the cheese stands alone

I'll Be Your Canary In A Coal Mine

Yep, my number came up.
I got a job.
I know, I know... a long long time ago I posted about going to orientation for a seasonal holiday gig, but that never came to fruition. I had to take a pass on it when I discovered they defined "flex part-time" as "ridiculously divided split shift".
So for the past seventy or eighty years little while, I've been sending out resume after resume, filling out application after application.
Good practice for that upcoming arthritis, but that was about it.
Last week (on a Sunday morning, wtf?) I had an interview, which I totally aced by sheer force of charm and a strategically unbuttoned blouse) went well because yesterday I went in to do some paperwork and sometime next week I will be:
*insert dramatic drum roll here*
A food service cashier at an amusement park.
I'll wait while you change your panties, because I know that makes you just as wet as it does me.
Seriously, at this point I just want a freekin' job. I want a paycheck. I want to be able to answer the phone without an accent. ("Nooo, Meessus eess no livee here. You no call no mas.")
Now, I've learned some things from blogging, and one of those things is Don't Talk In Detail About Work Unless You Are Absotively Sure You Can't Get Fired For It, Especially If You Have Idiots For Coworkers and Whackjobs For Supervisors. Not having actually begun the job yet, I can't vouch to the idiot level or whackjob quotient. I predict it's just a matter of time, being the cynical brat that I am.
That being said, I am rubbing my bloggy hands in gleeful anticipation of a neverending source of Encounters, Social Transactions, and First Hand Windowlicker Witnessing. Not gonna name names. Not gonna give time or place specifics. Not gonna replace terminology to cover my tracks. Wait, yes I am on the last one. Or not. Now I've confused myself.
In any case, if blogging appears lighter than usual, it's because I'm At Work. Or recovering.
(PS. I would like to point out that this is my second part time job. Not my second ever, you nit, my second in addition to tossing churros at touristas. Concurrent sentences, as it were. Is. Whatever. Anyway, I just wanted to be accurate. In case this all comes up later in court. Or commitment hearings. Or gossip on the bus. You know who you are, bigmouth.
Anyway, the other is a freelance, under-the-table-payment gig doing housecleaning for absolute slobs who care nothing for their personal safety or abode hygiene very busy people. It's cash in hand, but it makes me smell of bleach and dust.
You really really want me now, don't you? I could tell.)