One hell of a day...
So yeah, I woke up at 8:00 AM today and got to mow the lawn before work, I'd mowed it the day before but apparently that didn't meet mothers approval. It was fun, in a sarcastic sort of way, because doing work before you head off to work is like that- especially in the morning. So then I head off to work and arrive at 10, I go to punch in and I get a 'Punch Restricted' message. I find a floor manager and get punched in, then I head off to the Tire Bay. Once I get there John my boss informs me that I wasn't scheduled to come in until 11, which would explain the problems I had punching in. So he makes a few calls, I get my hours changed- instead of 11 to 7 I work 10 to 6 that day.
After this all happens I am informed that the Regional Manager is inspecting the store today. What does that mean for me? Well it is like having the in-laws over for dinner on last minute notice. Everyone is rushing around- but instead of dusting all the furniture and making sure all the pictures are level we just pretend to look busy. Hell, half the day doing propane consists of doing absolutely nothing but waiting for someone that wants propane. That right there is a lot of time to fill trying to convince the higher up that your job actually matters to the company, and that you shouldn't be fired on the spot for being a fuckhead slacker. So what did I decide to do to pass the time? Well I raked the area around the propane tanks and fencing spotless. This wasn't too hard, or really annoying. The sun was horrible though, and the big ass rake didn't fit well around the tanks- so I was pulling shit out with my hands into places where the rake could reach- and then there were the ants. I swear more ants live in the concrete slab the propane tanks sit on than humans on this planet- and I pissed every last one of them off. How'd I manage that? With my handy dandy rake of +10 smitting justice. Yeah, clearing out the leaves, dirt, cigarette butts (mind you I'm raking around propane tanks- wtf?), and pine needles also cleared out their homes- next thing I know millions of ants are running in frantic cicles around me. So I stop, move away for a bit, and watch. The fuckers follow me- and start going up my jeans. So I swat them off and go back to raking- and about every 5-10 seconds I find myself swatting off even more ants- they were fucking everywhere.
Eventually the raking gets done, and I go inside the Tire Bay and buy a soda. As I sit down on the bench and start to open the can I see something walk across my leg. Thinking it is an ant I swat it onto the floor. It was no fucking ant- it was a tick- a goddamn tick! So I beat it with an old issue of Car and Driver- it doesn't die. So I place the magazine over it and beat on the magazine- it still doesn't die. At this point I am annoyed, so I grab my knife and cut it into pieces. It died.
Finally I get out of work and head off to home. The drive was nice, but then I love driving- very relaxing. When I get home I talk to Liz for a bit online, then she calls, and we had a pretty good conversation about a myriad of things. Some of which are quite amusing, and others of which make me want to belt some people- but yeah the conversation was good. I'm finding I don't really talk much, well not much about things that matter anyways, so I'm trying to improve that. After I got off the phone with Liz I made myself a few wonderful heart attack sandwiches, the likes of which are only eaten once in a blue moon- for the sole purpose of avoiding said heart attack- otherwise I'd eat shit like this all the time.
So what is on those beastly manwiches you ask? Well peon here it is-
Four thick slices of SPAM fried until brown.
Butter coated slices of bread fried in the fat of the SPAM.
Two slices of craptastic processed cheese per sandwich.
Tomato.
Lettice.
Mayonaise.
Mustard.
I'd of rather used fried ham, but we had no ham, and next time I think I'll put an egg on those sandwiches.
Later I went to Orin and Jon's, and a good time was to be had. We took my car and drove out to Augusta and toured around the parking lot of the State Police car garage- lots of Crown Vics, some Dodge Rams, Impalas, Suburbans, and even one old Lumina. On the way home we stopped at the Sears parking lot and did a few cookies and a burnout or two. I meant to get a video of this, but I didn't bring a disk for the camera, and that makes Baby Jesus cry.
Anywho, now I am home, and I need sleep- gotta work again tommorow.
After this all happens I am informed that the Regional Manager is inspecting the store today. What does that mean for me? Well it is like having the in-laws over for dinner on last minute notice. Everyone is rushing around- but instead of dusting all the furniture and making sure all the pictures are level we just pretend to look busy. Hell, half the day doing propane consists of doing absolutely nothing but waiting for someone that wants propane. That right there is a lot of time to fill trying to convince the higher up that your job actually matters to the company, and that you shouldn't be fired on the spot for being a fuckhead slacker. So what did I decide to do to pass the time? Well I raked the area around the propane tanks and fencing spotless. This wasn't too hard, or really annoying. The sun was horrible though, and the big ass rake didn't fit well around the tanks- so I was pulling shit out with my hands into places where the rake could reach- and then there were the ants. I swear more ants live in the concrete slab the propane tanks sit on than humans on this planet- and I pissed every last one of them off. How'd I manage that? With my handy dandy rake of +10 smitting justice. Yeah, clearing out the leaves, dirt, cigarette butts (mind you I'm raking around propane tanks- wtf?), and pine needles also cleared out their homes- next thing I know millions of ants are running in frantic cicles around me. So I stop, move away for a bit, and watch. The fuckers follow me- and start going up my jeans. So I swat them off and go back to raking- and about every 5-10 seconds I find myself swatting off even more ants- they were fucking everywhere.
Eventually the raking gets done, and I go inside the Tire Bay and buy a soda. As I sit down on the bench and start to open the can I see something walk across my leg. Thinking it is an ant I swat it onto the floor. It was no fucking ant- it was a tick- a goddamn tick! So I beat it with an old issue of Car and Driver- it doesn't die. So I place the magazine over it and beat on the magazine- it still doesn't die. At this point I am annoyed, so I grab my knife and cut it into pieces. It died.
Finally I get out of work and head off to home. The drive was nice, but then I love driving- very relaxing. When I get home I talk to Liz for a bit online, then she calls, and we had a pretty good conversation about a myriad of things. Some of which are quite amusing, and others of which make me want to belt some people- but yeah the conversation was good. I'm finding I don't really talk much, well not much about things that matter anyways, so I'm trying to improve that. After I got off the phone with Liz I made myself a few wonderful heart attack sandwiches, the likes of which are only eaten once in a blue moon- for the sole purpose of avoiding said heart attack- otherwise I'd eat shit like this all the time.
So what is on those beastly manwiches you ask? Well peon here it is-
Four thick slices of SPAM fried until brown.
Butter coated slices of bread fried in the fat of the SPAM.
Two slices of craptastic processed cheese per sandwich.
Tomato.
Lettice.
Mayonaise.
Mustard.
I'd of rather used fried ham, but we had no ham, and next time I think I'll put an egg on those sandwiches.
Later I went to Orin and Jon's, and a good time was to be had. We took my car and drove out to Augusta and toured around the parking lot of the State Police car garage- lots of Crown Vics, some Dodge Rams, Impalas, Suburbans, and even one old Lumina. On the way home we stopped at the Sears parking lot and did a few cookies and a burnout or two. I meant to get a video of this, but I didn't bring a disk for the camera, and that makes Baby Jesus cry.
Anywho, now I am home, and I need sleep- gotta work again tommorow.