too long; didn’t write

whiskey

Today was a blasted nightmare hellscape of a day, and when I got home my wife still managed to one-up me within less than a minute of me walking in the door.  I had an eighteen thousand dollar order finally deliver today after two and a half months of sitting in the warehouse, and while ultimately I’m pretty sure everything ended up working out more or less to the good I spent the entire day on the phone dealing with customer service issues and intermittently talking people who had spent an enormous amount of money off of ledges.  Today started with a customer who bought a leather power sectional a few months ago coming in and wanting a refund.  Like, literally, I walked in the door, and they were already in the store.  I managed to trade those people to another set and actually made some money on the deal, but still.  This is me, the entire fucking day:

SparseFrighteningDaddylonglegs-size_restricted

And, like, okay, there are no bullet holes in me, and that’s probably a whole lot of good thing, but I still spent damn near my every fucking waking second dodging, or looking for furniture in a giant warehouse, furniture that was not where it was supposed to be, or walking up to co-workers and saying things like “I need you to save my life right now, and here’s how you’re going to do it,” and various and sundry other things, and as it turns out that all of that shit is stressful as fuck.  I am actually walking into the last day of my week at negative sales, too, which brings its own special brand of exhaustion with it.

I, no shit, suggested to my boss around 5:30 tonight that we start a fight club, and I’m not sure I was kidding.

(Here’s the kind of day I had, in microcosm: y’all know Panera Bread, right?  They’re tasty and shit.  Today we had an employee from Panera walk into the store and drop off a menu, announcing that they were actually delivering now.  Cool!  At around 1:30, in the early stages of the shakes from hunger, I decided I didn’t have time to leave the store and needed to get a lunch delivery of some sort, and– at the menu’s suggestion– downloaded the Panera app.  Which could not be convinced that the address of my place of business, which is a real place that is actually there, since I was at that address at the time, existed, and so would not let me proceed to the part of the app where I actually order food.  So I called them, at which point the recording informed me that the restaurant was closed for renovations despite the fact that their employee had brought me a menu today.  Extend that exact kind of bullshit to every single interaction I had with any human at any time today and you have my day.)

I don’t drink.  I’mma start.

Free advice

If, like me, you don’t drink at all, and if, like me, despite not drinking at all you find yourself in a position where you’ve had a long fucking day and fuck it you want a glass of wine anyway, and the only wine in the house turns out to be mango wine, and your wife says to you “shake it up before you open it, so the mango doesn’t settle”…

don’t fucking listen to your wife.

That is all.

what is this I can’t even

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Did I just have to, as part of a job application, digitally certify that I wouldn’t provide any genetic material to the people I’m asking to hire me?  What the actual fuck is this nonsense?  How about you make the interviewers not ask for genetic material?  I feel like that might be more effective than making me pinky-swear that I won’t give them any.

(As if.  I walk out of interviews if I find out that there’s a piss or blood test required to get the job.  You do not have a right to know the chemical makeup of my blood, thank you.  If I’m impaired at the interview, don’t hire me; if I show up impaired on the job, fire me.  Incidentally: I don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs, so there’s nothing to find.  I’m just not going to prove that for you.)

I did not, by the way, have to digitally sign an affidavit stating that I’ve never been convicted of a sex offense.  Just FYI.  You see where their priorities are, apparently.

I thought the personality test the other day was as weird as this was going to get.  What’s next, do you think?

In which alcohol shouldn’t come in plastic bottles

Thanksgiving I is today; Thanksgiving II will be happening on the traditional date.  To that end, now that I’ve got all my school stuff done (well, most of it; look at the list the other day if you’re curious) it’s time to spend the rest of the boy’s nap frantically cooking things that we’re supposed to bring with us to my brother’s place.

Maybe I’ll post a picture of the cranberry sauce, since whipped cauliflower really isn’t going to look like much of anything.  It’s gonna have bourbon in it!  I don’t actually drink alcohol so this ought to be interesting.

There may be a better post tonight; there are a couple of things percolating.  Otherwise, enjoy the rest of your weekend.