Goddamn my feet hurt! -_-;
I wish Cymage was still around IRC...So I could fucking stab his beady little chef heart.
So...yeah. As Dune knows, I was helping out at another conference today. This one was apparently not so much a conference, as a "fill in bag with goodies and programs and stuff". Not too hard, I imagine, as I show up. There's supposed to be 5 people showing up after all.
So...
1500 fuckings bags.
I am the -only- member of the team that shows up on fucking time (9am). Another guy shows up at 10am. The 3 women? No shows. (Though one has a fairly good excuse, being a teacher who apparently was attacked by some of her students and ended up hospitalized for her knee injury, which went from bad to worse. Ye'OWTCH!)
Still, the person in charge got 3 others to show up in the place of the no-shows, and the guy who was late more than made up for it with how hard he worked (hell, he skipped lunch to keep working), but goddamn, my feet fucking hurt, my fingers are coarse and pained and suffered many paper cuts, and I didn't get any of the goodies these bastards are getting tomorrow, and they get a fucking buttload of them. I should know, I've had trouble stuffing the goddamn bags with them and not getting the bags to burst when closing them.
I also had to stay entirely 2 hours longer than I should have had to so as to help get this done.
As to why I wish to stab Cymage to death? The convention is for the Research Chefs' Association. Grarh!
Hrm...Maybe Ra-chan can pass on my luv.
On another note, yet entirely related, I think I'm probably gonna tell the lady I've been helping part-time with this crap to go screw herself if she asks for help again. Unless my paycheck comes in before she asks again and includes some kinda reward for today's crap, and I'm feeling happy enough to suffer through more. We'll see.
So...yeah. As Dune knows, I was helping out at another conference today. This one was apparently not so much a conference, as a "fill in bag with goodies and programs and stuff". Not too hard, I imagine, as I show up. There's supposed to be 5 people showing up after all.
So...
1500 fuckings bags.
I am the -only- member of the team that shows up on fucking time (9am). Another guy shows up at 10am. The 3 women? No shows. (Though one has a fairly good excuse, being a teacher who apparently was attacked by some of her students and ended up hospitalized for her knee injury, which went from bad to worse. Ye'OWTCH!)
Still, the person in charge got 3 others to show up in the place of the no-shows, and the guy who was late more than made up for it with how hard he worked (hell, he skipped lunch to keep working), but goddamn, my feet fucking hurt, my fingers are coarse and pained and suffered many paper cuts, and I didn't get any of the goodies these bastards are getting tomorrow, and they get a fucking buttload of them. I should know, I've had trouble stuffing the goddamn bags with them and not getting the bags to burst when closing them.
I also had to stay entirely 2 hours longer than I should have had to so as to help get this done.
As to why I wish to stab Cymage to death? The convention is for the Research Chefs' Association. Grarh!
Hrm...Maybe Ra-chan can pass on my luv.
On another note, yet entirely related, I think I'm probably gonna tell the lady I've been helping part-time with this crap to go screw herself if she asks for help again. Unless my paycheck comes in before she asks again and includes some kinda reward for today's crap, and I'm feeling happy enough to suffer through more. We'll see.