Thinking that it was morning, I stumbled into the kitchen and drank some water. Then I noticed it was 3:08 am. And I was wide awake. So, thinking I'd eventually wander back to dreamland, I got on the computer and fucked around with my iPod, adding some more MF Doom, Ghostface Killa, Seether, Yo La Tengo and Frank Sinatra. It's way too early. I'll go back to sleep eventually, I thought. Now it's minutes away from being five am. And I have to be at work by seven so that I can rush back home after work and be there for Isabela's appointment with the pediatric neurologist.
I'm not going back to sleep.
And that sucks ass.
Yesterday was a hellish day. Our store has reverted back to the "no hours available"store we usually are when there's no big holiday backing us up. That means that essentially I'm the only person in my children's department all day because the evening kids person is usually forced to cover everyone's breaks and lunches, something that both the district manager and regional manager have said to me cannot happen, that there must be a person in kids at all times, which is the reason why I never cashier, but apparently the management of my store doesn't give a shit about rules and has MY people run around doing other people's jobs which in turn forces me to carry the workload of something like five other employees.
I'm bitter. Can you tell? This is what happens when I go off meds, apparently. I become angry and cranky and depressed and suicidal. Hooray!
What's even worse is that although we don't have the hours, we are still x-mas sized busy. It's nonstop phones, nonstop families, nonstop angry customers yelling at you, nonstop troublemaking teens and crazy bums and a mess of people. But our hours are cut back because the powers that be think we're dead. How messed up is that?
Yesterday there was a family of seven little mexican kids running around throwing books around. At the same time there were three white kids playing hide and seek in the store, which to me is just the biggest sign of ignorance right next to playing your gameboy in a bookstore and taking up a table with fifteen hair magazines. Then there were three black kids, one of which was being a little bit loud and another who was shooshing the other one and in turn being fifteen times louder and more annoying than the kid who was being loud in the first place. Then I had a customer at that same time get pissed off at me that we were out of the audio cd of the last Harry Potter book, a title that I vehemently denied wanting in my section because they're a whopping $75 I said it would get stolen. And last year 15 of them "went missing." Since then I try not to carry them and as a result SUDDENLY people want the audio cd of the book now that we don't have it. This guy was getting angry with me, pointing his little finger at me like there's something wrong with ME because we didn't have what he wanted. Then there was a table of four white teenage upper class asshole teens reading Heavy Metal magazine and cussing. IN THE KIDS SECTION! Then, right over the wall at the exact same time, a customer was yelling, straight YELLING, at our store manager over some reason about his order getting fucked up, something, I don't know. All I know is that everyone in the whole store could hear this guy straight YELLING at Julia.
And all this is happening at the exact same time. All the shit I just listed. Same time.
Or started screaming. Or cried. Or called security. Or just fucking snapped, crazy ass nutzo.
I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't just walked into the bathroom and sat on the toilet for like five minutes. I had never been that close to losing it before and it frightened me.
I know I should get back on these pills but they were making me high and depressed. But now I'm depressed and pissed off, so what the fuck should I do now?
I've also been having racial issues at work, too. They might be racial issues or maybe they're sexist issues. I don't know what issues they are but they exist and they happen alll the time and apparently I'm the only one that notices them. But they do happen and they're starting to get on my nerves.
All I know is I'll be at work dressed nice and in a nice sweater from the Gap and I'll have my glasses on and I'll have a pen and a clipboard and I'll be in front of my computer and I'll have a smile on my face waiting to help people. And a white upper class family in expensive winter coats and leather gloves will walk in and look right PAST me, right THROUGH me, and they'll be wandering the kids section saying "oh, where is that darn book" and they'll be looking AROUND me. It's like the grim reaper in the Terry Pratchett discworld books. Poeple see Death and their brains know he doesn't exist so people will look around him as if he's not really there. That's me in kids. They'll track down Nick or Julia or Madi and ask them a question about kids despite the fack that I'm RIGHT HERE waiting to answer. This happens all day all the time, numerous times a day, too many to count. They won't even look at me. They will look away from me. They'll struggle to NOT look at me. They won't even acknowledge me. Do you know how much that hurts?
Then I'm supposed to go up to these fucking people and ask them what they want (!?!?!?) but why should I when they're not respecting me enough to acknowledge my very existence? They don't even know I'm alive. They won't even look me in the eyes, so now I'm supposed to crawl over to them and ask them if they want help? But I always do. And when I DO finally ask them if they need help, they'll usually look at me and squint their eyes and say "OH! Do you work here?" Is it too hard for white people to comprehend that a young mexican male is the manager in charge of the fucking children's section?
This happens all the time, every day, numerous times. And it bothers me. A lot.
And to make matters worse, at the end of my shift when I called Natasha to tell her that I was coming home I asked her if she went and ran the errand she had to do, the errand that she said she had to do in the good van which meant that I had to take the shitty car with the doughnut and the stalling for no apparent reason. She said she didn't. And I got pissed off at her. I don't get pissed off at her. Even when she's angry and yelling and bitchy and sleeping all day and not cleaning, I never get angry at her. I got angry at her, though. And that hurt me.
So when I got home I worked out. Hard. For over an hour.
I did thirty sit ups, the I did weightlifting with two bowling ball bags that were Natasha's grandmother's, then I did fifteen push ups, then I did more weights, then I did push ups with Emerald laying on my back,then I did twenty five sit ups, then I did the ab roller, then I ran in place with Emerald who was exercising with me, then I didn more weights, then I did twenty one sit ups, then I did more push ups and more ab roller and more weights.
I couldn't stop working out, I was filled with so much rage and anger and all this shit that had just built up inside me. I felt like my dad, working out, and then I felt down because they don't really talk to me now that my brother's living with them again. But I worked out. I couldn't stop. I worked out so hard that when I was done I was high. It was an exhausted euphoric mellow high. That's how hard I worked out.
Yesterday frightened me. They day before THAT frightened me, too. And now, here it is, the next day, and it's amost six am. And I've been awake since three in the goddamn morning.
I'm done bitching to y'all.
But here's a little something that's been on my mind recently ...
Back when Jesse was in charge of receiving he would ask to listen to my iPod. That made me feel really good. I'd load up my iPod with songs I liked and sound bites and really strange stuff. And every time I'd come back to receiving he'd have questions about my music and we'd talk. It was really cool and I really liked it.
Now Marisa's in charge of receiving and everybody at work has a goddamned iPod. Playing your iPod in the back now means you have to fight Milton's iPod and Joe's iPod and Burns's whack ass iPod and Scott's ostentatious iPod and Marisa's super Bjork special iPod.
Sometimes I'll ask Marisa if she wants to listen to my iPod. And although she always says yes, there's absolutely no way to ask that questionand not sound completely fucking pathetic.
"Uhhh ... um, Misses Mawisah, ma'am? Would you ... um ... like to wisten to my eye-powd?"
That's it. There's no real moral to that story. I guess I just miss when Jesse used to ask me to listen to my iPod is all. Those were good times.
I have to stop typing. It's 6:10 am and I have to go to work now. Wish me luck. Death to Sema's. Wind clan up in here.