Friday, Dec. 20, 2002 / 9:18 p.m.

~Work, Sore Shoulder, Affecting Change, Meat, Etc.~

I'm guessing I'll wake up tomorrow morning, early, and be very confused about what day it is. I'm guessing I'll think I have to get up. I'm guessing I might even have some dream about running late, having to call in, or something similar.

All day long I couldn't get the hang of it being Friday. The Manager (M) approached me about my check, said she needed to go fetch it for me, and I said, "Oh, that's right, it's Pay Day". Forgot. It feels like I have to keep going, keep getting up, shopping after work, coming home, watching "Felicity", getting online, eating something, watching something else on TV, or not, depending on the day, go to sleep, too late, wake up tired, do it again.

Five days in a row is just awful.

I remember working six days, 9 to 12 hour days. Standing on my feet, weighing, wrapping raw meat. Wearing an apron, cotton gloves, latex over them, a hat to cover my hair. Washing out the meat cases after being on my feet for 9 hours, maybe 10.

Yes, I have busted my ass, believe it or not! It's true. Now, there is not so much busting, but being obligated to a cubicle, to a phone, to a job, even only eight hours, five days, is not my choice.

The Site Manager came to me with the big decision today, this morning, and he is so cool. An Aries. I have to throw that in, I expect more from him knowing he is like me. Smart, direct, headstrong, honest, filled with integrity, compassionate, dynamic, fun! He's been great all week, having snacks available, making sure we all had FUN, every day. Giveaways, contests, drawings, goodies, lunch today.

Makes one almost (almost) forget we get no cash bonus, no off-site fancy dinner, no filet mignon, no cocktails (MiniRed has all the fun!)...

I missed coming home today, and it looks like the girls missed me too. We sat to watch "Felicity", both cats on my lap. TWO cats on my lap. This means I have to slouch a bit, feet on coffee table, Glad on my legs, Norm up higher, close to my chest, and I didn't put them there like that, they arranged themselves. It didn't last long, it became really uncomfortable for me. And I know they don't get that, they'd be happy to sit there as long as they want, but it doesn't work that way.

I started to watch "The French Connection", but it looks so dated, I mean, AFROS?? Wonka, wonka guitar music? Roy Scheider? I don't know, I'm sure it's good, Oscars galore and all, but I couldn't do it. And now, I'm not watching the hockey game, but I can hear when we score because one of the announcers will say, ".....HE SCORES!" and a loud horn sounds. This is the advantage of home games. One can run in to catch the replay at least.

Lately, being online, using my mouse, or even typing, seems to burn my right shoulder. Burn, pain, ow. I must be doing something wrong.

Oh, right, so the Site Manager came to me, said again how he agrees that we should be paid if we're sent home for some problem that we didn't cause, i.e. system problems, phone problems, computer viruses, early days due to pre-Holiday days, anything not related to acts of Nature, like tornadoes or something. He sounded just like me!

He said that's not fair, he said it's not right that we get punished, sent home early without pay just before a Holiday. Whoa. Who was talking? It was early in the morning, did I say it or did he?

He looked me right in the eye, as he does, major eye contact kind of guy, strawberry blond hair, strawberry blond long eyelashes, blue eyes, big round face, big round belly, big round guy, nice as can be, well groomed, professional, polite, friendly, genuine, Christian, family man, bible toting man, but NICE man.

And he said, "I bet that's not the answer you were expecting to hear." and I said, "No. I thought you'd say there is nothing we can do about it, I expected to hear a 'but' in there somewhere." He says, and I will hold him to this, although he asked me not to tell anyone on site, to let him make the announcement, that we will work on Christmas Eve, we will most likely leave early, we will clock out, and we will be paid.

Five years in February, I've been there all that time, and I can't tell you how many times we've been sent home, how many times I asked to stay in another department, I used personal/sick time to cover it, I asked, trying not to complain, trying not to rock any boats, WHY? Why aren't we getting paid for this? I'm here to work, I'd say. That's just how it is, the Salaried Manager would say.....

Site Manager sees it my way, he sees it the RIGHT way, he says, "I want to do the right thing. I have fights with the parent company all the time, because I want us to do the right thing, and I assure you, we are going to do the right thing."

It was so fucking amazing. I felt like Michael Moore must've felt after he wrote that first letter, afer he affected change for the first time, and part of me wants to let everyone know what I did, but I need to see it first, I need to know he follows through, first. Then, I can feel it all the way. For now, it's been a long day.

I found out who my Secret Santa was, a young woman in another department, the department also managed by our Manager (M). She'd given me the battery operated waterfall, the candles, the spiritual candles with little cards with affirmations, or incantations, or something on them, the little candle holder with the purple beads on silver wires. Today she also gave me a KMart gift card for $25.

Our limit was $10. She said she'd been 'blessed' recently, she wanted to give me even more than that. She doesn't even know me, but she wanted to give. Isn't that cool? I gave her a big hug, a few actually. She's really cute, had on these low, low cut jeans, a big belt, this retro puckered shirt, said she shops at Thrift Stores, she looks like a little hippie, has a loose afro, wears headbands to keep it in control. She's very cool.

And I found out she lives in my apartment complex! She's moving out in January though, into her first apartment on her own, plans to get two kittens. I'm not sure if I want to be her friend, or if I'm feeling like she could be my daughter, if I'd had a daughter, if I'd had a daughter with a black man, years ago....... I believe she is biracial anyway. Maybe she IS my daughter?

I had the 'new boy', as gift recipient, and I got him the calendar he wanted, the word origins, but it's not exactly what he wanted, there's some word a day with word origins on the back, but I never saw it at Barnes and Noble. He seemed not too happy, I offered to exchange it, but he refused. He left early, came back with his two sons, and they are strange, very strange. Cute as little buttons, well dressed, nice little blond haircuts, like pretty books on the outside, but under their covers is deep sadness, dread, abuse. They wouldn't look at anyone, took candy when offered, barely said thank you, he told them, "Girls, say thank you, say thank you, Girls", and Quincey said she needed to talk to him about that later, what was that?, I said yeah, unh huh, it's fucked. But not in those words.

I tried to talk to one of them later, the older one, "What's your name? I work with your Dad, I sit right next to him, all day every day.", but he turned away. Six years old, shy? Terrified? Not around people much? Raised by the 'new boy'? THAT explains it. They are just like him. Unfriendly, don't speak, mostly, then maybe turn it on like a faucet with a broken handle later.

This is long, I'm going on and on about nothing. It's just my day, it's been long, I could go on, about "Survivor" last night, or about the other gift exchanges that happened today, or about the other boy in our department, the temp, and how much we have in common, about plans that fell through with Listerine, or little things that have happened at work, or the ridiculous conversation I had with the 'new boy' at the end of the day yesterday, how he wouldn't shut up about his ex wife owing him child support, not because he needs money, because he is rich, or so he says, but because it's the law, how his fiancee's father gave both his sons $500 gift certificates at some toy store, and he pours the 'new boy' wine in his glass when he visits, but he doesn't drink wine, and he can't say No enough, the man keeps it up, so he pours it in the toilet when he goes to pee, or the steak that I marinated overnight and cooked for dinner, how I bought another one of those three inch high ribeyes at the Farmer's Market, but instead of cutting it myself, I thought the meat cutter might do a better job, and when I unwrapped it last night to freeze two of the three cut from the one I saw how unevenly he cut it, how horribly, horribly unevenly (I am not a bad meat cutter myself, see above note about the job that was hardest), but it's all written here and there, so I won't worry about forgetting it, and there's no real desire to 'share' with strangers, so I sign off here.

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