Is that what my web page has turned into? A nightly bitching session where I rant and moan about any and every aspect of my life's descention into suckville. Things will get better soon. Things have to get better, don't they? Maybe it's not all that bad, overall. Maybe I'm in a lousy mood right now. Maybe I'll wake up in a better frame of mind tomorrow.

One thing I do know with a high degree of certainty: I hate my job.

If this is what the rest of my life is to be consigned to -- demanding, whiny customers, endlessly repetitive tasks day after day, management obsessed with "cost-cutting" (read: screwing employees), a union that cheats its members, and burnt out coworkers -- somebody please do me a favor: put a bullet in me now.

God, today sucked. Uggh. Where should I even begin?

It started out nice enough. When I arrived at the store earlier in the afternoon, I was in a pleasant, relatively carefree mood. Not what I would call ecstacic, but... you know, happy to be alive and active.

Things were really slow in the store for about the first hour. I mean really slow. Hardly any customers at all, which is highly unusual for a Monday. Typically it's the busiest day of the week.

Sure enough, right around 5pm, things started picking up, as always. And then it got REALLY fucking busy. For a long time. Hours. The 1:30-10 guy ended up taking his lunch 45 minutes late. My lunch (normally at 7:30 or so) didn't happen until 8 because of the non-stop rush. Meanwhile, I was falling behind on my cleaning tasks, as was he. Too bad. Fsck it.

I splurged and went to McDonald's drivethru for lunch, where I spent $6 for a SuperSize McNugget Meal. (I remember a time not that long ago when a $6 lunch would have been considered cheaper than usual. These days, I normally either Taco Bell it sans drink for ~$3, or buy something in the store, also around $3.)

Rewind to before lunch. Aside from the insane customer rush, two slightly out of the ordinary things occurred.

Grungy, hippie-looking guy comes in and orders two sandwiches. Hands me a loaf a bread taken from the bakery and asks if he can get them on "really fresh bread, that's not hard and stale like the stuff I've been eating at home for the last week."

Ok, sure. We do that.

Asks for lots of turkey and roast beef on the sandwiches, and looks on most appreciatively as I pile it on. He looks like he's really hungry, and thanks me profusely as I wrap, price, and hand the sandwiches to him.

Before leaving, he askes if we have any of those "jalepeno things".

This description is insufficient to give any conclusive answer.

"Howlers. That's what they're called. Do you have any of those?"

Ah. Now I know what he's talking about. Cream cheese stuffed jalepenos that have been deep fried; sometimes we serve them at the hot bar. But no, we don't have any today.

He asks if maybe something else instead, so I ask if he wants wantons, which we do happen to have.

"Yeah sure, that'll work. I'm getting them for somebody else, and he's not gonna know the difference anyway. He's really stoned, you know? So let me have some of those."

A brief look at this patron might suggest that his absent friend is not the only one among them who is stoned. At least he's able to conduct a lucid conversation, and unlike some of the other customers, is genuinely friendly, despite having waited a long time to be served. I dish him up a bag of wantons, ask if he wants anything else, and move on to the next customer.

A few moments later...

While I'm taking another customer's order, a coworkers calls out, asking each of us if we waited on "that guy in the grey sweatshirt," pointing to the stoned-looking dude.

I reply that yes, I did.

"Did he pay here?" (People have the option of paying for their order in the deli, or taking it up front if they so prefer.)

"No, he didn't. I didn't ring him up."

"Are you absolutely sure? Positive?" One of the assistant store managers is now on the other side of the counter, awaiting confirmation.

I double check my short term memory. "Positive. I made him a sandwich, and got him food from the hotbar, but he didn't pay here."

With that, they move.

A few seconds later, I see the kid being escorted to the back office by two managers. Damn. He tried to take the food without paying. Score one for the attentive people at the front of the store.

Over the loudspeaker, they call for the head of security. (By name, not by title, of course.) Busted. Totally. I wonder: Will they go to the trouble to prosecute over <$10 worth of food, or let it go, maybe banning him from the store? I don't know. Not my decision, and I'm glad for that.

A few minutes later, another of the managers brings out the sandwiches and bag of wantons, and rings them up in the cash register, presumably performing some necessary voodoo required when this sort of incident occurs.

I know stealing sucks, it hurts the store, and fuck him for trying. Still, as I see those sandwiches being scanned over the register, a part of me can't help but wish that the poor stupid idiot could eat them. At least he was kind, patient, and friendly.

Life's a bitch, isn't it?

The other thing that happened before my lunch, that I normally don't make a point of doing: While slicing up the last of the rotisserie turkey, as it neared the end of the meat, I pushed hard on the handle to get as much of it through the slicer as possible. The customer had wanted over a pound, but I had replied that this was all we had left, and it wasn't going to be nearly that much. Still, I would give them all there was.

Somehow, as I pushed, my thumb slipped from the handle, and managed to make brief light contact with the spinning blade. That, and less, is all it takes to draw a nice spouting wound.

"Aw fuck." Aloud. There were a bunch of customers behind the counter within earshot, but somehow, the sight of one's own skin being sliced open and red liquid spouting out overrides all verbal etiquette routines that normally run in the background.

The blade produced such a thin, clean cut, that I didn't even register pain at first. Maybe the area of skin affected was so small that it cut between nerve endings, eliminating any pain that might normally be felt. In any case, I was bleeding.

I ran back to the first aid kit next to the sink, and asked someone else to take over. Another coworker helped me bandage it up. A surface wound. Nothing serious. Thank goodness.

Throughout the rest of the evening, I went around with a bandage on my thumb. Number of bandage changes since incision: 3. Direct pressure on the thumb results in pain. Makes my job awkward, but still doable.

(I know someone who, at one time, actually sliced the tip of a pinky off and had to be rushed to the emergency room. She still works there, with no long-term visibal damage. But youch!)

(On occassion, I've knicked a finger while cleaning those things, as has just about everybody. Though the danger isn't nearly as great when they're not running, you can still sustain a nasty wound from mere contact with the nearly-razor-sharp still blade.)

Moral of all these stories: Respect the slicer. It can be a dangerous tool if not used with great care, especially when one is trying to hurry.

Now I rest.

Gah. Thanks to the endless stream of customers, plus my not-so-optimal thumb, by 10pm (22:00) I was running quite behind on my tasks. Coworker who was supposed to leave at 10 stuck around until almost 11. He had been running behind on his tasks too, but he helped me finished several of mine, for which I thanked him. (Because I know there's a likely chance management will thank his extra efforts with yet another "You shouldn't be doing overtime" speech.)

As it was, I managed to get out a half hour late at 12:30. Had it not been for the help, I would have been even later. Crazy. Stupid annoying customers coming in at 12 wanting to sample this and that, and babbling about crap. (Tips for those contemplating the graveyard shift: While the number of customers is far fewer, the ones that do appear are also far loonier than usual. Beware.)

They really don't pay me enough to put up with all this shit. They don't pay any of us enough. But what's the alternative?

I scanned the Denver Post want ads last night. The section under "Computer" employment was especially uninspiring. Could it be time to kiss goodbye the idea of ever coding for a living again?

From the don't know if I should mention this but what the hell does it matter now department...

Last week, I tried to get back in touch with an individual -- a former coworker -- occassionally known as A. We had last exchanged emails in October.

(Background: Though at one point in August, I had pretty much gone ape-shit (attentive long-time readers might be able to figure out what I'm referring to), we somehow managed to patch things up afterwards and work as allies again.)

Well, sort of. After it all went to hell, there really wasn't a whole lot more to talk about, other than exchanging tales and lamenting on the sucky state of the job market. Well, that and commiserating on how stupid our former company was for flushing us both down the proverbial toilet.

That conversation can only go so far. So, in October, communications basicly tapered off.

Last week, I sent another email. A brief update. Haven't received a response. Either (a) She didn't feel like talking, or (b) is offline. Without going into unnecessary detail, my rudimentary examinations of the state of certain network hosts suggests that (b) is likely.

If so... That sucks. A geek without bandwidth seems akin to fish without water. It doesn't bode well.

Were it not for my parents, I would very likely not only be without bandwidth, but quite possibly without a place to sleep. (Well... maybe. Though there are some friends, and friends of friends, who had offered me a place to stay at cheap or no rent, so perhaps my parents are not my last and only lifeline.)

I just wonder if things are ever going to get better. Tales of woe and failure to the left, right, and elsewhere. Doesn't seem to leave much room for optimism. Ivanova would be right at home, I guess.

Now I'm just babbling. Nothing more to say today.

Music Recommendation: Harvest of Shame. Maybe just a NIN wannabe, but I still dig it.