A Crappy Day

When did it start? At 5 p.m.? 5 a.m.? 11 p.m. the last day? I don't know.

Technically, it started at 5:30 a.m. A transcript of the conversation between me and the McD's manager.

Me: Hey, are you serving breakfast now?
McD: Yeah.
Me: Groovy. I'll have a Sausage McMuffin...a Sausage Egg McMuffin meal with orange.
McD: Orange juice?
Me: Sure.
McD: Okay. That'll be 4.66
Me: Okay.
(Few minutes of awkward shifting, as I search for the $4 in change I thought I had. I come up with only a dollar, and 1.75 I had for parking.)
Me: How much for just the sandwich?
(McD does some addition)
Me: 2.66.

The sandwich was good, however. Nice, tasty, hadn't had one in years, (supposedly the most fatty food on the menu) and most importantly, steaming hot (I could see the steam in the dawn light, through my sunglasses.)

Why hot important? I'd been working in a freezer for about six hours.
11 p.m., my first shift. First thing Ray the night manager says, (looks exactly like Glenn, only with brown hair) "Let's get your knife."

He asks me whether or not I want to say cold or hot work. I thought he was talking about within the store, so I say, "I don't have a preference." I was sent to load in frozen foods.

So then I started working with Craig. A comic book collector, which was cool. He grades comic books, sells him for profit. We talked about this while we were loading Michelina's and I was freezing my fingers off.

Recently, the skin on my fingertip's been looking slightly zombie. No skin where there should be. Wrinkly, like a prune. I think I can see a few veins, but that could just be me.

Washing my hands on break, I commented to myself, "I'm literally working my fingers raw."

Somewhere in the darkness, someone eyed my leather jacket pocket...

So then I get home, let the dog out (ruining a perfectly good pair of socks chasing him back into the house after he tasted freedom from the fence.) Then I slept, fitfully, waking up every two hours.

The third dream was of a beautiful, blonde haired women with sharp features on a field as the sun hand up. My hand was going up her tank-top as she lay with me. Religious worker style. And then I woke up in my bed in the basement.

I cursed myself, as I'm still a swinging single (think Hangman, not 70s/Austin Powers). But, as a true believer in la belle amour, I wouldn't let our love die. I consummated our relationship alone, with only her beauty to guide me.

Then, I got up and played some City of Heroes, a multiplayer role playing game. The goal is to level up by beating up bad guys as a superhero. I kept dying, each time getting some debt payed off by beating up more bad guys. I got the Restrained badge - you get that by being immobilized by the bad guys for the longest time.

It's a great honour.

Then I got a call to get some steel-toed boots - I'm a temp construction worker! Think of all the manual labour of a construction worker, with all the dignity of an office temp.

I'm hoping that I can do data entry work, despite the fact that I hate office work. But I got my blue collar work at Superstore.

Then my father came home, and we had a Hiroshima-style argument about my job. My arguments were thus:

- It sucks.
- I don't want it.
- It sucks.
- It's only paying for less than 1 percent of my college education.
- It sucks.

His arguments were thus:

- It's your responsibility to waste your summer doing an unnecessary job because it's your college education for which I'm paying 99%.
- Re: It sucks. Suck it up.

Bah. He's a lawyer.
(I'm simplyifying things obviously.)

But I got something past him, which is cool.

"What have I asked for or wanted for myself?"
He mentioned my car and it's stereo system. I got the car three years ago. And the stereo faceplate jumps off whenever I hit a bump. Duct tape covered the repairs. And I only drive it for 1/3 of the year, when I'm not off at college.

So then things calmed down. We got pizza with lots of meat on it. I offered to get it and pay for it, but I had trouble finding my wallet.

Then, I installed Max Payne 2 and played it for a bit. Then I got a call. A female voice.

"Are you 19?"

Porno visions met my bewilderment. "Who is this?"

Turns out she found my wallet near her friend Beaver's house that morning. I thought of lying when my father asked who was calling, but I decided not to.

My dad told me to, "Suck it up!" and go get my wallet. I got it, losing 60 dollars, but they hadn't used my credit card, thankfully.

After that, I thought that a fellow employee stole it. On my first day. I'll tell my boss tomorrow. Or is that the day after tomorrow?

Bonus points: Name this lyric without the internet.
Mr. President, tell me what to do,......, send more troops.
Monsieur Président, dire me ce que de faire, ......, envoie plus de troupes.