happy belated father's day to all my friends and family. hope you had a good one, and i hope that the whole year is good.
today is my birthday. i'm 35. seeing it typed out like that, though, and i am like, "really? really?!?
" can't believe it. i don't feel 35, and i certainly don't act like most of the 35-year-olds i know.
i had to work yesterday. i am the only driver who is a father. yes, that is why i say it is a soul-sucking job. and no, reflective surfaces do not show my manager's image.
speaking of managers, our store is the training store for managers. so on a regular basis we get new would-be managers in for a few weeks. recently, we got one in who is waaaaaaaaaay too fucking chipper for his own good. he is sure to annoy the sweet fuck out of me in a very short period of time.
so yesterday, he's all smiling and dancing around like a portly kid's show host and catches my name off of my nametag and uses it, then says, "do you know who i am, darth?"
our general manager, we'll call him lucifer, says, "do you really care?" and i turn to z, as his name turned out to be, and say, "you're just another manager that is going to spend a few weeks here and leave."
apparently, that hurt his feelings. but here's the deal. i have gotten very
close to about three of the managers-in-training over time, and they never stay at this store.
there was s, the punk. s fucking cracked me up, and we had hung out at some of the same punk hang-outs growing up, though i had never met him before. he actually walked up to me once, and said, "they're telling me they want this fucking floor mopped, and they want each driver to do a section before they go home. now, i know it's fucking stupid cause it is just gonna get fucked up again, but that's what they want. it's slow right now, figured you could grab a mop and bucket, pick your section, run the mop all over it really quickly, and then we can honestly say it got done." then stayed back there to talk to me while i did it.
he got sent to graham.
then there was r. r is gay. i loved the fact that he was very open about it, and he had the coolest sense of humor. i told him once maybe he should join the military. he said, "come on, i am gayer than christmas, they wouldn't even let me in." i did the eyebrow thing, and said, "you obviously don't know much about the military."
the 72nd store, then graham.
the latest, c, who has all-american teeth and hollister hair. the first time i saw him, i thought, "football, baseball, and surfing." so, being the lippy fucker that i am, i walk up to him and say, "please tell me you don't play football, run track, surf." he looked at me, laughed a cornfed laugh, and said, "yeah, i did all those in high school." i roll my eyes and say, "then please tell me you didn't grow up in some wholesome midwest state like iowa or kansas." "grew up right here in u.p." he also loves the local music scene as much as me, and knew exactly who i was talking about when i mentioned tad and seaweed.
he's going to federal way.
so, frankly, my beloved nonexistant reader, i don't give a shit about the managers unless they are permanent, and even then, they fucking get sent somewhere else after i get to know them.
and i am working tonight on my birthday too. boy, i love this place.