I saw it coming, and tried to stop, and did to some extent. At work, I mean. I finished my online training crap, my eyes crossing from time to time, but I did it. Then, out to the floor to observe and assist. I ended up working my ass off. The things that I saw that had to done were evidently invisible to my co-workers.
One little darling in particular, who speaks in a whisper, and when not busy, reads magazines, was lucky I didn't pick her up and throw her across the store. But, then, I probably would have had to clean up the mess, so why bother?
However, I kept telling myself, slow down, your moving to fast. You got to make the evening last. I really tried. I think it comes down to my own way of working. I go in, have a good idea of what I need to accomplish, set my priorities, and do it. Plus, I look for things to do. I cannot stand to just sit around and do nothing. It drives me bug-shit. So, there really is no one to blame but me.
I found a box of copper scrub pads with one missing. You know the one's. They're called chore boys or some such shit. I took it up to a co-worker, said, "Look, we got a crack-head here!" I'm not sure exactly what they do with them, but I know that most pharmacies keep this item behind the counter, along with certain cold medicines, which are used to make crystal meth. I mentioned this, and got a couple of blank stares, like, what the fuck is she talking about?
In spite of all of this, I have to keep in mind that I am not the boss, I do not know everything, and I am just your average worker bee. So, I didn't say 99% of the shit I wanted to say. Give me a pat on the back.
Back in the day, my youngest son got a job working part-time with me in a little Mom and Pop operation. In this case, the Pop, was a coke addict. How did I know? When someone comes in, tired as hell, grouchy, and mean-spirited, goes to the bathroom, stays in there for about 15 minutes, then comes out and starts working like theres no tomorrow, smiling and laughing, just can't keep still, so much to do, well, it isn't because his constipation problems are over.
Anyway, my son and I had a blast. One old man came in one night, looking scruffy, unshaven, and, after diggin in his pockets, put some change on the counter, and asked what he could get to eat with that. My son and I looked at each other, hearts melting, and loaded that man up with as much stuff as he could carry. Could have been a con, but we didn't think so. All at the expense of Pop. It made us feel so good to help this guy. That's a good memory.
Now, getting back to the job, I can already see where I might run into trouble. So, I will learn to pace myself, even be a slacker sometimes. I can do it. I know I can. When I get the urge to work like a banshee, I will just remember my copy of Clerks II, and smile.
"At least I have a positive attitude about my destructive habits"