Re-Employed

Well I got the job, I'll be register-monkeying for an Evil Corporate Giant. Had orientation yesterday which was just the typical orientation for one of those companies, without even anything amusing to break the monotony.

Monday I start taking tests and doing training. Excitement. I get paid for it, though, so I'm not complaining.

This weekend DM and I will be dragging some noobs across to shoot prairie dogs and eat Farmmom's cooking, and I'll be tossing them out of the truck in the pasture with a bag of cake for my own amusement.

Yes, I'm aware that I'm a bad person. Now, I need to start thinking about dinner.

Make Your Own Ego-Space

I just did something that I hate doing. I deleted a comment. With all of the bloggers who delete comments because they disagree, or make them look bad, I turned on verification to get rid of the auto spammers and went on with it.

However, on my last post, an anonymous commenter posted a series of urls claiming to know the truth about 9/11.

Here's the thing. They got past the verification which means chances are it's a real person. Which means someone decided to hijack what small popularity I have in order to spread their personal message.

They also decided that my blog, which I try very hard to keep fairly apolitical, would be the proper venue for this.

Look. You have an agenda and that's great. You have a firm belief in that agenda, so good for you. But this is my little ego-stroking corner of the internet, not yours.

Yes, I deleted your comment. I didn't even look at any of the links, and I frankly don't care if you have pictures of George Bush getting reamed from behind by Osama Bin Ladin, or if you're a crackpot. This is my blog and I don't appreciate others using it to further an agenda without permission.

So get the hell off my lawn, and get your own space, goddamnit.

Rumors of My Death

Are greatly exaggerated. Mostly I've been doing the job hunt thing and spending time with DM.

On the job front, looks like I've got it nailed down, barring any goofy surprises with the background check. Went in for an official Job Offer meeting thingy today, did the pee-in-cup thing, and thanks to modern technology the results were in in ten minutes. Evil corporate giant offered me a thirty cent starting wage boost because of my experience in customer relations, and 8.50 an hour is nothing to sneeze at in this area.

So yeah hopefully some time next week I'll go do the orientation thing and get to work. I'm ready, and it's time.

Otherwise I've just been helping DM out as much as I can and trying not to lose my damn mind over having no steady income, which may or may not have been going as well as I think it has. You'd have to ask DM about that one.

I'm puttering along on the next chapter of Jane, my concentration isn't exactly helped by the herd of children in the apartment above DM's that seem to think that the more noise they make the better. I swear today somebody judo-flipped the couch up there.

Now, it's time to put something together for dinner. The rain today means it's not insanely hot, so I can actually cook. Mmmm food.

Happy Independence Day folks!

I hope you have a fantastic weekend with the BB Q's , fireworks and spontaneous football games.

As you eat your burgers and hot dogs remember what it took to get here. Remember that people fought and died to give us the freedoms we enjoy and that we have a responsibility to uphold the ideals of those brave individuals.

Take the time this weekend to let your family and friends know that they are loved and appreciated.

Farmmom

At Long, Long Last, Chapter Ten

For those of you who have waited patiently (or impatiently, as the case may be) for so long for the next chapter of Jane, I have good news.

That news is that I seem to have come up with quite a bit of time on my hands for the moment, so ya'll get another chapter. Same rules apply, one dollar donation gets you the next chapter, add em all up if you're behind, and the first four are free on the sidebar to the right.

I'll try to get a few chapters ahead and maybe finish this one while I have the downtime, but I'm not making any promises. It's entirely possible and looked rather promising at interview for one job, so I may not get it all the way done before my time is curtailed.

Anyway, Chapter Ten is available! Woohoo!

Ah, So.

As most of you have probably figured out, I have come to dread going in to my job. Sometimes because of the customers, but mostly because of the boss.

See, my boss is a brand new manager. He claims he ran a dry cleaning business for umpteen years and managed his people just fine, which may be true. He also may have employed only horsewhipped lick-spittle submissive puppies, because that seems to be what he wants.

Last night I walked into work to find the fourth... yes, I said fourth... instance of his addressing a putative issue in a public note for all employees to read instead of with me. Never saying anything actually about anyone, or using names, this coward avoids confrontation and (he thinks) maintains plausible deniability by fuming and bitching to other employees until he just can't take it any more, at which point he posts a snarky little note in an attempt to cow the "problem" employee into proper submissive behavior.

The first of these notes was shortly after I had posted my required time off for Farmmom's knee surgery and the subsequent follow up visits. It was something along the lines of the first time off request in a month, you get, the second if possible, and the third was a coin flip.

I promptly went to him and told him that mom had doctors appointments every time I had requested time off, and if he couldn't manage to give me those days off, I'd find other employment that actually, you know, had a heart.

He assured me that it was to "head off at the pass" everyone asking for every weekend off, etc. Nevermind that nothing of the sort had happened.

Last night it was concerning breaks. Now, looking at Colorado labor laws which have changed since the last time I looked at them, he's within his rights to limit smoke breaks to five minutes every two hours, considering the break requirement is ten minutes every four. However.

The addendum, in red ink when the rest of the note was in black, of "not a reading session" just corked me right off. Number one, he can't tell me what to do on my break. He can limit the time and frequency within law, surely. He can, legally, require me to stay on the business property during said break, unless it's a lunch break. He cannot tell me I can't read a book.

My dilemma now is whether to finish writing this official resignation letter to be forwarded to his direct boss and corporate headquarters detailing ALL of the straws that broke this particular camel's back, and slap him in the face with it, which is guaranteed to cause a scene, or simply go in, verbally give my two week's notice, citing the note posting and other reasons, in private, minimizing hullabaloo and sending my letter to corporate detailing what I feel to be his failures as a manager quietly.

Given these failures include causing my broken rib, refusing to answer my attempts to contact him after said broken rib, and taking an hour and a half to get into the store when a *customer* finally got a response out of him so that I could go to the ER, I'm not letting them lay. I've discussed that incident with his immediate boss, but corporate should know about it I think. Especially given that I didn't report the rib to workman's comp, when I could have, in an effort to be a good employee and save the company money etc.

I'm probably going to go the second route, because as much as I'd like to detail his ancestry, personal grooming habits, fondness for touching female employees in a familiar manner (not quite jumping the border into inappropriate) and complete lack of managerial skill, I do not want to be the chick that caused that scene at the stop-n-rob.

Besides, most of my night time regulars already know what's been going down. A lot of them because they asked me why I had a maniacal grin on my face last night, having made the decision to tender my resignation about five seconds after seeing that note.

Off to get dressed (for riding, because I have shit to do today before work, if he doesn't tell me not to bother coming in tonight) and go speak to the soon-to-be-former boss. Since I've been firmly controlling my urges to tell him to go piss up a rope in an effort to go along to get along because of various circumstances outside his control, he hasn't dealt with that facet of my personality yet.

This... should be interesting.

Welfare Mentality

The first ten days of the month are hell. That's when everybody gets their foodstamp money. See, Colorado came up with this idea that rather than have everybody get their money at once, they'd spread it out over the first week of the month. Whatever the last digit of your social security number is, that's the day you get your deposit. And I detest this portion of the month working where I do.

Don't get me wrong here, I'm glad there are programs out there for the people who are honestly struggling to support their families. I'm glad that the single mother who was widowed after the birth of her third child has a way to get assistance.

However. I am sick to death of seeing people come in my store and buy thirty dollars worth of junk food on food stamps. Their children are badly behaved, unkempt, and frankly they smell.

And, if you're doing your grocery shopping at a convenience store, you're doing it wrong. Sure, we carry staples like flour, sugar, bread, etc. But if you're feeding your children entirely out of a c-store, paying our prices for lunchables and junk, you are flat ass doing it wrong.

Oh, and when I see you buy thirty dollars worth of soda and candy on the gubmint card, then whip out a hundred dollar bill to buy name brand cigarettes? You automatically lose any respect I may have had for you.

Stop feeding your children junk. Stop sending your children into my store with the card. Stop abusing the system because you don't feel like paying for your own shit.

You! Yes, you, with five hundred dollars in food stamps and a brand new SUV. Get the fuck off my lawn and out of my paycheck, I'm sick of supporting your chocolate and soda habit you overweight entitlement whore.



I'm sorry, did that come across a little bitter?