Yesterday was the worst day ever.
By which I mean it was actually a pretty decent day excpet for one awful thing that ruined me for the rest of it.
So over break I work for this Interior Designer who in addition the designy side of things has a shop downtown. I normally don't work on Friday's but last Friday Barbara ( a seemingly sterotypical sweet little old lady) had a holiday thing and so I said I'd cover for her. I didn't even need to be there until almost four, but I swung by earlier because there was a package that needed to be taken to the Post Office. I get there, and it's the typical Christmas Retail Pandemonium, so I stick around for a half hour or so helping her wrap fragile things, etc. I do not believe that I actually rang anyone out at this time, since she was already behind the counter and working. I just helped.
So I took that package, came back, she went to her thing, I locked up, we had a weekend, I worked Monday, didn't Tuesday, was suppsed to yesterday but didn't here from the boss lady, so I called her.
Apparently this fake cake covered in rose petals that was sold during the rush that I walked into ( and I distinctly remeber packing into a box very carefully) was worth $250 plus the price of the stand it was on.
It got sold for $35. Oh, shit.
I say that I'm pretty sure I didn't sell it, since I know I was the one wrapping it. Fanitsa says "no, I know you didn't I recognized Barbara's handwriting on the slip."
Whew. She goes on to rant a bit about Barbara never listening to her, and acting like it's her shop, and moving things and making up prices, etc. My Mom's over on the sofa reading the paper and hears most of her rant. Fanitsa has a temper. She tells me to go over there and "watch her" to make her Barbara doesn't do anything else like this, and that she's just too mad to talk to her.
Well, I get there, and Fanitsa has called and talked to Barbara while I was en route. Barbara tell her that I sold the cake and she packed it. Fanitsa is apparently furious at me now and told Barbara to tell me to go home. I stutter amd stammer and bit and go home.
And of course I walk in on Dad trying to get in toudh with Rosemarie's daughter and failing, so now I'm upset about that too! (Rosemarie is a surragate grandmother of sorts to Chad and I, she got wisked back to Boston about 5 years ago, after the son she was living with died, and is in the care of her daughters Shelia and Suzy who are batshit and drunken, respectively. Mom tried to call her a while ago and was told her line was disconnected, and when the person in question is in her 80's, you think the worst. Dad was supposed to find out and not tell Mom if she was dead until after the Holidays)
So I called Fanitsa and left a message saying basically, that I didn't want to call Barbara a liar, but I certianly wasn't one, I didn't sell the cake, and if I had I would have told her so in the first place.
Barbara's handwriting was on the fucking slip!
I've heard nothing. So I may be out of a job. Who knows.
Good things that happened yesterday:
I prevent my Mom from calling boss in a fit of protective maternalism.
We went to a craft shop that's going out of business (Fergie's on 49th Street and 80 something Ave)and bought six paint-em yourself nutcrackers that Chad and I are going to make for Mom. There's Pinochio, and a guy with a broken leg and crutches, two members of a policeman's band, a Mexican and a School Marm.
We saw Dot, and nice old lady friend of my parents who thinks my name is Grace.
And we contacted Rosemarie's apparentment manager who says she's okay. (Hurrah!)
But I still kinda feel like I got hit by a truck.
So over break I work for this Interior Designer who in addition the designy side of things has a shop downtown. I normally don't work on Friday's but last Friday Barbara ( a seemingly sterotypical sweet little old lady) had a holiday thing and so I said I'd cover for her. I didn't even need to be there until almost four, but I swung by earlier because there was a package that needed to be taken to the Post Office. I get there, and it's the typical Christmas Retail Pandemonium, so I stick around for a half hour or so helping her wrap fragile things, etc. I do not believe that I actually rang anyone out at this time, since she was already behind the counter and working. I just helped.
So I took that package, came back, she went to her thing, I locked up, we had a weekend, I worked Monday, didn't Tuesday, was suppsed to yesterday but didn't here from the boss lady, so I called her.
Apparently this fake cake covered in rose petals that was sold during the rush that I walked into ( and I distinctly remeber packing into a box very carefully) was worth $250 plus the price of the stand it was on.
It got sold for $35. Oh, shit.
I say that I'm pretty sure I didn't sell it, since I know I was the one wrapping it. Fanitsa says "no, I know you didn't I recognized Barbara's handwriting on the slip."
Whew. She goes on to rant a bit about Barbara never listening to her, and acting like it's her shop, and moving things and making up prices, etc. My Mom's over on the sofa reading the paper and hears most of her rant. Fanitsa has a temper. She tells me to go over there and "watch her" to make her Barbara doesn't do anything else like this, and that she's just too mad to talk to her.
Well, I get there, and Fanitsa has called and talked to Barbara while I was en route. Barbara tell her that I sold the cake and she packed it. Fanitsa is apparently furious at me now and told Barbara to tell me to go home. I stutter amd stammer and bit and go home.
And of course I walk in on Dad trying to get in toudh with Rosemarie's daughter and failing, so now I'm upset about that too! (Rosemarie is a surragate grandmother of sorts to Chad and I, she got wisked back to Boston about 5 years ago, after the son she was living with died, and is in the care of her daughters Shelia and Suzy who are batshit and drunken, respectively. Mom tried to call her a while ago and was told her line was disconnected, and when the person in question is in her 80's, you think the worst. Dad was supposed to find out and not tell Mom if she was dead until after the Holidays)
So I called Fanitsa and left a message saying basically, that I didn't want to call Barbara a liar, but I certianly wasn't one, I didn't sell the cake, and if I had I would have told her so in the first place.
Barbara's handwriting was on the fucking slip!
I've heard nothing. So I may be out of a job. Who knows.
Good things that happened yesterday:
I prevent my Mom from calling boss in a fit of protective maternalism.
We went to a craft shop that's going out of business (Fergie's on 49th Street and 80 something Ave)and bought six paint-em yourself nutcrackers that Chad and I are going to make for Mom. There's Pinochio, and a guy with a broken leg and crutches, two members of a policeman's band, a Mexican and a School Marm.
We saw Dot, and nice old lady friend of my parents who thinks my name is Grace.
And we contacted Rosemarie's apparentment manager who says she's okay. (Hurrah!)
But I still kinda feel like I got hit by a truck.