backup syrup
About ten years ago I bought a thing of syrup from Costco. If you haven't heard of that store, it's the one that sells everything in gigantic amounts; like, they're not content to offer containers of peanut butter that are twice as big as anything you'd ever buy in a regular grocery store, they have to sell them two at a time, holding them together with plastic. So the syrup I bought was pretty big, and it lasted us a while. It was nice to have what seemed like an endless supply of pure maple goodness; the only problem was it was a little hard to control the pouring flow. That, however, was a price we were prepared to pay!
Only now the bottle stands empty, the precious resource exhausted. And so long did we have it, that now I can't think to buy a new supply at the store! Twice I've been shopping, and twice have I returned without syrup. So Leah (braver than I) has been forced to dip into the supply of artificial maple-flavored syrup we have left over from when folks who eat alot visited us over the summer. "Can I have some delicious waffles with some disgusting syrup?" she asked this morning.
"Is it disgusting?"
"It tastes like college."
This entry contains swear words, so don't read it if you don't f-ing want to
The manager of the inn comes into the gallery this morning. "I need you to take down your going-out-of-business sign. I've been getting calls from people wondering if the inn is going out of business."
I look at him in disbelief.
"...Or maybe you could black out the first part, so it only says sale."
I continue my blank stare.
"I mean, I'm getting calls with people thinking the INN is going out of business!!!"
"No," i finally say, "You're right. I'll have to alter the sign. I mean, we didn't make any fucking money all year, why should we expect to recoop some of those losses now, right? I'm losing my job and we've lost hundreds of thousands of dollars on this shitty location, but got forbid your receptionist be inconveniences with a few phone calls. I'll get up there right now with a black sharpie and manually color in the white letters for several hours to ease the nerves of your retarted clientelle."
In summation, there are not words to describe how much i have been fucked up the ass by this business venture. ("Fucked up the ass" comes pretty close, though.) My job is to take shit from the customers, take shit from the bosses, take shit from the inn ass-holes, and work un-paid overtime. Anything else? Oh, and YOU CAN NEVER GO TO THE BATHROOM DURING THE DAY BECAUSE THERE'S NO ONE ELSE TO COVER THE STORE. If i could take a business course in not-being-everybody's-fucking-doormat i would. Only the description of that course would be you-deserve-what-you-get-you-loser-pussy-who-never-sticks-up-for-herself.
By the way, i folded over the going-out-of-business part of the sign. In two weeks, i am so fucking out of here.
This is why i moved far far far away.
After a full day of selling the customers my blood directly from my veins, i needed to pay a visit to my Dad's house, for some jewelry repairs and WHAT I NEED MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE IN THE UNIVERSE!!! MORE COLD COMFORT!
Dad: "Have you given any thought to what you're going to do for work after the store closes?"
Leah: "Yes, i've given it A LOT OF thought, but i want to take a bit of a break, since school is so hard now and since i've been so burned out by the store."
Dad: "Yeah, you could take a few days off before you start working again. Even take a week off..."
Leah: "Gee Daddy, i don't know, a whole week off? Do you think i really deserve it."
If you are a horrible puritanical asshole who cannot read the sarcasm in my remarks, well you and my father might enjoy eachothers company, talking about how i'm going to be a horrible loser failure for the rest of my life. Have fun!