Work and after work

Ok, where to start. A lot of this happened a few days ago... at work, of course. What else do I ever write about? So, like I said, it’s a few days ago and I’m at work, busy with a purpose, at the coffee bar - or The Trough, as Leah refers to it. As I’m slopping the pigs and cleaning up their considerable refuse, a full fledged Coffee Bar Emergency goes into effect. The little tray that sits under the cappuccino machine is full and needs emptying. This tray has no way to drain, so it just sits there and collects cappuccino backwash until it overflows and floods the local area (referred to forthwith as the coffee trough). Anyway, it’s filled to the brim and overflowing, so I pick it up very carefully so that I can take it over to the sink to safely dump it’s contents (there is no sink next to the coffee trough, which is a major pain in the ass). This is a very tedious process, because any slight movement to the left or right will cause the built up backwash to slosh accordingly. Once it starts sloshing, the process is self-reinforcing, which almost always results in the imminent formation of a tiny tidal wave of backwash. So, it’s important to ‘roll the feet’ in order to keep the sloshing at a minimum (the rolling of the feet is a method by which each foot moves smoothly from heel to toe, as if one’s feet were confined to the inside a hula hoop or bicycle tire. Anyone who has ever marched in high school band will know this method, to which Adela can also attest). I use this technique to great effect as I make my way to to the sink, and no self propagating tidal waves of backwash are created.


Anyway, after I empty the mini backwash trough, I’m wiping up the mess it made when I notice that there are little drips forming on the bottom edge of the coffee trough. I wipe these up deftly and thoroughly, but to my amazement and befuddlement, they remain unwiped. I bend down so I that I can examine them more closely. It only takes me a second to realize that little stalactites of coffee sugar are forming along the bottom edge of the coffee trough. There are several (about a dozen in all) and I run my hand along them, noting their smooth and unyielding surfaces. Amazing! I can imagine anthropologists digging up the site of this 7-Eleven in a few million years and discovering fully formed coffee stalactites, measuring several meters in length. I relate my discovery to Leah and Ben, who agree enthusiastically with my theory. Since that day, I’ve been thinking about writing a dissertation on it so I can get into graduate school.

Later that day, Leah presented me with what can only be described as a ‘rope of receipts’. In effect, it consisted of about 20 receipts which had been spit out consecutively by the receipt printer. They were all still attached at the corners because when they’re spit out, the machine doesn't cut them apart completely (the only reason I can think of for why the brand new receipt printer won't cut completely through each receipt is because whoever invented it must wanted to leave something for the cashier to do). So anyway. Leah then approached me and, to my utter joy, she gently draped this receipt chain around my neck. I proudly connected the two ends, transforming it into a bona fide necklace of 7-Eleven receipts. As several customers stood transfixed, watching with affectionate smiles as this touching scene unfolded, the one closest to us shouted unabashedly: “Hey, you just got lei'd!”

Earlier this week, I had noticed that my right front tire was getting low on air, and per my usual habit of procrastination, I promptly forgot about it. This caused me great worry and distress later when Leah was borrowing my car. I spent what seemed like an eternity imagining that tire popping and causing a horrific wreck, resulting in her severe injury or even death. It was pure torture. I was relieved beyond description when she survived unscathed. So anyway, guess what? The tire finally went completely flat the other day at work. Several people told me about it, so I a used a can of Fix-A-Flat to fix that flat after work. Now the flat’s fixed and I don’t have to worry about Leah dying horribly anymore.

Let’s see, what next... oh yes. Yesterday was an extremely good day, I've been told. As many of you know, I recently completed Ass. Management training at 7-Eleven and am due an imminent raise as a result. Terry, who had been taking his sweet time, apparently had finally gotten around to handing my paperwork over to his boss Buno, as I was duly informed that I would be receiving a raise of one dollar an hour. He qualified this by telling me ‘not to get my hopes up’. Well, I certainly got my hopes up, only to have them dashed by Ryan today. So there I was, hopes all up and everything, and I told Ryan what Terry had told me about my dollar an hour raise. Instead of replying with an envious congratulations, Ryan instead told me that I was getting jiped. He said that his brother-in-law had been making $11.50 an hour when he was an assistant manager, and that his sister had made $14.00 an hour at one point doing the same job. I did a quick mental calculation: at my present rate of $8.70 an hour, a dollar an hour raise would move me up to $9.70 an hour. Not even 10 dollars an hour... wait though, I thought to myself, that doesn’t include the performance review raise which I am also due. I breathed a sigh of relief and then asked Ryan when he thought we could expect that particular raise. He told me that we should be getting it soon; either by the end of February or sometime in early March. I asked him how much I could probably expect, imagining an optimistic 70 cents; the same as my last raise. With a 70 cent raise, stacked on top of a dollar an hour raise, I would be making about $10.50 an hour. Not so bad. So, Ryan then said that his last performance review raise was only about 20 cents. Mother F’er. Ok, so I wouldn’t let it get me down, I'll still be getting a fairly large raise.

I received another tidbit of good news yesterday. NCO, the collection agency which handles my student loans, told me that I would be out of default soon. I called them today and it was explained to me that I would only be owing one more payment, after which I would be finished with the initial phase of my payment program. Apparently, my loan is to be sold to another company, who I will continue payments with after March, at which time my loans will then be officially out of default and taken off of my credit report. This means that if I want to, I could actually apply for loans now and get them in time to start school this fall. I haven’t decided what I want to do, but this is f’ing-A news. Yee Haw!

Oh yeah. Last night, Leah and I decided to get our ears pierced. We went to a place called Ace Tattoos and Piercings and after an interminable wait, during which time I attempted to talk Leah out of it (yeah, I’m a wimp. Oh, and I also have a needle phobia. But hell, I’ve gotten my ears pierced several times before... however, this time was going to be different). She would not be budged, so we both got cartilage piercings at the tops of our left ears. I'd heard before that cartilage piercings were extremely painful, and I watched intently as Leah was getting hers pierced. However, I purposefully didn’t look at the needle as it went in, so I had no idea what kind of needle it was or how big (seeing that might have resulted in me up-chucking a lot of gross 7-Eleven food all over the floor of Aces Tattoos and Piercings). So, the chick who worked there... Dorian, I think... sat Leah down on the couch and drew a spot on her ear where she was going to put the needle through. Leah said that she flinched (I didn’t notice) when she did this, thinking that the tip of the marker was the needle. When the spot for the piercing was approved, Dorian asked Leah if she wanted a countdown. Leah replied in the negative, and then her ear was promptly pierced and a hoop was inserted. Again, I didn’t see her flinch, so my confidence grew. I was next, and as I sat up on the couch, I balled my hands into tight fists on my lap. Dorian went through the same process with me, and I approved the piercing site, just like Leah. I too was asked if I preferred a countdown, but for some reason, having it said to me made me quite nervous. Why would they ask if I wanted a countdown, unless the pain was interminably severe? I imagined a white hot poker being shoved through my cartilage and I stared straight ahead, not blinking, and waited. SHNICK! The needle went through. It hurt, but not that bad. Then the hoop was shoved in. That hurt a little more. Then we were finished. At this point, Dorian asked if I was ok. I replied that I was, and she said she was concerned because I hadn’t blinked during the entire several minutes that I was seated on the piercing couch. Apparently, this is a reaction she is used to, and I’m thinking that it represents extreme petrification with fear in the one at the business end of the needle. So, Leah and I got out of there, giddy with our new ear piercings, and we are now proudly attached at the ears.

Weirdly things that happened today

First off, early this morning, a guy just couldn't wait to wrap his lips around the chocolate milk he hadn't paid for yet. So, Mr. Chocolate Mustache brings his milk to the counter to pay for it. He hands it to me and I tilt it over, as I'm wont to do with every single product before scanning, to scan it. This is so that the mounted scanner, which points down, can read the bar code. So, the top goes 'fling', then the milk goes WHOOSH, all over the counter, like a mini-ROGUE WAVE. MY EYES bugged out. I looked at the guy. After my eyes settled, I narrowed them. The guy stammered a little. I picked up the spilled bottle between my thumb and forefinger, like an indignant butler. I stalked over to the sink counter, emptied it into the sink, put it down to be written off later, and grabbed some paper towels. I solemnly wiped up the milk. Some of it had leaked underneath the glass window thing which makes the counter transparent so that the customers can drool over the lottery scratch off tickets. I examined this uncleanable bit of milk with obvious distaste and then informed the customer in a very professional, polite, no-nonsense tone that he could go get another bottle of milk. He scurried off like a scolded child and got another one. When he got back to the counter, I wiped it again a couple more times for good measure. Then I finished ringing him up.

Later, when I was ordering more milk to replace that which was so blatantly and carelessly wasted earlier, Land O Lakes Half & Half creamer came up for order. However, it was abbreviated. It read: LOL H&HA. I thought this was hilarious.

Around midday, a customer was at Adela's register. Another customer said this:

"Hey, are you going to class?"

To which the guy at the register replied:

"Yeah, in a few minutes."

She said:

"Are you late?"

At this point their conversation drifted off into banal background chatter and I tuned it out. Until about five minutes later. Then I heard and saw this:

The girl was glaring at the guy, who was standing at the door with it half open, looking back at the girl. She said:

"I don't like you. I don't like talking to you."

The guy then promptly left without another word. Damn, what did I miss? Damn damn damn. There went some good gossip.

One more thing. Earlier this week, Blue Slurpee was leaking from the ceiling. I missed out on this fun and only saw the after-carnage, which was a lot of blue spatter-sticks all over the microwave, and some blue gunk gathered around the base of the Slurpee machine. Then I get to work today and Pina Colada Slurpee has leaked all over the floor and is flowing out from under the machine. Adela created a Paper Towel Barrier which effectively blocked the slow flowing, viscous liquid. It reminded me of blood when I stepped in it. Clear, but the same consistency. Not that I've ever stepped in a pool of blood, but that's what it reminded me of, anyway. Anyway, the Slurpee guy showed up and got all up in the ceiling to fix it (apparently this leak originated in the ceiling too). When he got down, he said there was 'rat feces' all up in there. So, 7-Eleven is infested with rats. Nice.

My bad ass 'stache

Today at work I'm standing outside, smoking a cigarette and trying to look cool. Apparently it's not that hard to do because somebody came up to me and commented on my magnificent 'stache. He said that I had a Sam Elliot thing going on and asked if I was going to 'train it'. I assumed he meant 'wax it' so that it grew handlebars or something. So I told him, no, I just thought I'd let it grow until it stopped growing. He said that it would look cool if it grew out like Sam Elliot's in the movie 'Tombstone'. I told him that's why I grew it in the first place, because of that movie. Then as I was walking back into the store, he said "You look bad ass."

Ash wins +10 ego points.

Things

Terry says that if a pot of decaf stays on the burner long enough, it will magically grow new caffeine.

The other day at work, somebody said "guess what's in my coat." "A cucumber?" "No..." and a little kitten popped it's head out and proceeded to climb up his arm and onto his shoulder.

The last time it was all physical and no love. Now it's the exact opposite. Both versions hurt but the difference is the black void. It's gone now.

Managing the ass at 7-Eleven isn't all it's cracked up to be. Which ass goes where, what to do with the extra ass, how much ass to kick. Then there's the bad ass, the fine ass, the dirty ass, the ass hats... I need to get paid more for this I think.

I just stepped on the scale and I'm down to 145, from 160 a month ago. Yee haw. Maybe this summer I'll be able to take off my shirt.

The other day my car was covered with a half inch of ice. And my big idea was to leave the key inside with it running, with the doors locked, and let the warmth build up and melt the ice. Well, that worked out real good, except that the automatic radio controlled buzzer button unlocking mechanism thing won't unlock the car if it's running, so in effect, my car was running and locked and I was standing outside freezing. There's a happy ending but I'd rather leave everybody breathless and in a state of panic.

I think I'm getting more lost as opposed to unlost. I do have one kick ass Wyatt Earp mustache though, so that's a comfort.

And even though she won't say it, I suspect that she loves me. A little bit anyway.

The Really Big Box Of Contraband

We received a big box of stuff at work today. I mean a REALLY big box. We're talking HUGE! Big enough to crawl inside of and play Solid Snake. I opened it and it was full of contraband. The FBI showed up and locked the store down while ATF agents swarmed the place. It turned out the contraband consisted of parts to build a small thermonuclear device. Terry was hauled away in chains and Leah received the Congressional Medal of Honor. Then I finished fronting and facing the store.

Holy crap

I can't believe it. The dog I've had for a year and a half just uttered his first bark. A couple, actually. No, I think it was three definite barks. My first thought was, where the heck did that dog come from? Then I realized, I have a dog! But he never EVER barks! I went into my brothers room. He was napping and he too was amazed. I looked out the window and there was a decidedly mean looking girl standing out there. Oh, and there were also a couple of little terriers. I personally think he was barking at the mean looking girl with the scowl on her face though. Rooney hasn't ever barked at another dog, he usually runs from them.

Wow.

I love your hair...

Today after work I stopped by Kroger for some sundries and whatnot. I'm walking towards the entrance and I hear, "You're cute." I stop and turn, and this young-ish cute-ish girl is standing there. "Uh... thanks." Pause a few seconds. "So are you." I'm turning red so I turn away quickly and start inside. Then I hear, "I love your hair!" I stop and turn again. "Thanks!" I hurry in. I feel kind of lame and good at the same time. Although that was somewhat embarrasing, a compliment from a stranger can really make your day.

Lip smacking good

This morning my favorite customer came in. He comes in every day and buys four newspapers and usually a bagel or donut, and sometimes he gives me lotto tickets to check. So, he gets to the counter and puts the papers down on the counter. Like he does every single day. With the barcodes facing down. Every single frikin day, and every single frikin day I turn every one of them over so I can scan the barcode. This has happened about... oh... 365 times, and he STILL puts the dadgum papers on the counter with the barcodes down. SO. Like I said, I turned them all over and scanned them and then turned them BACK over so he could have all of his papers right side up, which apparently is important to him. I ask him if he wants a bag. Then I hear something... SMACK. SMACK. SMACK SMACK SMACK... no, I think I can... SMACK SMACK... handle it... SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK. He is making disgusting smacking sounds as he chows down on that donut. It is disgusting. Didn't his mama teach him to chew with his mouth closed? UGH. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK!!!!! GO AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway. That's about it. I'm ok now.

Of meteors and mattresses...

The morning of the meteor shower finally arrived. After enjoying clear skies all week long, it decided to cloud up precisely during the hours of peak activity. At first I was distraught and frustrated.

In retrospect however, it didn't matter one whit. I and the person I was with enjoyed a couple of hours of each others company, lying in the middle of an open field, covered with blankets, and gazing up at a clouds describing a fast moving sky accented with a handful of intermittent stars. Every now and then we'd actually see a brief streak of light as a speck of space dust blazed across our small portion of unobscured sky. At one point, a low cloud bank brightened suddenly, as if it were being lit from within.

"Did you see that?"
"Yeah."
"I think it was a really bright one, obscured by the clouds."
"Wow."
"Yeah. It would have really been spectacular if we could have seen it."

It was spectacular anyway.

Time passed as it is wont to do, so eventually we had to gather up the blankets and pillows and get back to real life. I spent the entire day at work in a decidedly odd mood, which was good. Or rather, in a decidedly good mood, which was odd - for being at work, that is. Time flew by and I didn't mind work at all.

Before I knew it, I was walking home. I decided to take Bryan street on a whim, and discovered something which almost ruined my day.

About 3/4 or the way up Bryan street, before it runs into Scripture, there was a large dumpster which serviced an apartment complex. Around this dumpster were piled several large, overflowing trash bags. Lying among these bags was an assortment of abandoned dirty clothing, reams of carelessly scattered notes from some obsolete and already forgotten college class, cardboard boxes filled with plastic food wrappers, empty 7-Eleven coffee cups, a discarded Christmas wreath, and scores of cigarette butts. Underneath a goodly portion of all this was a queen sized mattress.

As I stood there regarding that scene, I was surprised to find that the sight of so much blatant refuse was pissing me off. I started to gather up some of the more readily accessible and less revolting bits of trash and stuffed them into the open garbage bags. Eventually I had to deal with the revolting stuff. After I had several bags crammed full and closed tightly, I tossed them into the dumpster. Then I went to work on the classroom notes. There had to have been at least 5 pounds of typed and hand written papers there, which would have been blown away if not for the fact that there had been so much trash covering them. They had started to blow away after a lot of the dead weight was removed, so I spent some time recovering scores of windblown sheets of paper and stuffing them into a cardboard box (the contents of which I had already emptied into the dumpster). Finally, I was left with just the old dirty clothes, which consisted mainly of socks, t-shirts, and some raggedy, torn up shoes. These too went into the dumpster. Finally, I threw away the Christmas wreath, which I had been saving for last in case I decided it could be salvaged. It couldn't, so into the dumpster it went. The only thing left was about a hundred cigarette butts. I gathered these up by the handful and tossed them, winding up with stinky, charcoal stained fingers.

Finally, after about 10 minutes of constant activity, the area around the dumpster was clear. The only thing left was that queen sized mattress. I inspected it closely. It actually didn't look that bad, and after testing it in a few places, it felt soft. I imagined that with a good cleaning, it would be a dramatic improvement over my current twin mattress, which is just a piece of shit, now that I think about it. If I weren't so used to it, it would be impossible to sleep on it, as the springs have no padding to separate them from the actual material which comprises the surface of the mattress. Every night, I lie down to the constant poking and pressing of those damn uncomfortable springs. No more.

I walked home and called my brother in law, who drives a pickup truck. I asked for his assistance in transporting the mattress to my house, and he agreed. Later we loaded it into the back of his truck, and at this moment it is leaning up against the wall in the hallway, waiting for me to clear a spot for it in the disaster area which is my room. I might even get to it tonight, although I don't think I have any queen sized sheets. It probably needs at least a cursory spiffing before I lay me down to sleep on it, so I think I'll wait until tomorrow to make it safe for human habitation.

Even if this queen sized mattress turns out to be a bust, I'm not going back to that mattress from hell that I've been enduring for 9 years, ever since my water bed sprung a leak.

A dream - sunset holocaust

Matt and Chey and I are all piled into a car together, with Cheyenne driving and I in the back seat. We pull into the driveway of a familiar house. We all get out of the car and I am slightly anxious because we forgot to bring something with us. It is twilight, and the eastern sky beyond the house is made darker by the presence of forbidding cumulonimbus clouds, the textured, corrugated bottoms of which provide a low, ominous ceiling. Although they are ubiquitous to a certain extent, they start to thin and break up as my gaze follows them across the sky towards the west. About 2/3 of the way to the horizon they disintegrate completely, leaving a clear, calm sunset. The sun, having just disappeared below the western horizon, leaves a bright yellow sky which fades slowly into the dark blue of near twilight before it is obscured by the blanket of clouds from the east. I turn my vision back towards the dark cloud cover and am amazed to see in the distance an immense UFO flying below the cloud deck. It is quite far away, but I can definitely discern a massive hull festooned with bright, multicolored flashing lights. Matt is just getting out of the car so I yell at him, "Reach back into the car and grab the binoculars, quickly, hurry up!" I point at the sky and exclaim to him, "It's a UFO! Give me the binoculars!" Matt digs around in the back seat and emerges with the binoculars in hand. He sweeps the sky futilely with them, which exasperates me, and I frantically urge him to hand them over. He does, and I proceed to scan the eastern sky. Almost immediately, I spot it. It is an amazing sight, made even more incredible by the sudden ignition of two engines mounted at the rear of the main body, which begin to glow a dull orange. I exclaim to Matt, "The engines are lighting! It'll be gone soon so hurry up and look!" I hold the binoculars slightly away from my eyes with one hand and with the other hand I point as directly and accurately as I can at the UFO, while at the same time passing the binoculars to Matt so that he will know exactly in what direction to look. He sees the UFO but doesn't seem nearly as thrilled as me, and he and Chey proceed into the house.

An old man and woman live in the house, and at this point I realize that we are visiting a kind of analogue for our grandparents. I don't recognize them but they still seem familiar as I greet them in the living room. However, I am still filled with excitement at what I had just witnessed, so I quietly steal back outside. Heavy clouds had begun to form in the western sky, and as I looked towards the sunset, I could barely make out the diminished shape of the UFO against the form of a thunderhead as it reflected the last of the sun's dying rays. Suddenly, I realized with dread and unwelcome comprehension that it was engaged in battle with an enemy vessel, and they were exchanging a volley of nuclear weapons. I hid my eyes as one of them detonated, and when I looked again, there was a towering mushroom cloud rising from the western horizon. I quickly hurried inside and warned everyone. "There has been a nuclear detonation and the shock wave will be here quickly. We have to seek shelter!" Matt, Chey and I, along with the old couple, quickly proceeded outside and towards a separate garage. I watched the mushroom cloud as I hurried across the yard towards the garage, and I could feel the air pressure building as the front of the shock wave quickly raced towards us. With all of us inside the garage, we hunkered down on our knees, clasped our hands behind our heads, and tried to roll ourselves into little balls. Then the shock wave hit and the garage shook violently around us, shattering the glass in the windows and shaking the door off of the frame. As I crouched there, hunkered, I tried to catch a glimpse of Matt and Chey to see if they were all right. With the door gone, I could see the grass and trees outside through the open doorway scorching in the intense heat. I expected the garage to come completely apart around us at any second, exposing us to the searing winds.

Evil Blood Sucking Car Repair Shops

Oh boy. Today as I was driving to the store to grab some smokes, I started to hear a distinctive rattle up front in the motor area. Not good, thought I. I drove home and let it idle for a while, listening to the rattle and clank. I finally shut off the motor, definitely not happy about this new development. Later, my brother took the car to the post office to mail off his laptop which he just sold on eBay. I heard the car pull up when he got back, and then I heard the sound of the motor increase in volume somewhat as my brother opened the hood. After a few seconds, I heard a SNAP POP. Uh oh. Seconds later, my brother came in and informed me that the serpentine belt had just snapped. Shit. He said that he was afraid to kill the engine because he wasn't sure if it would start again. I told him that he'd better kill it now, as it was running purely on battery power as long as the serpentine belt wasn't turning the alternator and charging the battery. Apparently he hadn't realized this immediately, so he went outside and killed it.

We debated on what to do for a few minutes, and then he suggested that we take it to a repair shop to get an estimate. I thought for a few minutes... a serpentine belt should only cost about 30 bucks, and it should take maybe an hour to effect repairs... at about 50 dollars an hour, it should cost less than a hundred bucks to fix it. So, I agreed, and he drove the car to Firestone using just the battery power.

About 30 minutes later, he arrived home after walking back from Firestone. He told me that the mechanic there had said that it might be something more serious than just the serpentine belt, that the rattling could be due to a loose pulley. Immediately my hackles went up. I've been fucked over by mechanics several times, and hearing this instantly put my on my guard. I warned my brother about this, that mechanics were devious bastards and that I'd been screwed over several times in the past, but he just kind of blew it off. I stressed again the importance of what I was saying, and that we should definitely be wary if they tried to quote us an estimate based on more than just the cost to replace the belt. He started to take offense to this, thinking that I was questioning his ability to handle the situation, and began raising his voice. I asked him why he was getting so pissed and defensive, and he said that he'd never been screwed over by a garage. I told him that just because he hasn't been screwed over doesn't negate the importance or the worthiness of my advice. He grew more and more angry, and finally he told me that he wanted to use the money I had in reserve for rent to pay for any repairs that might be needed. I told him no. I have 200 dollars specifically for rent that I had borrowed from my sister just the day before, and that plus about 500 dollars that I'll be getting on Thursday, is going to be JUST ENOUGH to pay my student loan payment plus my share of the rent. Well, he didn't take too kindly to my refusal to give him that money, and he asked me if I was afraid that the rent wouldn't get paid if I gave him that money. I told him yeah, that's what I was afraid of, and he said that he would make damn sure that the rent got paid, even if I didn't.

Well, that really pissed me off, since I was the one who paid the rent for December, with no help at all from him. I told him that if it weren't for me, the rent wouldn't have gotten paid this month, and that he should think about that before casting stones. Well, about 5 minutes later, he called me on 32 dollars that we still owed out of 650, that never got paid because I just happened to be a little bit short, what with having to pay the entire thing this month. I had told him that I would pay it when I got my next check, but I had forgotten. He called me a liar for saying that I would pay that 32 dollars, since I had forgotten and it was never paid. Well, this set me off like a hydrogen bomb. I grabbed an envelope and a pen and the address for the landlord and got on the computer and looked up directions to his house with MapQuest, which happened to be two miles there and two miles back. I wrote those down, and as I was going out the door, I said "You suck Matt, you really suck. I'm not a liar and I'm moving out. Just as soon as I can. We'll see how you manage when I'm not here to bail your ass out when you're broke." Then he said to me, "You're moving out, huh? That's probably a damn lie too." I got even madder, which I didn't think was possible. I said, "I hate you!" and stormed out the door. I then turned back around and said "Give me my phone!". I sure as hell didn't want him answering when Firestone called back with an estimate. He gave me my phone and I left.

On the way I stopped off at a convenience store and got a money order for 32 dollars and put this in the envelope, and wrote on the front: "Sorry so late, Matt and Ash" and wrote down our address. I continued walking until I got to his house, then I put the envelope in his mailbox and walked back. On my way back, I received a call from Firestone. They said they had an estimate, and that it would be 350 bucks to fix it. I said, 350 for a serpentine belt? They said no, not just the belt, the tensioner needs to be replaced too (the tensioner is another pulley which you can adjust to increase or decrease the tension on the belt, something I didn't know at the time). I asked the guy if he could just put on the belt and forget about the tensioner. He said no. So, I told him that I'd come pick up the car then. He was silent for a few seconds, then said something that I don't remember and I said thanks, bye, and hung up. After that, I called John, my sisters husband, who is pretty good with cars. I asked him if he could help me replace the serpentine belt, and he said sure, that it should be fairly simple and easy.

When I got home, Matt had already gone back to Firestone and picked up the car. I didn't say anything to him. He told me that it would cost 270 dollars to repair it. Well, I was still pretty pissed and didn't want to talk to him, but I had to laugh and tell him that they had quoted 350 to me. Then I started to research serpentine belts and tensioners online for my car. I came across a lot of useful info, such as a diagram showing how to install the belt (it's pretty convoluted) and reports from various people describing their own experiences. I quickly found out that tensioners can be adjusted with a 13 mm socket, and that they can get pretty loose. I went back out to the car and found the tensioner, and sure enough, it was loose and it rattled when I moved it. Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to trust what Firestone said. That tensioner just might need to be tightened, it might not need to be replaced at all. However, it looked to be a pretty big job, as it was a very tight squeeze to access the area where the belt goes onto the pulley's. I had just read about several frustrated people who had spent hours trying to install a serpentine belt to no avail, and I started to realize it might not be possible for me to pull it off, even with Johns help.

So I called John and explained the situation to him, telling him that I thought it might be too big of a job for us to do after all, and that I would just have to wait until I had enough money to pay the fucking Firestone guys to fix it. He said to hold off, that he would be over to check it out. I had plans to visit a friend tonight already, so while I was over at her place, John was at the house, checking out the car.

When I got back home, Matt said that they had looked at the car and researched it some more. What we need is a serpentine kit that costs about 80 bucks, and comes with a belt and the tools we'll need to be able to fix the tensioner and install the new belt. This sounded a lot more reasonable than the 350 they quoted me or the 270 they quoted my brother, once they realized I wasn't going to let them give it to me in the backside. So with 80 dollars for parts and 50 dollars an hour... lets be generous and say it takes two hours to fix it... Firestone should charge me 200 dollars MAXIMUM for parts, labor, and tax to fix that thing. So I was right, they were trying to screw us over, just like ALL mechanics and garages will do in the blink of an eye without thinking twice. I've just had too damn many experiences, several times getting ripped off, and several times ALMOST getting ripped off - like today - NOT to be wary of those fuckers. Repair shops are worse than the IRS. At least the IRS doesn't lie to you.

Stuff

Ah, now I just love this. Sleeping until I feel like waking up, then sitting up in bed, grabbing the laptop or a book, and just reading or listening to music or yakking here on MySpace or the game forums or finding crazy shit on teh interwub. And I don't have to work. And it's still morning with most of the day ahead. And, since I'm sick, I might call off work tomorrow and get to do this again.

I won't lie, I could probably go to work and tough it out, but whatever I have is most likely contagious, otherwise how would I have gotten it? It would probably be wise to stay home. We'll see how I feel tomorrow.

Christmas was cool, I got:

A book titled "Jonathon Strange"
A bunch of candy
A bunch of socks (this is my favorite gift)
A shirt with a weird skull on it
Some black t-shirts
A 50 dollar Target gift card
A 30 dollar Visa gift card
A 20 dollar Papa Johns card
A Sarah Brightman cd (oook, thanks mom :p )
The title to my car, finally transferred over to me (I bought it from my mom, finished paying for it in '06)
Some sausage and cheese
Some smoked salmon from Alaska
Some Krispy Kreme Krullers

Relieved

Yesterday morning I went to work and was feeling all depressed again. Thankfully I was let off work early and I went to my sisters straight after that.

Well, it turns out I'm not depressed after all. I'm just sick. Almost immediately after arriving at my sisters, I started getting physically ill... cough, sore throat, chills, fever, sneezing, runny nose, the works. I do find it decidedly odd, though, that getting sick was prefaced by this horrible depression. That's never happened before.

Anyway, I've never been so glad to be sick in my life. Now that the physical part has kicked in full force, the mental part has pretty much gone away. I was really getting worried there for a while. Nothing is worse than that deep, dark clinical depression, the kind where you have to constantly fight minute by minute to hold back tears. Yuck. I hate it. I hope it never comes back again. EVER.

I'll see my mom today and she'll take care of poor widdle me.

Christmas Day

Thank the maker. Today I got off work early. Ryan shows up late again, of course, but it's not like it's a biggie. We're dead on Christmas. So he rolls in at about 7:45. Sup Ryan. Merry Christmas. I told him about how I went into berzerker mode yesterday.

Terry calls and wants Ryan to start the paperwork. I tell him this. He says that maybe that means Terry is going to finish it and he'll get to go home early. Yeah, maybe.

Terry gets there and wants a cigarette count and one of us can go home after it's finished. Ryan volunteered to stay. I told him that I owe him one.

My brother came to the store and took the car keys. He's at my sisters, where I'm going to go in a while. He said he'll pick me up at 2:00 but I just walked home. I get to be alone for a while.

I'm feeling it again today. This sucks. I'm going to sit here alone for a while because I rarely get this chance. I haven't been drunk or even had a drink in over a year. I think I'll catch a buzz at Chey's today. It will probably put me in a better mood.

My mom and stepdad are coming to Denton tomorrow. I have the next three days off to celebrate Christmas with them and my brother and my sister and John. They're both getting old (my mom and Ed). I think I might lie down and never get up when she dies. I don't like thinking about it.

Merry Christmas everybody. I hope it's a good one. :)

Bad Day

Today I felt like a zombie. The day started normally and then I got to work and I couldn't work up the motivation for anything. I was walking in slow motion. I couldn't look anybody in the eye. I caught myself stopping what I was doing and staring off into space. Several people asked me what was wrong. I dunno, I would say. It got worse and worse. It started feeling like depression. I don't understand that. I haven't felt depressed, like that anyway, for years. My brother says it's because of the holidays. No it's not. It's not because of anything. It is pretty damn random and pretty damn wierd. It lasted until about 12:00 and then the shit hit the fan.

The shelf with all of the chips and cookies that stands under the heat lamp where we put the breakfast sandwiches decided to take a magical mystery tour of the store. One minute I'm staring off into space, the next WHUMP. I jumped a little and turn to see chips and cookies and sunflower seeds scattered all over the floor with the shelf lying there in 3 pieces. I stared some more. People came in and giggled. I didn't giggle. I walked around the counter and looked at it. I walked back behind the counter and got 3 trash bags. I started putting stuff in the bags. Chips. Sunflower seeds. Cookies. A little kid tried to help. No thanks, I said. I started to get a little bit pissed. I started to chuck the stuff into the bag. I started to throw the stuff into the bag. I started to throw the stuff over the counter. I stood up and grabbed a piece of the shelf and HEAVED it off of the floor. This caused chips and cookies to go flying everywhere. I manhandled that fucking thing back behind the counter and SLAMMED it into the floor. I went back and grabbed another piece. One of the bags was caught on it. I HEAVED that one too and the bag went flying, sending more chips and cookies on various trajectories. Customers stopped to look. I looked at the customers. Now and then I'd have to stop to take some money from one of those fuckers. I was not nice to them and they scurried out of the store with their tails between their legs. Finally one guy who came in earlier knelt down and started throwing shit in the bag. "Here, let me give you a hand. You want these in the bag?" I was about to tell him to go fuck himself, but I just nodded my head. So we got all of the crap put into bags and I said "thanks" to the guy.

After that I started feeling a little bit closer to normal, but shit still ain't right. This is wierd and unprecedented and unaccountable. I'll sleep on it tonight and we'll see what happens tomorrow.