Just got home from work. Exhausted. Wasn't too bad tonight. Busy though. I had a grande iced Cinnamon Dolce Latte, but the two shots of espresso had no affect on me except to make me sleepy. I think, having coffee and espresso at my fingertips almost everyday has sort of made me immune to the stuff. I drank it and was ready to lay on the counter next to the register and have a nap.
I miss working at the daycare in Washington state. I worked in the two-year-old room, which we called the Teddy Tots. I actually had a dream a few nights ago that I worked there part time and still kept my job at Barnes and Noble, impossible with the many, many states between the two places, but it was a good dream. That really was a wonderful job, stressful, but now that I'm gone, I am wondering why I ever complained. Come on, I got paid to play dress up and sculpt with playdough. Sure there were messy diapers, and spoiled brats, but I loved it all. Grouptime or outside time were the best. After naptime, of course. I loved reading books to them. One of my favorites was
Silly Spider. All the kids would read it with me, we had it memorized. It had a little cardboard spider that went through the book, through little slits and flaps in each page. We'd all bellow, as loud as we could, "Yuck, silly spider! Get off the toothbrush!" They loved it. And, occasionally, Silly Spider had a tendancy to hide. The Teddy Tots really enjoyed helping me find him. He liked to hide in abandoned shoes, children's pockets, and sometimes in their hair. I can't remember the author, but it is a great, interactive book.
The days we couldn't go outside because of the weather- too hot, too cold, too rainy- were the worst! Thirty two-year-olds in one room with two to three teachers- which is way over ratio at seven kids to a teacher. They had all this energy and no where for it to go. We had an indoor playground but we had to share that with the whole daycare, while the playground was for Teddies and Cozies only. Also, the indoor playground was only a room with a padded floor and a four foot slide to climb on. Not very entertaining. We did have a large parachute to play with, which was really a lifesaver sometimes. For about ten minutes at a time. By then, the Teddies were yanking on the cloth so we couldn't lift it up and down, up and down until their hair was standing straight up from static electricity, and our arms were sore from this anyway. The toddlers also had a tendency to start trampling and biting one another under this enormous, colorful parachute. It took about three teachers to play parachute anyway, to keep the material balanced, and three in the playroom was pushing it.
But naptime- sigh, sigh. Sometimes, and it was really easy to do, we'd fall asleep right there with the children. Those stubborn ones, the ones parents probably gave coffee at breakfast-we had a few parents like this, come on people!-the ones who fight sleep, we would lie next to them, pat their backs, our shoes kicked off, and we'd be out before them. The older you get, the faster the energy goes. It doesn't help that Kenny Loggins or Enya is singing softly on the CD player, and the lights are out.
One of my favorite aspects of the daycare- jeans and t-shirts. Hoodies and sneakers. Kick off your shoes, roll up your sleeves and build a mountain out of legos or fingerpaint a masterpiece. None of the formality and dumb dress codes like when dealing with adults. Kids are simple, they don't care what you are wearing. You don't have to look nice, heck, don't even brush your hair. No stupid, uncomfortable suit or uniform. Just jeans. But somehow, somewhere along the way to adulthood, we lose that simplicity. Why people think image is everything is beyond my comprehending. Can't we go to work in what we think is comfortable? Who cares how we look, comfy clothing is likely to put a person in a better mood while working. It does for me, anyway. Hell, wear your pjs to the courtroom. Why should it really matter? So sad. To be a kid again...
Not too bad being a barista, though. So long as it's black or white, we can wear it. Black hoodies, sneakers, denim. I own an awful lot of black now, since starting in the cafe more than a year ago. I really like my job...
But sometimes. Anyone who deals with customers knows what it's like to want to jump onto the counter and wrap their hands around someone's throat and squeeze until the breath leaves their body...I don't get too many of those, but occasionally...Mostly it's the mildly annoying people who don't know what to order, make you go through every recepie for every drink, though they are practically all the same with a few alterations, then settle on a tall, black coffee. Grrr. Or they argue with you for ten minutes about something. "They make me decaf frappuccinos all the time at Starbucks..." Well, if they have decaf frap mix, good for them. We are not a Starbucks and have never been. This is what we serve, and since I have been serving it for more than a year and can make these drinks in my sleep, I know what I am talking about. We don't have decaf frap mix. Get something with Cream Base, for crying out loud! It is just a drink. Then the ones who get mad at you because you don't accept Starbucks cards because your not a Starbucks. Try that card at Wal-mart, you'll get the same reply. People are messy. Inconsiderate. They gather every book in the store, sit for hours dropping crumbs and napkins and straws onto the floor and read. Then they get up and leave. Yes, because I have plenty of time to gather, sweep, and clean up after you. I am not your mother. Put your books in neat stacks on the trash cans for booksellers to put away, and, at the very least, throw your trash away in one of three trash bins on your way out of cafe. You know, the little boxes that spell TRASH on the front. Drop something, pick it up. Use a sugar packet, throw it away. Spill something, let me know. Seriously. People can be frustrating.
Once, while I worked my second job at the Dollar General, I had to have the assistant manager watch my reg. for a few minutes so I could run outside to help a former employee with something. I got back in and started talking to her. As I was telling her what the ex-employee wanted, she stepped away from the register and I took her place and reached for the first item of the customer in line to ring it up. "Can you check my stuff out before you visit," the customer said, very rudely. Oh, Prissy are we? I glare, toss her stuff in a bag, my day had not been going well to start with and she was the last straw for me. Seven days a week I was working, and you wouldn't believe how rude people who shop at the Dollar store can be. Like they are better than you. I may have worked there, but they were shopping there. So, don't even. Anyway, I hand her her change, still glaring, and a dime misses her hand and rolls onto the floor at her feet.
"Pick that up." she orders.
Exscuse me? "No. You pick it up," I tell her. Once, only about three years ago, I would have been too terrified to say something like this to a customer, but years and years of being stepped on by the world, I finally grew my backbone. Shaking the whole time, but it was there.
"I'm not leaving until you pick up my dime."
She was in such a hurry at first that she was rude, now she wanted to wait around for me to pick up her 10 cents? Seriously.
"I'm not picking that up. Your right there, it's not difficult." I start to ring up the customer behind her, who is staring at Priss like she's from another planet. My thoughts exactly.
"Where is your manager? I want to talk to your manager."
"Go ahead."
"Get her for me."
Right. I'll just do that. "You go find her. I'm busy."
"I want to speak to a manager." She's practically stomping her feet at this point. Here's one of the ones I can strangle and smile while I'm at it.
"Sandy!" I call out to the store, more then ready for the Asst. Manager to get rid of the b****. Sandy comes over, coos a few words to the woman, and she storms out of the store.
"Don't worry about it, dear. She was a f****** b****." To hear this older woman curse is funny beyond reasoning. She always says curse words, then turns around and very softly and sweetly, "I'm sorry, dear."
Anyway, I have plenty of crazy people stories from my summer at The DG. The rest are funny, though or sick or just plain weird. Like naked, drunk lady. Or the begger who tried opening car doors and we had to call the police. Never a dull moment in this town.
Anywho, long day today. Tomorrow I'm stopping in at work to do inventory because the cafe manager, Megan, is using my numbers this week for truck order, and I am still very slow at this task. I haven't quite got a handle on this, so I'm stopping in on my day off for an hour or two to get some of it done. Then Monday, airport to pick up dad from his Christmas in Washington with the family. I actually kind of miss him.
