A Little Better

I am so incredibly in love with my crock pot.

This morning before I left for work, I dumped some frozen chicken tenderloin into the crock pot along with a bottle of barbecue sauce.  When I got home… I could actually smell dinner before I even got into the house.  And alas, a crock full of perfectly cooked, shreds-when-you-stir-it barbecue chicken awaits me.

What would make this even more perfect?  Onion rolls and a bag of chips!  Talk about no-muss, no fuss!  But because I am poor, I’m going to alter that by using regular sliced bread for the sandwiches and PW’s Crash Hot Potatoes instead of chips.

I foresee many more crockpot meals in my future.

I am feeling a little better about the job right now.  I went in today for some additional training and learned more than just how to place orders.  Specifically, I learned that it’s unusual for them to put this much time into advanced training right off the bat and that I am on stinky old first shift because that’s where the higher-level work happens.  I wouldn’t learn the things I need to know to advance on second shift.  I feel a little better after hearing that.  Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that I only had to do two hours of real work today, too.

I would also like to add that it’s almost a blessing to have a job where I can have essentials like milk and fuel deducted from my next check, because I am broke as fuck!

The Death Of Hope

Yesterday I left work an hour and a half before my shift ended because I was sick.  Vomiting and other “stomach problems” that, for the happiness and well-being of the blogosphere, I won’t disclose.  Funnily enough, I felt quite a bit better once I’d been home for a few hours.  And of course, this morning when 5:00 rolled around, I felt sick again.  So I did what I shouldn’t have done — I called in.

So basically, right now, my job makes me sick.  I don’t believe I have a “bug” or “stomach flu” or whatever, because the symptoms reduce dramatically when I am not at work.  Probably I would do better on second shift.  On second shift, I wouldn’t have to be there at 6 am, which is a horrible time of day.  There wouldn’t be the morning rush or the lunch rush.  I wouldn’t walk into a store crammed with boxes of products that needed to be entered into inventory, priced, and shelved.  I would still have to take out 15 oversized bags of trash and sweep the parking lot, but I could do it after dark.

I had pretty much decided today, after making the kiddo Egg-in-a-Hole for breakfast, that I didn’t want to go back.  Like for real.

And then a strange thing happened.  My phone started ringing.  I have an interview this afternoon with an agency that places administrative professionals in the legal field, and one with a regular agency tomorrow.   I can see some light at the end of my tunnel.

I haven’t officially quit the gas station.  I am expected to be there tomorrow for some additional training, and I haven’t decided whether I am going or not.   I feel really bad about ending it this way, so quickly, because I really like the people who own the store and (some of) the people I work with.  Logistically, the job works out well because it’s near my house and I could theoretically get rides or be dropped off, so I’m not required to have my own vehicle (which I don’t anymore).  But my feet still hurt from yesterday’s abbreviated shift, my back never stops hurting, and I end up in the bathroom for one hell of an unpleasant bathroom break at LEAST once per hour when I am there.

I feel like a failure.  Every day when I get home, I feel like quitting, but I usually muster up the determination by the time my next shift starts.  That isn’t happening anymore.  I’d quit in a heartbeat if I were sure that either of these interviews would lead to solid employment, but if I’ve learned anything in the last several months, it’s that interviews — especially interviews with agencies — don’t mean shit.

Nonetheless, my hot rollers are heating and my slacks are tumbling around in the dryer.

I have to admit that I have been feeling flashes of hatred lately that are pretty uncharacteristic of me.  Of our customers, I feel a special kind of hatred for those who walk in wearing suits and talking on cell phones.  Rage bubbles up into my throat when I drive by restaurants, movie theatres, and stores.  I am even angry at the man, because he makes more on unemployment than I do working my ass off full-time.

It’s really not like me to hate others for what they have, and to hate institutions that I can’t afford.  I’ve always been hopeful and… I feel that draining out of me a little more every day.  A lot more, some days.  I’m starting to hate mySELF.

Preparation

My guest bathroom is currently soaking in a copious amount of Scrubbing Bubbles.  I de-trashed it, moved all of our stuff out, and what I’m left with is a nasty-ass bathroom that looks like it’s been simmering in filth for two years instead of two months.

Next up: clearing out bedrooms.

I have a prospective roommate who would actually like to move in tonight.  That is GREAT because it means we can give my landlord some money!  But getting the place ready for real, paying roommates is a lot of W-O-R-K and I’m angry because I am not getting ANY HELP AT ALL.

I did some grocery shopping today… Got three free bottles of Advil, two free tubs of sour cream, frozen vegetables and bottles of Vitamin Water for fifty cents, Sara Lee bread and apple juice for a dollar, etc.  Exciting stuff!  I did splurge on lemon drops, banana popsicles, and cereal & milk for the kiddo… but it didn’t kill my budget.  Victory!

And my duties call…

Soapbox

This is my first day off since starting work at the gas station and, having been away from it for 24 hours, the whole idea that I even work there seems surreal.  I really, really, really don’t want to go back.  Of course, I will go back.  I just don’t want to.

People keep saying things to me like “hey, at least you’re working.”  And though I never particularly thought of myself as lacking in work ethic, I can say that frankly, I don’t feel that way at all.  I kind of felt like I paid my dues a while back, in jobs where I cleaned toilets, took out trash, and was treated like something slightly less than human by my supposed “superiors,” who were really nothing but former special ed students who advanced to positions such as “assistant manager” by not quitting.  Not that there’s anything wrong with special ed students at all.  But having worked in a restaurant for eight years and listing “assistant manager” as the pinnacle of your career does not exactly make you superior.

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On the bright side, there is an upward path here, should I opt to pursue it.  Nearly all of my store’s “senior” employees will be gone within a month or so, and that includes all of the full-timers who would otherwise be eligible for the “assistant manager” role.  If I am lucky, it will be eight weeks instead of eight years.  And if it doesn’t work out that way, then hopefully eight weeks is long enough to find a job that doesn’t involve cleaning toilets.

So this is something of a learning period for me.  I’m learning processes and procedures and I’m learning how to operate the lotto machine, which is pretty much the bane of my existence.  I’m learning that expensive insoles, Stackers, and ibuprofen are all worthwhile investments in my personal well-being.

It would be nice to be able to sit back and relax today, but that can’t happen.  Today, I wash away the evidence that the boys were ever here so that I can rent out their rooms.  I grocery shop and do some meal prep for the upcoming work week.  I do the laundry.

Doom & Gloom

I think my soul is dying.  It has been for a while.

Today I was accused of a $75 mistake that I had nothing to do with and berated for doing something I was trained to do… both by the same person, who incidentally is not a supervisor of any sort.  I have to go in at 6 am, which means I have to wake up in 3.5 hours… and I haven’t been to bed yet.

I can’t show the house to potential roommates because it’s trashed.  Nobody will fucking help me clean/organize it, and I don’t have the energy to do it all myself.  I spent forty-five minutes tonight on one small section of the kitchen.

I honestly don’t even know what I am living for right now.  I just don’t see the point in any of this.  Things get worse every day.

Hi Ho, It’s Off To Work We Go

My brother’s new plan involves him & Hitler leaving here early Sunday morning.  It was entirely their decision, which makes things so much easier for me.  We did have a long conversation last night and decided to end this on a good note rather than with anger and resentment on both sides.  This actually does all work out for the best, given the way things are right now.

Having other roommates will bring its own new stressors, of course, but they are of a different and more tolerable variety.  They will walk in the door with jobs, with income, and I won’t be expected to provide for them in any way whatsoever.  I will have no compunction about asking them to leave if it doesn’t work out, because I won’t have a strong emotional attachment to them.

And I am running out of time.  Gah.

Jitterbug

I’m jittery and shaky and not sleeping enough.  I’m scared of everything.  We haven’t paid nearly enough towards our rent this month and I don’t have the cajones to listen to the voice mail my landlord left.  I’m mad at my brother & Hitler for not contributing and mad that I haven’t made any real progress on renting the rooms out.  I’m scared that they won’t leave willingly at the end of the month and that I’ll have to throw them out, and of the damage that will do to my relationship with my brother.  I’m pissed off that there are empty beer cans in my front yard AGAIN.  I’ve been living on a Dollar Menu diet for entirely too long and I feel like there is a ball of grease in the pit of my stomach… which there probably is.

My house… Well, I can’t keep up with the beer bottles and Taco Bell wrappers.  Or the trash.  Or the dishes.  Never mind getting it in showable condition…

The new job is easy, mentally.  I don’t naturally have the energy to spend 8+ hours ringing up purchases and cleaning a gas station, but energy drinks & Stackers help with that.  Yay for payroll deduction.  Boo for no scheduled lunch or breaks.  Yay for bathroom breaks and locked doors.  Boo for earning a low wage at a somewhat dangerous job, in a distressed economic time when more people are becoming desperate.  Yay for being close to my house.

There are some good grocery sales this week.  One that I find exciting is the continuation of the Safeway (Tom Thumb) Summer Savings Marathon.  Right now boxes of Kleenex are $1.50 each.  There is a Safeway coupon booklet on display next to the weekly circular ads that has a $0.50 off Kleenex coupon.  I grabbed a lot of those books… Seriously a lot, like maybe a hundred.  So I’m going to use coupons to drop the price of 25 boxes of Kleenex to a dollar each.  Because these are participating Marathon products, I will get a $20 coupon toward my next purchase, which means the net cost of my Kleenex will be $0.20 a box.

Albertsons & Kroger are both having “Buy X amount of participating products, get X off instantly at the register” promotions.  I think I can really work the Kroger one because there are so many participating products that I have coupons for.  And on the subject of coupons — thanks, Becky!

Walgreens, Target, and Office Depot are having great sales on back-to-school items.  I really, REALLY wish I were going back to school next month.  That would make everything so incredibly much better.  But even non-students can appreciate five-packs of mechanical pencils for a nickel, right?

I have to get ready for work.  Eeek.

Will That Be Credit Or Debit?

About twelve hours ago, I wrote a long, rambly post about my stank-ass credit rating.  When I tried to post it, my connection fritzed out and I lost the entire post.  I figure I saved the blogosphere (ew) about three pages of bullshit, thanks to that little technical glitch.

Tomorrow morning at 8 am, I start my career at the gas station.  I reckon that means I should rest up, for I have computer training modules to complete in the morning and cash register training in the afternoon.

I’ve gotten a few responses from potential roommates and am racing to get the house in order so I can show it.  And… hoping there won’t be a confrontation at the end of the month, when my brother and Hitler are planning to leave, per their amended plan.  It was amended when we “found” the money to pay our electric bill (“found”… at the pawn shop).

On My Effing Nerves

Today I came home from the pawn shop to find that Hitler was… *gasp* doing laundry.  Even more interesting was that he was folding his laundry and putting it into a BOX.  Sweet relief!

Of course, it wasn’t all roses and sunshine.  I also found used dishes littering my coffee table and LIVING ROOM FLOOR.  My cat had a diarrhea incident in the bathroom and it reeked to high heaven.  There was garbage on my front porch, and this is after I had a fit earlier today over beer cans piled up in the yard.  I live in fucking suburbia.  There is no room for beer cans in the yard.  We didn’t even have beer cans in the yard when I lived in the trailer park(s).

So we have electricity for a little while longer, NO THANKS to the boys, who were able to buy beer last night but couldn’t afford to contribute to the utility bill.

We made it a point to stay gone a while… Walked around Whole Foods for a while, read books in Barnes & Noble, then lingered in McDonald’s with small Cokes and dollar-menu double cheeseburgers.

I love my brother dearly.  But his association with Hitler isn’t helping him out in life, and I hope he realizes it sooner rather than later. 

In other news, I am hired at the gas station pending a credit check.  Hrrrrrmmmmm.  My credit blows chunks.  I guess it really depends how much they care.

Right, It’s All A Joke

Brother: Let’s get a Stouffer’s lasagna.  Those things kick ass.
Me: Can’t afford it.
Brother: What do you mean, can’t afford it?
Me: Simple, can’t afford it.  We are $75 short on an electric bill that’s due tomorrow, and there are no extensions.
Brother: Whatever.

I get it now.  My brother and Hitler truly think that our financial struggles aren’t real.  They just assume everything will be taken care of.  They assume that if the man and I are staying in our house, that means we’ve tapped some kind of financial fountain of eternity, when in reality we are going to depend on the income from renting out their rooms (to people who will actually pay) just to keep from being thrown out!!!

I am upset about this.  I feel disrespected.  Not just “not respected,” but actively disrespected.  And I raised him better than that.  I don’t expect much from Hitler, in terms of respect.  Or the man.  But it hurts that my brother has such blatant disregard for me and my situation.