Beautiful nerd
As I was getting ready to write, my grandfather called with more computer issues. We talked for fifteen minutes or so, and I gave him a hint as to what he could do to fix his problem. However, he's trying to install Windows-ish stuff; we're Mac people. Anyway, at the end of the call he referenced the beginning, when he was looking for his "nerdy" granddaughter. I said, your beautiful, smart, and talented granddaughter is here. If you want nerdy, call my cousin. (Note: She's not nerdy; she is smart and beautiful and talented as well. But I'm older and can get away with comments like that.) At the end of the call he started making references to nerds again and ended up calling me a "beautiful nerd." I said I was holding back calling him certain adjectives, but I did call him old. As in old (note emphasis), or o-o-o-old (quite prolonged). Apparently I have something in common with his girlfriend (audible groan, which luckily he didn't catch on to): We both call him "old man." Why? Because he's o-o-o-old.
(He's 75. His girlfriend is probably, oh, around 60-ish.)
Today has been uneventful. Work was very slow. As in, I was trying very hard to come up with stuff for myself and my coworker to do. There were hardly any customers, so it's not as if we had a chance to wait on people. How slow was it? When she cleaned the bathroom sink, I was disappointed because then I couldn't clean it. As it was, I cleaned off the counters. She was even late today (an appointment ran late before she started work), and it didn't matter--I wasn't busy and had very little for her to do. Then the assistant manager, K, called to ask if I could stay later; her son came home from school sick. She was worried he would have to stay home tomorrow too, but she called and said he seems like he's doing better. I'm still waiting for tomorrow morning to come, though, 'cause she may call again. We'll see.
I managed to burn the middle knuckle of my right hand while finishing dinner. I made pork chops, and the chops were fresh from the freezer, so just separating them so I could Shake and Bake 'em was difficult. They ended up having to cook twice as long as normal, but they were okay. I cut them open to see that they were cooked through and my hand slipped and brushed the baking sheet...and now I have a nice little blister. It doesn't hurt--the nice cardboard paper cut I gave myself at work was worse--but I wonder if I will have a new scar. I'm always doing stuff to my hands. There's even one scar, on the back of my left hand, that I don't even know how it got there.
(He's 75. His girlfriend is probably, oh, around 60-ish.)
Today has been uneventful. Work was very slow. As in, I was trying very hard to come up with stuff for myself and my coworker to do. There were hardly any customers, so it's not as if we had a chance to wait on people. How slow was it? When she cleaned the bathroom sink, I was disappointed because then I couldn't clean it. As it was, I cleaned off the counters. She was even late today (an appointment ran late before she started work), and it didn't matter--I wasn't busy and had very little for her to do. Then the assistant manager, K, called to ask if I could stay later; her son came home from school sick. She was worried he would have to stay home tomorrow too, but she called and said he seems like he's doing better. I'm still waiting for tomorrow morning to come, though, 'cause she may call again. We'll see.
I managed to burn the middle knuckle of my right hand while finishing dinner. I made pork chops, and the chops were fresh from the freezer, so just separating them so I could Shake and Bake 'em was difficult. They ended up having to cook twice as long as normal, but they were okay. I cut them open to see that they were cooked through and my hand slipped and brushed the baking sheet...and now I have a nice little blister. It doesn't hurt--the nice cardboard paper cut I gave myself at work was worse--but I wonder if I will have a new scar. I'm always doing stuff to my hands. There's even one scar, on the back of my left hand, that I don't even know how it got there.