At the end of working nine hours a day, six days in a row, this is my first day off and I can't even get my legs to comprehend the conept of going downstairs to do laundry.
I think whoever is responsible for making my schedule is out to get me. Three of those six days, I worked 3pm to 12am. The next three, I worked 8am to 5pm. Um, hello, can you say, gimme a little consistency so when I go home at night, I can actually remember what a toilet's for?
Work has been hectic enough without always having to worry about how the hell i'm going to manage waking up the next morning. They're remodeling the building, so of course, a million and one customers have a million and one complaints despite how much the employees are trying to make it easier for them. For God's sake, they printed out sheets of paper that listed where everything's located so you don't have to wander aimlessly for two hours before just giving up, give them a break, they're doing their best!
But no...no not the people in this town, so used to the way everything is, convinced that's the way it should be, the way it should stay, that as soon as one small change comes along it's the apocalypse.
And I will admit, that I am just being hard on the customers, because I'm tired of slapping on a smile while they spit their rude and one sided insults in my face without even opening the doors of their tiny brains to the positives of what's happening in the store. In three weeks, I've only heard of one customer actually commenting the changes and admitting to liking them, and actually thinking the remodeling is going to be worth it. One, out of how many that come through in the course of a day, and I wasn't even the one to see him.
Damn my luck.
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