I figured I'd better get on here right away and say that I am now an assistant manager at my store. I know, the rest of you were assistant managers at bigger places when you were high schoolers, but this is a big jump for me. I've never really been anybody's boss. I'm not really a bossy type, am I? Maybe. Anyway, it was sorta funny because my boss pulled me aside today, and I thought I had screwed something up, but he tells me how pleased he is with how I work and that I will be one of the two assistant managers, and then he shakes my hand. Imagine a little mustashioed Vietnamese man shaking my hand back behind a Quizno's counter. I guess if you can't imagine it, I'll just tell you it was funny. This is really great since I was going to write a blog two nights ago about how awful of a time I had had, including work. Maybe I'll just augment this one with that story.
I guess it was just the night for everything to go wrong. I mean, it was Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody, and that's just a bad start. It was a strange sort of busy at work, and I was of course working with two seventeen-year-old girls, so that adds a whole other dimension to the scheme. Then I got a splinter. We have nothing in the store that has anything remotely connected to wood besides the green from everybody's money trees nowadays. It didn't seem to be wood, but it hurt like a girl breaking up with you in eighth grade because you held her hand and she was embarassed, if you can relate to that one. Then one of the seventeen-year-olds wanted to prove she was right about how we cut open dressing bottles, and the only way she was going to do that was to call up our boss who was in California visiting his daughter, so that's what she does. I didn't care, and was fine with things until that point. I just don't need a high school girl playing some strange power game with me because she has nothing else to do. It might freak her out now that I'm her boss, anyway, but who cares. So, I leave work at a low-point mood-wise, so I figure I can balm the wound with some beer. I go across the street to a grocery store. They don't carry the only beer I'm going to drink. So I drive to a natural foods store and wander to their beer case. There's one left. Phew, right? But the space for the beer is taken up by the same brand except pumpkin beer! Gross. So I've got two months without good beer ahead of me. That's unpleasant. Then I get to the checkout counter, and I notice I have only five of the six bottles in my cardboard container. The checkout girl says she'll only charge me for four bottles, but then starts talking about getting older (after looking at my ID) and how life sucks past 21. That's all I needed to hear. I went home and had a beer and felt sorry for myself... Hmmm, I'm stuck in these song lyrics. That's really the end of my story. Sorry for taking too much space up for the sake of Brad and Kurbis. Or, not for Brad and Kurbis, or whatever, you know what I mean. So, all that to say, today really makes up for it, especially since a girl named Laura wandered into the store again, and she's wonderfully cute and looks much beyond 18 but not yet to the 26-year-mark, and no ring on her finger, and I have nothing else around here to keep my attention except pumpkin beer, so write something yourself and prove me wrong. Even Kurbis can't ruin today with an angry diatribe. Bye all.
I guess it was just the night for everything to go wrong. I mean, it was Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody, and that's just a bad start. It was a strange sort of busy at work, and I was of course working with two seventeen-year-old girls, so that adds a whole other dimension to the scheme. Then I got a splinter. We have nothing in the store that has anything remotely connected to wood besides the green from everybody's money trees nowadays. It didn't seem to be wood, but it hurt like a girl breaking up with you in eighth grade because you held her hand and she was embarassed, if you can relate to that one. Then one of the seventeen-year-olds wanted to prove she was right about how we cut open dressing bottles, and the only way she was going to do that was to call up our boss who was in California visiting his daughter, so that's what she does. I didn't care, and was fine with things until that point. I just don't need a high school girl playing some strange power game with me because she has nothing else to do. It might freak her out now that I'm her boss, anyway, but who cares. So, I leave work at a low-point mood-wise, so I figure I can balm the wound with some beer. I go across the street to a grocery store. They don't carry the only beer I'm going to drink. So I drive to a natural foods store and wander to their beer case. There's one left. Phew, right? But the space for the beer is taken up by the same brand except pumpkin beer! Gross. So I've got two months without good beer ahead of me. That's unpleasant. Then I get to the checkout counter, and I notice I have only five of the six bottles in my cardboard container. The checkout girl says she'll only charge me for four bottles, but then starts talking about getting older (after looking at my ID) and how life sucks past 21. That's all I needed to hear. I went home and had a beer and felt sorry for myself... Hmmm, I'm stuck in these song lyrics. That's really the end of my story. Sorry for taking too much space up for the sake of Brad and Kurbis. Or, not for Brad and Kurbis, or whatever, you know what I mean. So, all that to say, today really makes up for it, especially since a girl named Laura wandered into the store again, and she's wonderfully cute and looks much beyond 18 but not yet to the 26-year-mark, and no ring on her finger, and I have nothing else around here to keep my attention except pumpkin beer, so write something yourself and prove me wrong. Even Kurbis can't ruin today with an angry diatribe. Bye all.
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