can handle) in her name and the vicious Venus just huffed off to her room. May try flower store next, they refuse to deliver fertilizer for my roses of death.
Verily,
V"
More to follow, perhaps.
Rawr.
[/Tory]