Tis' the time of year of stress. Why is it that professors feel the need to wait until the end of the semester to load up the assignments? And why do I also wait until the end of the semester to begin term papers? Some things i'll forever ponder.
I found, well...Shelly found, my ipod last week. I'm not even going to say how long I was without it. Much too long. Last time I had it I used her luggage to go home and it was during this time that I lost it. I figured it was stolen and, actually, was planning on buying a new one in the coming weeks. Last week Shelly called me while she was packing to go to that state and she apparently found it hidden in a pocket in her luggage. To no avail I searched high and low for it for months; even looking in the luggage. But now I have it. So much music I missed. I always liked walking around the city listening to music. As someone who overthinks everything that happens, it's nice to just listen to music between locations. I was most excited to get back Spoon, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, the White Album, and assorted Dylan bootlegs. It's also nice to hear Ginsberg's and Bukowski's voices again.
So two weekends ago I had a bit of an incident. If you're reading this you probably already know about it, but honestly i'm still so angry and shaken up from it i'm not ready to rant about it yet. But as Gregg said, "One day soon you'll find this to be the funniest story of your life." Maybe so. But not until all the consequences are finished. And after I firebomb the police station. (Joke, officers.)
On another "i'm a big fuck-up and my life's a mess right now" point...i quit my job last weekend. Because Moriarty's is in the theater district and a magnet for simple-minded, Miller Lite soaked frat parties, my boss scheduled me 6 straight nights. Keep in mind, i'm in the heart of stressfull term paper/finals month. As a result I told him I didn't think I could continue working for him. As I told him, "There is no way i'm getting C's because of a fucking Irish Pub." Now, this might seem a bit aggressive but let's look at the facts. I've never missed a shift or been late in over three months, however my bosses continuously tell me to "get my shit together," along with other such positive reinforcements. One day, at the beginning of a shift when I had one single table, which had one single patron, I was in the kitchen making him a salad. The owner, being the hothead, Irish, ex-drill sergeant that he is, walked by and said, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" "I'm, ummm...making a salad." "No you're fucking not," he continued. "Are you always this fucking slow or just today?" In response I was honest; "Just today, sir." At that the entire kitchen broke out in laughter. "Oh shit," I thought, "the Mexicans know sarcasm. Now i'm in trouble." "Well, smartass. THIS IS HOW YOU MAKE A SALAD!!!" At that moment he walked over to the salad bin, shoved his hands in, threw it on the plate (creating a fucking mess), looked me in the eye and said "That's how you make a fucking salad!" Wow. I'm been speechless ever since. Now keep in mind that the first time I was ever "in trouble" at the pub was because I made a salad that was messy. I've had my fair share of bosses. And as a result i've had my fair share of jerkoff bosses. But this guy takes the cake. So do me a favor. Next time you walk by Moriarty's on 11th & Walnut...i don't even know. That's how messed up they are. They suck so much that I don't even know how to take revenge. Give me some ideas. Just do something. Just don't go in unless you're going to puke on patrons. Help me out.