The Time is Now 10:59 am

During my 4-hour shift yesterday, I discovered all the things I hate about the job. Fortunately, it all boils down to two things: the patrons, for obvious reasons, and the employees. God in heaven, I hate my fellow employees. Not all of them, obviously, I'm not that hateful (I probably am) but a very large majority of them. I thought maybe there were tasks I didn't like (inaccurate, I love all the tasks), but it turns out I don't like being told to do them as if I weren't intelligent enough to figure them out on my own. 

I can see that items need checked in. I will check in the items. I do not need to be told to check in the items.

I'm searching for a patron. I've been here five weeks. I'm fairly certain that in that time, I've searched for a patron at least one goddamn time (I've searched for patrons countless times in fact. Literally, I've lost track of how often I have had to search for any patron.). I know the command for it. So when I bring up to my supervisor that the record is blah blah blah, I do not need to be reminded how to properly search. What I need is to be told why the record is blah blah blah. But thank you for assuming that in five weeks, I haven't managed to glean the simplest of tasks.

I ask if there is a specific location for new items when taking them off the truck, before they are moved out to the front desk. As in, 'should these items have their own cart before I take them out to the front desk, or can I just stack them with these items?' The answer, for some reason, is an incredibly drawn out and completely unnecessary diatribe on how the person I asked clears off the truck, which includes a lot of laughing at, what I guess are, her own jokes, and has countless 'does that make sense's thrown in. No. It does not make sense. What would make sense is answering my question. My question, to be clear, was not 'could you please explain to me your method of moving items from one location to the next as though I am an absolute idiot?' 

(I still don't know if the new items are supposed to be on a separate cart before they go out, so I just do it my way and ignore the consult of whomever happens to remark on it.)

I am corrected by multiple people, multiple times, when I do a task incorrectly. (I think that's the meaning of life though. To be corrected numerous times for the same error even though you've only done it once and you've already learned from, and/or corrected, the mistake.)

There are other people with odd names. Those people do not get stupid as hell jokes made about their name. Which I cannot fathom. One woman is named Rain, you guys. How does Storm merit jokes, but Rain does not? I have never considered going by a different name more than I have in the last two years. (But I'm stubborn, and my name is badass.)

Basically what it comes down with the employees is that everyone assumes I'm an idiot. That alone would be aggravating enough but considering how intelligent I am, (I'm super smart, guys, but you already know that) it makes me hate them. It makes me hate them in ways that blind me with rage. It makes me conscious of everything they do, and how they're doing it incorrectly, and how long it takes them to comprehend they're inaccuracies. It makes me vigilant. I see their mistakes and I think to myself, 'Storm, you could help. You could make them better.' And then I squash that thought because why would I want to help my enemies? I mean, really. It's not like I'll ever move up the ladder before they do, because that isn't how unions work. Instead, I see their mistakes and I think to myself, 'oh god really? Who let's you out in the world?' and it makes me happy.

I'm a bad person.

Off For the Weekend

Got a call yesterday about an appointment that I've trying to schedule for the past three or four months, approximately. They have an opening Wednesday and since I've been waiting as long as I have I went ahead and made the appointment, which was stupid on my part because I hadn't gotten my schedule yet. Yesterday was Thursday, by the way, in case you weren't there for it. So with three days left in the work week I still didn't know when I might be free the very next week. This is how it works though. The schedule generally gets sent out on Thursdays, so by mid afternoon that day I usually know if I'm able to make plans for Saturday night cause I'll know if I'm off on Sunday or not. Or when I can make plans at all for the following week. But since I hadn't received my schedule yet, and since I had been off the past three Wednesdays (or more), I went ahead and set the appointment for Wednesday morning at 9:15.

Guess what showed up in my inbox at precisely 2:01 in the morning?

Next weeks work schedule.

Guess who works Wednesday morning?

Storm does.

So now I have to call and see how the long everything will take, so I can see if I can go to lunch an hour early (I work 5-2), and hope that I can make it downtown and back and that everything goes well within an hour. It has to be less than hour actually, cause I have to be back at work before the hour is up.

Of course I would attempt to make plans to better my life and the universe would shit on them. Because the universe secretly, and sometimes not at all secretly, hates all of us and will do everything it possibly can to destroy us. The universe is a mean bitch and it is not to be trusted.

Today's bold move will come with photos, but later in the day. (I'm very excited about it.) Now I have to pretend I'm packing clothes for a trip. By pretend I mean make a sincere effort, but end up just throwing whatever I think doesn't make me look like a chubby girl in a suitcase. We're going to my brother's today after Jeremy gets out of work and his wife is super thin and always has good skin and it makes me angry/sad to stand next to her. To be fair, she works out and eats well, so she's earned it. Meanwhile I eat whatever's in reach, or easiest to make, and maybe intentionally exercise about twice a week. Which explains my chubbiness and my bad skin. Who has acne at twenty-four? It's sad really.

You know that feeling when you look in the mirror and see all of your flaws and then you go out in public and you think that everyone else can see them too and is disgusted by them? That's me. Two-four-seven. Every time I come in contact with another person, I am always acutely aware of how I look. Frizzy hair, pudgey midsection, stupid little acne spots all up on my forehead, dark circles under my eyes and not from lack of sleep just the awesomness of having sinus problems, my bangs doing that stupid thing where they're kind of wavy/curly but still trying to straighten themselves out so it just looks like I slept on that section of hair alone even though I washed my hair that morning. So many little flaws that up close look like a lot of little flaws but far away... look like one big flaw. Being near pretty, fit girls always makes me hate myself a little bit more. Being near pretty, fit, and smart girls always makes me want to punch god in the throat. That fucker has got a lot of nerve. It isn't enough that they're pretty? They have to be smart too? Come on man, give some of us a break. You're leaving me with nothing but my sense of humor. Do you know how many people actually get my humor? Cause I do and that number is not high. Not high at all.

Now I don't think I'm absolutely hideous to behold or anything, I'm not like the Elephant Man where people would shrink away in horror, but sometimes I do get so down on myself that if people ever did I wouldn't hold it against them. I'd be like, yeah that makes sense. But this is why pretty girls should only be pretty. I'm very intelligent, I had to be cause I'm not exactly a beauty but that's okay because again, I'm very intelligent and since my humor doesn't really get through to people, I don't have much else to impress and astound the masses. So I need the hot chicks to tone down their intelligence. They're making it impossible for me to be seen and heard.

This is all coming from a week full of smacks in the face from reality. I had that moment where you look at a group of people and realize they've just been talking about you but you don't know if it was positive or negative and then you immediately look away and they start laughing and it's really hard not to think they're laughing at you. I seem to have gained weight but my scale doesn't show it, my clothes just make me look like a sausage. The best smack in the face though, and by the way this is the most sure-fire way to totally annihilate a girls confidence if you're in the market for that, was yesterday at work when the other short, blonde girl was referred to as the hot one. It wasn't a side by side comparison or anything, because I would've lost anyway, but I was nearby and someone was looking for the other girl (the hot one) and someone else said, she's the tiny hot blonde. To be fair though, I suppose I could be the chubby hot blonde but nobody says it because they'd still be calling me chubby. Sometimes I really hate all of existence.

Except Jeremy.

"Whenever I would say, 'kill all humans' I'd always think, 'except one.'" That's a little Futurama for you. Enjoy that.