the cheese stands alone

It's Not the Point, It's the Pain In My Ass

Yes, as I have been informed many times, my work hours are not that onerous. Clock in around 10:00AM, clock out around 4:00PM. But seeing as how this is an amusement park environment, and there is no designated employee parking, and the park itself is easily as large as Iowa, and speaking of Iowa, my work space is on the other side of the park so it's like out in Dogballs, Iowa or something* So in order to find a parking space and trot over to the luxurious employee lounge** and swipe my timecard through the Slot That Pays,*** I must leave home at least an hour early, depending on what the Eye In The Sky Traffic Copter**** says the drive will be like. And the drive home invariably incorporates three fender-benders, two stalled pickup trucks from Tijuana in the fast lane, and a partridge in a pear tree getting a ticket and forcing, yes, FORCING I tell you, everyone to slow to five miles an hour and watch because no one, yes, NO ONE has ever seen someone getting a ticket before and who knows, it could be Ponch or John handing it out and we ALL want to see a star, don't we? Well, DON'T WE?
Coffee.... sip coffee, breathe deep. Ah... mental equilibrium restored.
So let's say my real hours are 9:00AM to 5:30PM. Still reasonable, you say, Mr. or Ms. Sit At A Desk In A Clean, Quiet Building Without Screaming Toddlers Surrounding You, Unless You Work In A Preschool And Then You Dug Your Own Grave Sister, YOU Lie In It.
And therein lies the crux of the matter. Toddlers. Children. Tots. Kids. Wee folk. The little ones. Everywhere I look.
Now, let me ask you, what kind of a sick parent and/or guardian figure brings a CHILD to an AMUSEMENT PARK ENVIRONMENT? I ask you?
Oh..... yeah, I get your point. Where the hell were YOU when I was filling out the application, you Monday Morning Quarterback Hindsight Is 20/20 Person you?
My exposure to the vast population of Mommy and Daddy's Pride and Joy thus far has been quick glimpses of nieces, nephews, and cousins at family reunions, all of which could be escaped, given enough Jack and Coke. Or those untrained ill-behaved hordes who populate Wal-Mart. Apparently these go to Amusement Parks in their off hours. In packs. Slobbering, shrieking packs.
And they all want fairy floss. Cotton candy. Kiddy crack. Call it what you will.
Yesterday, a wee little bit of incipient manhood threw himself at my stand and asked for, nay, DEMANDED that I give him treats. I informed him it would cost $2.59 for said demanded treat. He gave me the Evil Eye, Junior Division, and again demanded his treat. I took the hardline, much as the Teletubbies on my training video recommended I do, and demanded payment.
This little angel of the playground KICKED my treatcart, stared me in the eye, and snarled "BITCH!" and then ran off into the crowd.
I had to call over a coworker to cover the stand so I could take a break, as I was laughing too hard to continue the highly technical task of fairy floss production. Damn near wet myself, I did.
I worked six days in a row last week. I have six more this week. Today is my day off. And what am I doing? Going to my OTHER semi-part-time job cleaning apartments. Man, am I a glutton for punishment or what? Especially since I just learned I settled on a flat rate that is approximately 1/3 of the going rate, but let's not talk about that now. It makes me weep like a toddler denied fairy floss.
The point is..... shit, what was my point? I had a point, I really really did. Where did I leave it? Oh, there it is. I'm sitting on it. Ouch.
The point is, I'm dead tired. Therefore, blogging will be light. Don't say I didn't warn yez.

*That's always been our family's designation for a place at the outer end of nowhere... Dogballs, Iowa. Second cousin to the traditional Bumfuck, Egypt.
**Two square feet between the wet foods dumpster and the pile of rotting cardboard boxes.
***Yes, it's early enough that it this phrase makes me giggle like a titillated schoolgirl.
****Who I suspect is really just a radio station intern reading off traffic averages stats in front of a shaky microphone while pounding on his own chest, because the station I listen to is too damn cheap to even HAVE an Eye In The Sky Traffic Copter. Maybe an Eye In The Sky Traffic Pigeon With A Kodak Instamatic or something.
*****We've replaced LeeAnn's asterisk key with Folger's Crystals... let's see if she notices!