Today was a good day. Sort of. Math was boring and frustrating (=normal). Lit survey was a discussion on Pope’s The Rape of the Lock. Mock epic poetry is my jam. Then I had to drive home. You know when you just want to get home after a lame day so you can have homemade sweet potato, rosemary, and bacon soup with a cup of hot cocoa, and a book of Medieval Welsh mythology, and that’s the day everyone is driving 5 miles under the speed limit in both lanes of traffic because a semi truck is in the left lane and an a-hole in a crappy old car is staying right next to him despite the truck’s turn signal being on for the last 5 miles? And when you finally get off the interstate, you get stuck behind a small construction vehicle going (you guessed it) 5 miles under the speed limit on the two-lane road?
I don’t know why today was so much worse than every other day I make this stupid commute, but by the time I got home, I was nearly in tears and wishing a blemish on the beards (as the medieval Welsh would say) of every driver in this stupid state.
Then I made my soup and plotted my meals for February and made cookies for my hair stylist because her work was stellar and she earned them.
I am super determined to keep up my recipe resolution this month. It’s not because I’m worried about the censure of my readers or my Facebook friends. It’s because my husband doesn’t think I’ll do it. You see, next week is HELL WEEK at work thanks to the Hallmark holiday, which I am convinced everyone secretly loathes but celebrates anyway because of the candy-fueled conditioning we received as children. As a result, any time I’m not at school, I’ll be at work under the tyranny of a psychopath (remind me to change that to “a very nice lady’ when I start looking for a real job). I will even skip classes (GASP) because we will be that busy with people trying to prove their love with overpriced soppy products. They will be stressed because they will be feeling the pressure of having put off their gift buying to the last-minute and then coming to understand that a lot more is expected of them than they originally guessed, but how much more is still unclear. They will also be unsure of how much they want to spend. Then they will be dicks because we will tell them we are out of the cheap things, that we can’t customize at this point, that we can’t take any more deliveries. They will be rude when we ask them to pick up their delivery because no one was home when we stopped by and we don’t have the manpower or vehicles to re-deliver (and the delivery charge buys you one attempt, not assurance that we will sit outside your home until it’s convenient for you to receive it).
People, be nice to the service industries this week. Your flower vendors, candy stores, fruit arrangers, delivery truck drivers, and restaurant wait staff are not trying to ruin your fake holiday. They are skipping school, missing lunch and dinner, and standing/driving for hours with only bathroom breaks to look forward to. When they get home, their fancy dinners will be cold, their flowers will be wilted, and their loved ones will be asleep. Please, before you get snappy with some 20-year-old kid because you didn’t plan ahead, remember that they are dealing with hundreds of people’s “perfect romantic evenings,” not just your date night. They have to stand there and smile while you take out your frustration on them for your inability to recognize that the world doesn’t revolve around you. We will do what we can within reason and company policy. Beyond that, this saying applies:
“PISS-POOR PLANNING ON YOUR PART DOES NOT CONSTITUTE AN EMERGENCY ON MY PART.”
Most of my posts next week will probably be in all caps. I apologize ahead of time. Holidays just seem to give me a view of the worst people.