(no subject)
Work was completely, utterly batshit today. Soon as I walk in, every line is already lit up on my phone. The entire system was down, and of course people all assume I have a magic wand or some kind of computer rain dance which will make all things better provided they call me every ten minutes to remind me that everything is down, because obviously I wouldn't know from the fact that my screen is not doing anything except FLASHING PRETTY COLOURS OMG. So we finally get them *mostly* cooperating, but they were coming on and off, especially debit, because I guess the storm we had all morning fucks with the satellites something serious. Then I come back from my lunch and start filling out the logs (which, P.S., aren't my job, but the girl whose job they are is nice, and nice people can basically get me to do whatever they want.) Then we hear a noise, which is the mall fire alarm, but ours isn't going off, and the bosses are all in a meeting, which they wouldn't plan to have then if we were going to have a drill.
So I call them and yeah, it's not a drill, there's something going on. So J, our head of security, is booking it over to my desk and yells for me to get the mall admin's number, and then takes off dialing it as she's running and yells back to me "OK, make the emergency evacuation page!" Ummm, sure, okay, no problem provided somebody tells me WHAT THE FUCK THAT IS. Anyways. I found it eventually. XD So we get everybody out, we're standing in the parking lot for twenty minutes (and seriously, people, you're going to question me about whether or not the place is actually evacuating? Are you kidding me with this shit? "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the building, the fire alarms are going off and we need to evacuate immediately." "Really? But I just have one more thing..." Oh come on, lady, GTFO. Literally. Sheeshus Christ.) and they finally let us in, then we get ten feet in the door and they're like wait, wait, no, we're not cleared yet, get out again, another ten minutes in the parking lot. They finally let us in about forty minutes before my shift ended. At least it was a nice day. Oy.
So, class, who does not get paid enough for this bullshit? Sterling does not get paid enough for this bullshit. Well done.
And they were playing some kind of bizarre flute music all day. Last week they had a Fleetwood Mac song and Divine Brown, this week we've got fucking reeds? Are you kidding me?
Local college is confusing the hell out of me. Their online thing says I'm not enrolled for the term, but they accepted me, I accepted their offer... I am confused. And there appears to be no other method of registration. I'm gonna have to drive over there and sort this out, methinks. Which means talking to people... Between the fact that I'm a chickenshit when it comes to talking to people, and a hermit, this does not bode well. Who wants to go do it for me? Show of hands? Nobody? Fine. Y'all love me till I ask you to do something for me, then where are ya? ;D Plus they are making me take some kind of communications assessment thing to prove that I can read and write well enough to keep up with the course... They can't tell that from my high school transcripts? I graduated with two 80s, two 81s, one 73 and an 85, in the university stream (sort of like AP in the states, but not as intense). And now they want me to write a fucking book report?!!? We've got to cut our trip up to the cottage short to come back for it, too, so it's not only screwing me over but also screwing over my friends. *is annoyed*
Speaking of transcripts, I was looking at my high school marks, and apparently I was not as dumb as I seem to remember being. Well, not so much dumb as the fact that I kind of didn't do a lot of the work, and preferred scribbling stories and comics in notebooks and goofing off with my friends in the back of my pickup to actual studying and going to class and whatnot. But almost all the teachers loved me; go figure. My lowest mark ever was a 64 in grade ten math, where I was in waaaaaay over my head, and my highest was a 98. Granted, the 98 was in Civics, which was a) all politics and history and constitutional law and basically all of my love affairs in one, and b) was taught by Spitzer, the amazing but DEFINITELY insane guy who actually stapled his own hand in the middle of class and went to 80's hair band concerts and was a "recreational user" of "certain controlled substances". My school was awesome, in a bizarre kind of way. It was such a culture clash there, it was great. Anyways. The fact that I ended up with an 85 in grade 11 American History blows my mind, because I DIDN'T READ THE TEXTBOOK. XD But the teacher loved me. Like, seriously loved me, and the fact that I would already know about whatever it was she was bringing up. Geek much? Oh yeah. ;) Anyways, to quote Charlie Young, I've got some game. Unfortunately I don't tend to do anything particularly useful with it, and I have the concentration skills of a gnat. XD
I've now eaten almost an ENTIRE bag of Sweet Chili Heat doritos by myself. The first half of the bag made me feel better. The second half of the bag just made me feel like I'd been involved in some kind of alien experimentation.
On the briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight side of the Day O' Stupid Crap, I haz new music and I haz a fic. I liked it better in my head than what it turned out as on paper, but whatcha gonna do. Yet another conversation on a balcony. I love the fact that the CJ/Abbey fandom has decided as a group that White House balconies during formal affairs are the place to be. Who started this? And why am I so unbelievably in love with the concept? I would write half my stories on balconies, if I could. I mean hell, Romeo and Juliet got a balcony scene... and damn. Plotbunny. *facepalms* Noooooooo. I need to go to sleeeeeeeeeeep. My brain hates me.
I &hearts this song. Kathleen Edwards in general, but this song gets extra points. I'd tell my friends/But I don't think your wife would like my friends... = one of the best deliveries of a line EVER. Everyone, go get Kathleen Edwards' CDs. I command you. ;)
So I call them and yeah, it's not a drill, there's something going on. So J, our head of security, is booking it over to my desk and yells for me to get the mall admin's number, and then takes off dialing it as she's running and yells back to me "OK, make the emergency evacuation page!" Ummm, sure, okay, no problem provided somebody tells me WHAT THE FUCK THAT IS. Anyways. I found it eventually. XD So we get everybody out, we're standing in the parking lot for twenty minutes (and seriously, people, you're going to question me about whether or not the place is actually evacuating? Are you kidding me with this shit? "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the building, the fire alarms are going off and we need to evacuate immediately." "Really? But I just have one more thing..." Oh come on, lady, GTFO. Literally. Sheeshus Christ.) and they finally let us in, then we get ten feet in the door and they're like wait, wait, no, we're not cleared yet, get out again, another ten minutes in the parking lot. They finally let us in about forty minutes before my shift ended. At least it was a nice day. Oy.
So, class, who does not get paid enough for this bullshit? Sterling does not get paid enough for this bullshit. Well done.
And they were playing some kind of bizarre flute music all day. Last week they had a Fleetwood Mac song and Divine Brown, this week we've got fucking reeds? Are you kidding me?
Local college is confusing the hell out of me. Their online thing says I'm not enrolled for the term, but they accepted me, I accepted their offer... I am confused. And there appears to be no other method of registration. I'm gonna have to drive over there and sort this out, methinks. Which means talking to people... Between the fact that I'm a chickenshit when it comes to talking to people, and a hermit, this does not bode well. Who wants to go do it for me? Show of hands? Nobody? Fine. Y'all love me till I ask you to do something for me, then where are ya? ;D Plus they are making me take some kind of communications assessment thing to prove that I can read and write well enough to keep up with the course... They can't tell that from my high school transcripts? I graduated with two 80s, two 81s, one 73 and an 85, in the university stream (sort of like AP in the states, but not as intense). And now they want me to write a fucking book report?!!? We've got to cut our trip up to the cottage short to come back for it, too, so it's not only screwing me over but also screwing over my friends. *is annoyed*
Speaking of transcripts, I was looking at my high school marks, and apparently I was not as dumb as I seem to remember being. Well, not so much dumb as the fact that I kind of didn't do a lot of the work, and preferred scribbling stories and comics in notebooks and goofing off with my friends in the back of my pickup to actual studying and going to class and whatnot. But almost all the teachers loved me; go figure. My lowest mark ever was a 64 in grade ten math, where I was in waaaaaay over my head, and my highest was a 98. Granted, the 98 was in Civics, which was a) all politics and history and constitutional law and basically all of my love affairs in one, and b) was taught by Spitzer, the amazing but DEFINITELY insane guy who actually stapled his own hand in the middle of class and went to 80's hair band concerts and was a "recreational user" of "certain controlled substances". My school was awesome, in a bizarre kind of way. It was such a culture clash there, it was great. Anyways. The fact that I ended up with an 85 in grade 11 American History blows my mind, because I DIDN'T READ THE TEXTBOOK. XD But the teacher loved me. Like, seriously loved me, and the fact that I would already know about whatever it was she was bringing up. Geek much? Oh yeah. ;) Anyways, to quote Charlie Young, I've got some game. Unfortunately I don't tend to do anything particularly useful with it, and I have the concentration skills of a gnat. XD
I've now eaten almost an ENTIRE bag of Sweet Chili Heat doritos by myself. The first half of the bag made me feel better. The second half of the bag just made me feel like I'd been involved in some kind of alien experimentation.
On the briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight side of the Day O' Stupid Crap, I haz new music and I haz a fic. I liked it better in my head than what it turned out as on paper, but whatcha gonna do. Yet another conversation on a balcony. I love the fact that the CJ/Abbey fandom has decided as a group that White House balconies during formal affairs are the place to be. Who started this? And why am I so unbelievably in love with the concept? I would write half my stories on balconies, if I could. I mean hell, Romeo and Juliet got a balcony scene... and damn. Plotbunny. *facepalms* Noooooooo. I need to go to sleeeeeeeeeeep. My brain hates me.
I &hearts this song. Kathleen Edwards in general, but this song gets extra points. I'd tell my friends/But I don't think your wife would like my friends... = one of the best deliveries of a line EVER. Everyone, go get Kathleen Edwards' CDs. I command you. ;)