jookitcz: (Default)
Textbooks for the next semester just plunged sharp-toothed jaws into my finance-conscious heart.  $250 for most of them, although I expect to pay another $120 ish on the rest, just to take some of the burden from my parents.  They shouldn't have to buy me everything.  I'm not certain how good this logic is, since they make money more easily than I do.  But they have more expenses.  I don't know.  So it's only an unreasonable example of me doing what I can.

Speaking of work.  There are some SEXY new shoes at Payless.  Slopey high heels in black patent leather, with a tiny bit of white piping.  They are... delectable.  I want them badly, but they. aren't. practical.  It becomes exponentially more important when it's my bank card financing the shoes.  I need something to wear with my skirts, though.  Flats look silly.  My legs make weird right angles.  Wedges would be a nice compromise.  I'll probably get them from Target, and simply lust after my shiny dancing shoes from afar. 

Oh!  But what a thing, to go dancing in those shoes.  And a kneelength, twirly skirt.  This is my secret fantasy, and thou shalt not make fun of me for having daydreams about unrealistic clothes and scenarios.  I greatly crave drama.  I have secrets and glamour, I disappear to somewhere unexpected and revealing, and I have confrontations over the ensuing conflicts--life needs to be like novels.  Distilled.  As it is, we spend too much time waiting to be excited.  A rich fantasy life is the only remedy, although it has dangers in common with medicines.  Avoid addiction, know where the line is drawn.

Sexy and practical, though: my new glasses.  I will post pictures shortly.  As soon as I have a good hair day.
jookitcz: (Default)
Friday evening at the mall store.

I--I don't even know. 

Patti (manager in training) finally said to me, when we closed: "Haha--you worked hard and look exhausted.  I feel kinda bad for you.  Go home!"  Because... I did end the day with a clean store.  Not perfect, but clean.  And apparently that is unordinary.

Apparently, actually, I work harder than I need to work.  Yesterday, Manager-Witch Loren told me several times that I can't go back to school, I have to stay here and help because no one else works like that.  Which left me feeling slightly flattered, and a little used.  I am not paid enough.  I've finally found a point in my life where, yeah, compliments are nice, but monetary compensation would be better.

I'm very tired.  The last few days have been very tiring.  Yesterday evening, there was a very strange ache in my legs that was--not a pulled hurt, or a knotted hurt, but just a tired protesting of any kind of movement, particularly the up-and-down elevation changes you make at a shoe store.  But I sat down and played piano this morning.  I'll probably never be good at it, really, and I'm pretty sure that my parents and my grandma are the only people who like to hear me play.  So it's a selfish hobby.  But I like it, even though my timing is bad and I hesitate all over and stammer tricky passages.  There are, I imagine, buckets of activities which become more enjoyable when you just take away things like pride and ambition.  They're bad at parties.

Oh!  I made chicken cacciatore for my family the other night too, since I was home in the evening.  It was fantastic.  My dad just looked at me with a confused expression and said, "This is... really good."  I imagine it was an accident.

My brain is broken tonight, which is unfortunate, because I wanted to write.  But maybe it's safer not.
jookitcz: (Default)
My brother is in the basement with two friends, killing aliens with game controllers.  My parents already sleeping, and I'm curled up on the living room couch, aching and unhappy.  I should be happy.  My brain blames my woes on only social ineptitude, but I've been doing fantastically.  The only people of my age-ish are my coworkers, who I've somehow charmed with jokes and smarts and smiles, sometimes charming them too much, maybe, but maybe not.  Words are amazing.  Talking is amazing.  I can joke my parents into good moods; it's when I'm telling funny stories that they remind me of how much they miss me at college.  So I am doing as well as I can do.  Certainly I don't feel like I'm wasting an hour or a minute.  With a job and a house to keep any free time is inestimably precious to me.

The job.  Corporate, for some reason, saw fit to deliver to our store half a dozen boxes... of wall.  Wall.  I don't know what kind, or what we're supposed to do with it, but the shipment company left it sitting outside of the store.  So there was a problem.  The boxes were each... very heavy.  I don't know how heavy.  Heavy enough that neither Gem nor I, without assistance, could not drag one so much as a half centimeter away from its place.  Cardboard on concrete has a remarkably high coefficient of friction.

You see, the shipment company has an agreement that they are not responsible for actually getting shipment into the store.  And Gem would have been responsible for the walls should she leave them and anything happen.  Our manager was eminently unhelpful.

So we dragged them inside.  It was very difficult.  It was hugely difficult. 

But that's the story.


Jun. 4th, 2006 11:20 pm
jookitcz: (Default)
My badge at work labels me as a "Style Associate."

I think that's all that needs to be said.
jookitcz: (Default)
I really like working.

This occurred to me earlier today, when I was straightening shelves of shoes. I graduated today, from straightening and observing to straightening and greeting customers (under the eye of my manager, who would take over after "Hello, how are you?" since I can't actually do anything useful yet). Payless really seems to like eeeasing you into the job. I was smiling, because you're supposed to smile at customers and because my head is a pretty amusing place when it isn't given something to think seriously about, and maybe--just maaaybe dancing a little bit. Because they play music in the store. So I was the amazing dancing shoe straightener.

But I liked it. There is a place in my head that makes things seem important. Yes, this is just a shoe store. But it's going to be The shoe store, or, as one training video phrased the Company Vision, " be one of the top five footwear retail outlets in the country."

I believe in that vision. No, I know it's just selling shoes. But dammit, if I'm going to sell shoes, I'm going to sell shoes well. I mean, all I'm in charge of doing is being cheerful, helpful, respectful, and making things look nice. I like all of those things, and I have a unreasoning underlying competitive drive, to boot. They will PH34R me, because I will be the cheeriest, helpfullest, most aesthetically creative associate born to mankind.

It wasn't until halfway through the drive home that I remembered that I also made $25 on my three hour shift. Unimportant details.

Dinner tonight:

We had hamburgers, and my brother had a friend over to work on a school science project. When he passed the pickles to her (because being a boy, he wasn't willing to put down his burger), tomato blood dripped. Mother scolded, amusedly. He defended himself, "It is impossible for any human being to pass pickles, eat a hamburger, and not drip."

I laughed, and monologued: "Ha. Unless you're one of the X-Men. Oh, but think about it--wouldn't that be the lamest superpower ever? Not dripping from a burger while passing pickles? You maybe mutated... ridges, along your arms, that would channel the juices down from your hands and off the elbows. You'd be called, 'Burger Pickle-Passer Man.' Friends would say, 'Man, that's such a lame superpower.' And you'd just look sad and say, 'I know.'"

My brother didn't laugh. But there is a trick to it, as long as the conversation is mostly between two people. After telling a lame, horrible joke, you must keep your eyes fixed on the other person. And smirk a little bit. And just wait. Because finally, when he couldn't help thinking about it, my brother broke down and cracked up.

jookitcz: (Default)
Blah. I had taken a bunch of very nice pictures of our gardens, and my brother deleted them all from the camera before I could upload any of them to a computer. I don't know when we're going to get another sunny day--that eventuality will undoubtably be accompanied by the death of all blossoming things, and it will be my fault. Mrr. I was supposed to send those pictures to Grandma. Mom will be displeased.

Today I was initiated to the dark sisterhood of those who sell shoes, and entrusted with such secrets of shoe selling as I was sworn to silence, in a contract I signed with my own blood. I then watched an cutesy, musical orientation video on a cd, which left me with the acronyms ART and SMILES. These two words hold within them all the mysteries of Payless Shoesource. I will not decode them for you, suffice it to say, they do not mean what you think they mean! And I will leave it at that.

I start next Tuesday, for short training shifts. It requires that I dress up every day, which is fine with me. I look rather fantastic in slacks.

Apparently I still have a chance of getting into Dr. Marshall's poetry writing class next semester. It's an evening class, so it would fit into my schedule, and I think it would add the color which my current accounting and statistics laden course load lacks. Dr. Marshall being an excellent teacher and my enjoying poetry and finding it fun to read and write make it into a fairly winning idea. Hopefully, it's not full, and hopefully, he will let me into the class despite not having fulfilled the sophomore english requirement yet. It would be wonderful. I can daydream pink and fluffy clouds for my future even now.

And... did anyone else know that Candide is a musical? I infiltrated my parents' Netflix queue to sneak it up to third. I am a stealth master, excited to see it, and won't they all be surprised?

I think my grammar is deteriorating. Artistically. Of course. But it lately has been very closely mirroring the rhythm and pattern of my mental thought voice, which I shouldn't need to say is incredibly scattered, revisory, and punctuated.

There are bird feathers smeared on our front window, because the new windows my parents had installed are far too clean and clear. I've been leaving the blinds closed as much as possible to spare the poor birds (when my parents are not home to order me to open them up, regardless of the lives of poor myoptic avians) which is okay, because it's gray and cloudy out anyway. It just makes the house a little dark and depressing. BUT! I am a sentient being fully in control of my feelings by means of my thoughts, not weak external things like the WEATHER. I will triumph through force of the mind. I am HAPPY.

This has been another Thursday Update. Thank you, and Good Night.


jookitcz: (Default)

July 2010

4 5678 910


RSS Atom

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios