Tuesday, December 16, 2008

In Which I Have A Tantrum, and Get Judged For It

Tonight, I got a phone call from the girl who works the shift before me at The Zoo. Apparently when our boss, said that our hours “end before finals,” what she meant was “Hours anywhere you don't work end before finals.”

Which means that my shifts, out in the main building, are still on.

Which meant that I had to drive back to campus in the wretched, soul-crushing weather, to come work for a measly hour's worth of pay, all in a guilt-ridden tizzy, because I was late. Trust me, friends, I do not make enough in an hour to pay the gas it took me to drive there and back. But I came back, because that's what had to be done, obviously.

Wait, did I say "an hour"? What I mean to say was “five hours” because my coworker and classmate is a lazy sack of shit, and won’t be coming in to relieve me for his shift. Remember that guilt trip I was feeling earlier? Yeah. Apparently not everyone was raised Catholic.

My current options are:

1. Leave work, a whole mess of students, and roughly $30k of equipment unsupervised until midnight. Let the magical work elves do closing duties.*

2. Succumb to my “have to be a responsible person” urges, and stay here. Resent StupidLazyLawStudentCoworker. Lock up at midnight.

Imaginary conversation I wish I had with StupidLazyLawStudentCoworker, but didn't:
DUDE. It's your job. And seeing as you don't have a real one yet, don't you think you should maybe show up to the one you do have?

Le sigh. I should have. Because- hello, dude, and also: WTF. I am reduced to Valleyisms in my coworker-induced hissy fit. There is much stamping of feet in these parts.

Also, I do not have my glasses. Argh.

I won’t lie to you: I tried to leave. I packed up, put on my coat, and got halfway out the door- then was overcome by my guilt and “what if something happened” feelings, and came back. I can’t say I won’t make a break for it again.

I'll keep you updated. I hate The Zoo.


Update, 10:11 pm: In which Gmail puts me in my place.

Before I could finish this post, I emailed Darwin my hissy-fit. This is our ensuing gchat:

NB: I hope you still love me when I am having a big stomping hissy fit in study hall. Because guess what? Yeah.

D: I might love you more because of it.

NB: Good, because I am being as unlovable as possible to everyone else right now. Meh.

D: Uh oh. Guess what?

D: control your emotions

D: positive psych experts

D: coping with a breakup
D: aggressive dog
D: overcome narcissism
D: and "is he afraid to commit?"
D: what do all of these have in common?
NB: Um. Headlines in women's magazines? Topics of your happy hour conversation? Things that keep you up at night?
D: They are all the sponsored links in the gmail message you just sent me.
NB: Well shit. Apparently gmail thinks I am having a tantrum, too.
D: And a scary dog. why would it advertise that to me?
NB: I am not sure. Because I emailed you about the dog I am going to steal from Joe Biden?
D: yeah, but that wasn't in that message
NB: I can only conclude that gmail is secretly monitoring our conversations.

Harumph. Gmail is so judgy these days.

*Is this a viable option? Do you think they hire out? I need elves!


Laughing said...

Don't feel too bad - at least you didn't have your tantrum AT Darwin. I had a full scale freakout this weekend at my BF when I discovered that are dishes are again being covered in hard water ick. (because he could do something about it? no, because I am high strung) I think everybody is allowed one tantrum per final, so hey, you've probably got a bit of credit saved up ;)

All rights reserved to my snotty and generally self-deprecating writing. And if your comments bother me, I'll delete them. That's right, pumpkin.
...How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
-- Emily Dickinson