One Of Those Days (yesterday)

I knew it would be one of Those days. My alarm went off thirty minutes before I had to leave for work. I reset the alarm for fifteen more minutes like I do every day I have to open cafe. Usually I lie there, mind running in circles thinking about everything I have to do, bills that are overdue cause I don't have the money. I might as well get up, I don't get that extra fifteen minutes of sleep.
But this morning I did. I was out the second I reset the alarm on my phone. And in those fifteen minutes I had an hour's worth of dream. Don't remember the dream, but I was in a deep sleep. Then, groggy, I got out of bed, dressed quickly, took the puppies out, started the car. Yesterday I called in, had Sarah work because she lives a few minutes away from work and there was way too much snow I wasn't about to risk my life driving the thirty-five minute drive to work. Today the streets had melted.

Anyway, even though this morning it was only about 67 degrees in the house, I was hot. I felt like my shirt was choking me, the animals were under my feet, tripping me as I went about the house. Things kept falling off the bathroom counter. Grrr...

I got to work to find out that mocha needed to be made. We only have twenty minutes to open cafe now instead of fourty-five minutes. We used to come in an hour before the store opens to set everything up, but now only a half hour, and about ten to fifteen minute morning meeting...there's just no time to do everything. So, of course, having to make mocha, and all the employees stopping by for coffee and scones is, indeed, a nuisance! Grrr...again.

By 10:45 a.m. I had already dumped a pan of just-out-of-the-oven cookies on the floor, ran low on almost all baked items, tripped over my own feet and almost fell, got stuck in the swinging doors because I had the step-ladder there between the doors as I stood on it to reach above the ice machine to get more to-go bags, had to have a manager exchange something, (the lady said, "Two of the cookies with the sprinkles." So, I gave her two cookies with sprinkles. Turns out, she meant the fudgy brownie bites. Brownies are not cookies. She should have said brownie. Pay attention people to what you're ordering! Grr.) I couldn't find the porcelain espresso mug, I really had to piddle (pee), but my break was at noon, and my shirt was still choking me. Things kept jumping off the counter in the kitchen, I got mocha everywhere, and some genius last night put the retail chips where the sandwich chips go and the sandwich chips where the retail chips go, mixing them all together, so I had to sort through that. This all before eleven a.m. Open almost two hours...Wow, not much hope for the rest of the day. Nine hour shift.

Naturally, nobody bothered to chop up the growing mountain of ice in the ice machine. The ice sometimes becomes a huge, solid block. All it takes is a few seconds of banging on the solid ice for it to come apart. But no one does this except Megan and I. After a few days, there's a mountain of ice, the machine has turned itself off, and there is no loose ice. So I remove the ice shield that keeps the ice from pouring out and landing on the floor, and I start beating the ice mountain with the ice scoop. Fairly easy, but tiring job. Soon, most of the ice was apart, and we're really low on ice. I hit the chunk a few more times to break a few more cubes apart, and my knuckles scrape the ice. Of course I would do this today. Just as my knuckle started to bleed, I hear a customer at the swinging doors. "Excuse me!" What a morning. I really wanted to holler at the person to go away, but the old man turned out to be quite pleasant, and we talked a little while before he left. Real nice guy, though not a real nice day.

And, wouldn't you know it, I ended up spilling 2% milk on myselft and the floor at some point in my day. I had the new gallon of milk tilted a little, trying to pry the stubborn seal to let go of the cap. The cap didn't want to part, so both pop off and milk goes everywhere. Speaking of spilling things, later a regular, Pat- I love her- came to get her usual drinks. Venti, ten-pump vanilla latte with whip for her friend David, and a tall, cinnamon dolce frappaccino for her with whip and red sprinkles. I put the whip on the latte, close the lid and whip shoots out the top. Oh well. Happens occasionally. But I pick it up to hand it to her, and the lid comes off, spilling latte all over my hand and the counter. Burned my fingers a bit because I warmed up Turtle Tom's soup and forgot the bowls get very hot when put in the microwave. More uncoordinated today than usual. More than ready to get out of there, as well.

But I ended up staying an hour later, sitting there reading Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, same author as Wicked.