Normally, I don't have a weak stomach. I have heard many a repulsive topic discussed at the dinner table and not flinched. I grew up with my father's friends, after all. I suppose I pride myself on this somewhat - I enjoy my qualities that make me less than 100% girl. But right now my stomach is churning and I don't think I can eat anything, though my belly is also growling for want of food.
I have few problems with bugs, snakes and spiders - as long as they stay out of my house. The exception is cockroaches. Unfortunately for me, they thrive in DC - especially in apartment buildings like mine - and at first I would gasp and freeze every time I saw one in my kitchen. Scott would come to my rescue as I squealed and closed my eyes (not some of my prouder moments). I grew used to seeing them, though, often more than one at a time and of greatly varying sizes. I became ferocious in my attempt to eliminate every bug that I saw, setting out homemade traps (none of which have worked so far, but I'm not done trying) and squishing every visible insect with great zeal. I'm pretty sure I growled sometimes too.
This morning didn't start out being the best morning ever, but it was decent. I got my Nutrition homework finished, emptied the shower water with a bucket (our bathtub won't drain), and went to get breakfast. I was really excited to eat my bowl of Frosted Flakes and banana. I picked up the bag of cereal and emptied some of the contents into my bowl, which I then picked up. Before I could even get the milk out of the refrigerator, 2 cockroaches came crawling out of my cereal bowl!!! I screamed and dropped the bowl on the floor, spilling cereal and more cockroaches all over the floor. I think there were about 8 of them. After a couple of minutes of panting in the corner, afraid to move, I cleaned up the cereal off the floor and threw the rest of the bag away - but I refuse to go back into the kitchen.
I also don't think I'll be eating anything soon.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Maddening
In my profession, politeness is a must. Smiling is a constant, care and understanding the expectation. In my profession, the "extra mile" isn't extra. In my profession, the customer is always right. But...what if they're not???
I wasn't supposed to be working the registers today - but Chris Wallace needed a lunch break, so I agreed to cover for him. The man whom I will call Ali (his real name is much longer and I can't even pronounce it, much less remember it - but 'Ali' is in there somewhere) walked into the store and inwardly I groaned. "Not again," I thought. I tried to keep a grimace off my face.
"What are we returning today?" I asked, with as much politeness as I could muster. This man returns *everything*. He has bought thousands of dollars worth of stuff and returned almost all of it. After he's done using it, of course. Ali is meticulous about keeping all of his receipts, but everything he brings back is very used or broken in some way. He complains about the quality of the products and, since he has his receipts, gets back the full amount he paid for it. That's the thing - REI has an exceptional return policy that unfortunately leaves us vulnerable to people such as Ali. And there's nothing I can do about it.
"Is there anything our sales staff can do better for you? It would seem that nothing we recommend works out for you." He mumbled something in reply about how he's just looking for quality products, and that his stepmother buys everything from Germany and it lasts for 12+ years. I really wanted to tell him that from now on he, too, should buy everything from Germany and never come back to REI - obviously he's not finding the "quality" that he's looking for here. I also wanted to mention that none of our other customers seem to have a problem with everything they buy breaking on them - we do sell quality products.
"Do you guys have an employee of the month award?" he inquired, out of the blue. I replied that we did. He had the nerve to suggest, "Maybe you should have a returner-of-the-year-award." "You'd certainly be winning," I quipped, frustrated that I couldn't say more. He knows we know what he's doing, and knows we can't do anything about it!!! We've been tracking his returns in a logbook (perhaps, when we gather enough documentation, there *will* be something we can do), and when I was finally finished with him I logged another $150 worth of stuff. That jerk. He gave me another 20 minutes of work, recording his returns and tagging all 8 items with "Damaged" and a description of the problem.
The next time I see him, I'm going to tell him that he can take his sorry butt somewhere else and never step foot in my store again.
Well, I would - but we don't say things like that in my profession.
I wasn't supposed to be working the registers today - but Chris Wallace needed a lunch break, so I agreed to cover for him. The man whom I will call Ali (his real name is much longer and I can't even pronounce it, much less remember it - but 'Ali' is in there somewhere) walked into the store and inwardly I groaned. "Not again," I thought. I tried to keep a grimace off my face.
"What are we returning today?" I asked, with as much politeness as I could muster. This man returns *everything*. He has bought thousands of dollars worth of stuff and returned almost all of it. After he's done using it, of course. Ali is meticulous about keeping all of his receipts, but everything he brings back is very used or broken in some way. He complains about the quality of the products and, since he has his receipts, gets back the full amount he paid for it. That's the thing - REI has an exceptional return policy that unfortunately leaves us vulnerable to people such as Ali. And there's nothing I can do about it.
"Is there anything our sales staff can do better for you? It would seem that nothing we recommend works out for you." He mumbled something in reply about how he's just looking for quality products, and that his stepmother buys everything from Germany and it lasts for 12+ years. I really wanted to tell him that from now on he, too, should buy everything from Germany and never come back to REI - obviously he's not finding the "quality" that he's looking for here. I also wanted to mention that none of our other customers seem to have a problem with everything they buy breaking on them - we do sell quality products.
"Do you guys have an employee of the month award?" he inquired, out of the blue. I replied that we did. He had the nerve to suggest, "Maybe you should have a returner-of-the-year-award." "You'd certainly be winning," I quipped, frustrated that I couldn't say more. He knows we know what he's doing, and knows we can't do anything about it!!! We've been tracking his returns in a logbook (perhaps, when we gather enough documentation, there *will* be something we can do), and when I was finally finished with him I logged another $150 worth of stuff. That jerk. He gave me another 20 minutes of work, recording his returns and tagging all 8 items with "Damaged" and a description of the problem.
The next time I see him, I'm going to tell him that he can take his sorry butt somewhere else and never step foot in my store again.
Well, I would - but we don't say things like that in my profession.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Last Day
I was happily working two part-time jobs until an opportunity came up at REI that I couldn't pass up. A higher-paying, specialized, full-time position with great health benefits and paid training in Seattle and Boston. A nice side perk is the 7-minute (as opposed to the 45 that it takes me to get to Baltimore) drive to work every day. Although I love the Maryland Science Center, I just couldn't refuse REI's offer and gave my two weeks notice exactly two weeks ago. Today was my last day.
Things I will miss: my colleagues, Science on a Sphere shows, lunch in the office with Wendy, Dave, and Janine, conversations with Christian.
Things I won't miss: bratty children who think they don't need a chaperone, the tempermental SpaceLink closet door, exhibits that break.
Things I will miss: my colleagues, Science on a Sphere shows, lunch in the office with Wendy, Dave, and Janine, conversations with Christian.
Things I won't miss: bratty children who think they don't need a chaperone, the tempermental SpaceLink closet door, exhibits that break.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Piano
Here she is...my new love. It took Scott and I months to save and find a piano that we really liked, and finally we did. I play Phantom of the Opera or Les Miserables, and Scott fills our home with beautfiul classical music. I'm so happy.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Mispronounced
It started out as an okay day. It wasn't great, but I had little choice but to live it. A couple of nights before I had fallen ill - my body's way of reminding me (in case I'd forgotten) that I am a woman and not pregnant. I was still feeling the effects two days later.
I clocked in at the Maryland Science Center at 9:15 - the usual time - and was met with a frazzled boss, who began, by way of greeting, telling me that some school groups had scheduled science programs for next week at the last minute, and that Lauren wouldn't be back by then, and that Chris would be busy with something else, so could I please please please substitute for her? I agreed, but only because for once she had said please. Shortly thereafter I ran into Joel, who informed me that his dying mother had eaten applesauce and had a Pepsi yesterday but refused to take her medication, while the day before she had taken her medication but eaten nothing, and how he was going to sue the rest home for their lack of caretaking ability.
The day continued with both its ups and downs. And while some of the day was tolerable, for the most part the minutes crawled by like years, in much the same way that Tortoise did toward the finish line. I couldn't wait to get home - I had an evening of REI shopping and basketball watching planned, which I knew would take my mind off of my pounding head and aching body. Oh, how I wish that my body reacted kindly to drugs! I was glad to reach 2:30 and the beginning of my Science on a Sphere show - I enjoy doing the shows and knew that when it was over I would only have 2 more hours of work. I began my show with a small audience of four: a 4-year-old boy and a 6-year-old girl, and two adults that I correctly assumed were their parents. The children were very interested in the information I had for them about Earth, our moon, and Mars. I cut my show a little bit short, though, making sure that they would have time to get to the Planetarium show at 3. We ended with questions about whether or not humans would ever live on Mars - an interesting prospect, but not a feasible one anytime soon. Either we need to give Mars an atmosphere, or we ourselves have to evolve into a non-oxygen-breathing species.
I turned off my microphone and turned around, ready to reset the Sphere and lock up, when I felt a little hand tugging on my shirt. "Excuse me," the 4-year-old boy said. I turned back around, saw the little boy looking up at me, and bent forward, expecting a question about space and hoping it was something that I could answer.
"Grassy-ass."
He said this very determinedly and distinctly; he was obviously pleased with himself. He watied for a response. I blanched, and tried to formulate a sentence with which to respond. My efforts proved in vain. My mind was instead occupied wondering if I had heard him correctly, what precisely he was implying about my derriere, and how exactly I was meant to handle that comment. I tried to look for help in his mother's direction but my neck muscles failed me and I stayed staring at the boy. Despite all of those thoughts racing through my mind at once, each vying for attention equally voraciously, my face must have looked blank, because the boy said, "It means 'thank you'."
Suddenly a light with the brightness of Alpha Centauri went on in my brain, and understanding dawned. The little boy was speaking Spanish! I laughed, very much aloud, and was grateful to now know what the appropriate response was for his comment. "De nada!" I replied, and the little boy beamed.
My afternoon was definitely made better by that exchange of words, and judging by the brightness of the boy's smile as he walked away, so was his.
I clocked in at the Maryland Science Center at 9:15 - the usual time - and was met with a frazzled boss, who began, by way of greeting, telling me that some school groups had scheduled science programs for next week at the last minute, and that Lauren wouldn't be back by then, and that Chris would be busy with something else, so could I please please please substitute for her? I agreed, but only because for once she had said please. Shortly thereafter I ran into Joel, who informed me that his dying mother had eaten applesauce and had a Pepsi yesterday but refused to take her medication, while the day before she had taken her medication but eaten nothing, and how he was going to sue the rest home for their lack of caretaking ability.
The day continued with both its ups and downs. And while some of the day was tolerable, for the most part the minutes crawled by like years, in much the same way that Tortoise did toward the finish line. I couldn't wait to get home - I had an evening of REI shopping and basketball watching planned, which I knew would take my mind off of my pounding head and aching body. Oh, how I wish that my body reacted kindly to drugs! I was glad to reach 2:30 and the beginning of my Science on a Sphere show - I enjoy doing the shows and knew that when it was over I would only have 2 more hours of work. I began my show with a small audience of four: a 4-year-old boy and a 6-year-old girl, and two adults that I correctly assumed were their parents. The children were very interested in the information I had for them about Earth, our moon, and Mars. I cut my show a little bit short, though, making sure that they would have time to get to the Planetarium show at 3. We ended with questions about whether or not humans would ever live on Mars - an interesting prospect, but not a feasible one anytime soon. Either we need to give Mars an atmosphere, or we ourselves have to evolve into a non-oxygen-breathing species.
I turned off my microphone and turned around, ready to reset the Sphere and lock up, when I felt a little hand tugging on my shirt. "Excuse me," the 4-year-old boy said. I turned back around, saw the little boy looking up at me, and bent forward, expecting a question about space and hoping it was something that I could answer.
"Grassy-ass."
He said this very determinedly and distinctly; he was obviously pleased with himself. He watied for a response. I blanched, and tried to formulate a sentence with which to respond. My efforts proved in vain. My mind was instead occupied wondering if I had heard him correctly, what precisely he was implying about my derriere, and how exactly I was meant to handle that comment. I tried to look for help in his mother's direction but my neck muscles failed me and I stayed staring at the boy. Despite all of those thoughts racing through my mind at once, each vying for attention equally voraciously, my face must have looked blank, because the boy said, "It means 'thank you'."
Suddenly a light with the brightness of Alpha Centauri went on in my brain, and understanding dawned. The little boy was speaking Spanish! I laughed, very much aloud, and was grateful to now know what the appropriate response was for his comment. "De nada!" I replied, and the little boy beamed.
My afternoon was definitely made better by that exchange of words, and judging by the brightness of the boy's smile as he walked away, so was his.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Comb-over Over Done
It's hard to tell in this picture, but April and I saw the most wonderful (and when I say that I mean the worst) comb-over in the history of comb-overs. We were walking along in the National Air and Space museum, laughing at Ted as he ran from space shuttle to Russian missile to the Hubble like a kid in a candy store - wide-eyed and giggling - when into our vision sauntered an Asian man who hadn't taken his Rogaine that morning. The odd thing was that his hair was missing only from one side of his head - the other side seemed to have no problem growing hair, since he had tucked back behind his left ear the hair growing out of the right side of his head. It came loose a couple of times, and he flipped his hair back (reminiscent of a blond cheerleader with a sultry look on her face), carefully tucking it back safely and securely behind his left ear.
I turned to April, grinning, and saw immediately that she had noticed him too and was just fascinated as I was. "I want a picture of that!" I whispered. She laughed, "Me too!" and off we went in search of a good photo opportunity. Unfortunately, the man never seemed to turn around at the right moment and walked away from us very quickly. We eventually lost him in the throng of people and gave up, but not before April had snapped this one picture, to be cherished forever.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
A Decade Later
"Hello, Fritz."
"Hello darling," he said, hardly even looking up from the paper in his hand as he walked quickly past, mumbling to himself. He looked very busy and important - a favourite pastime of his. "How are you?" I asked, a little more loudly so as to make him stop traveling the direction in which he was - away from me and out of the room. This time he looked up. "I'm fine, thank y--?!!!" The end of his sentence dropped off. He had finally realized who he was speaking to. The next 3 seconds of his stuttering speech are not appropriate to repeat here, as they would have made a sailor blush. He then picked me up and hugged me tightly, still unable to form complete sentences. I had done something very few people could - I had actually shocked Fritz into stutters and stammers. Close by us Jack Warren, who had also realized my identity, just stood staring. And when they found out I was married, I thought they were both going to faint.
The last time I had seen Fritz or Jack was about 10 or 11 years ago - when I myself was about 10 or 11 years old. Fritz was living in North Carolina at the time, where he and my dad shared a house, and Jack was a good friend of my father who I saw on occasional weekends. Fritz used to make me eat my vegetables, tell me not to run in the house, and forbid me to go outside in the winter without socks or shoes. I also tried to use him as a scapegoat when I got in trouble.
"I think Fritz did it," I would confidently tell my father. "Are you sure?" he would ask me with raised eyebrows. "It was Fritz who took your fresh green beans and dumped them into the trash can?" "Oh, yes," I would reply. "He thought they looked yucky - not very fresh at all - and he threw them away so I didn't get sick on wilted vegetables." I smiled and patted my father's shoulder, hoping that would help. "But don't get mad at him, daddy. He was just trying to protect me." I was banking on the fact that fathers always forgive those trying to protect their favourite daughters from dangerous, wilted vegetables. Needless to say, it was me, and not Fritz, who received the spankings that night - not for throwing away my green beans, but for lying.
It was great to see Fritz and Jack this weekend, catching up and laughing because Fritz hadn't changed a bit in the last 11 years. We reminisced with stories like the one about the green beans, and about the summer when I begged my father for a dog and told him that for the times I wasn't around to take care of it (which was all but 8-10 weeks of the year), Fritz had happily volunteered. He of course had done no such thing. While we chopped vegetables and stirred the apples and stewed plums, Jack inquired after my mother's well-being and updated me with the recent developments in mutual friends' lives - none of whom I had seen for years.
In the end both Fritz and Jack kissed my cheek, wished me well, and swore to let my father know of his grave mistake. He had failed to inform them of their little girl's marriage.
"Hello darling," he said, hardly even looking up from the paper in his hand as he walked quickly past, mumbling to himself. He looked very busy and important - a favourite pastime of his. "How are you?" I asked, a little more loudly so as to make him stop traveling the direction in which he was - away from me and out of the room. This time he looked up. "I'm fine, thank y--?!!!" The end of his sentence dropped off. He had finally realized who he was speaking to. The next 3 seconds of his stuttering speech are not appropriate to repeat here, as they would have made a sailor blush. He then picked me up and hugged me tightly, still unable to form complete sentences. I had done something very few people could - I had actually shocked Fritz into stutters and stammers. Close by us Jack Warren, who had also realized my identity, just stood staring. And when they found out I was married, I thought they were both going to faint.
The last time I had seen Fritz or Jack was about 10 or 11 years ago - when I myself was about 10 or 11 years old. Fritz was living in North Carolina at the time, where he and my dad shared a house, and Jack was a good friend of my father who I saw on occasional weekends. Fritz used to make me eat my vegetables, tell me not to run in the house, and forbid me to go outside in the winter without socks or shoes. I also tried to use him as a scapegoat when I got in trouble.
"I think Fritz did it," I would confidently tell my father. "Are you sure?" he would ask me with raised eyebrows. "It was Fritz who took your fresh green beans and dumped them into the trash can?" "Oh, yes," I would reply. "He thought they looked yucky - not very fresh at all - and he threw them away so I didn't get sick on wilted vegetables." I smiled and patted my father's shoulder, hoping that would help. "But don't get mad at him, daddy. He was just trying to protect me." I was banking on the fact that fathers always forgive those trying to protect their favourite daughters from dangerous, wilted vegetables. Needless to say, it was me, and not Fritz, who received the spankings that night - not for throwing away my green beans, but for lying.
It was great to see Fritz and Jack this weekend, catching up and laughing because Fritz hadn't changed a bit in the last 11 years. We reminisced with stories like the one about the green beans, and about the summer when I begged my father for a dog and told him that for the times I wasn't around to take care of it (which was all but 8-10 weeks of the year), Fritz had happily volunteered. He of course had done no such thing. While we chopped vegetables and stirred the apples and stewed plums, Jack inquired after my mother's well-being and updated me with the recent developments in mutual friends' lives - none of whom I had seen for years.
In the end both Fritz and Jack kissed my cheek, wished me well, and swore to let my father know of his grave mistake. He had failed to inform them of their little girl's marriage.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Simple Words
"I want to go, but I'm not worthy," I told my bishop tearfully, looking down at my hands which were folded in my lap.
His face was kind, but he spoke seriously and I knew the words were not really coming from him. "Yes you are. Please don't punish yourself for the past anymore. Know with a surety that your Father in Heaven loves you." He made me look him in the eye as he emphasized his last point. "You are worthy."
I've been needing to hear that for 6 months. How can I possibly doubt?
His face was kind, but he spoke seriously and I knew the words were not really coming from him. "Yes you are. Please don't punish yourself for the past anymore. Know with a surety that your Father in Heaven loves you." He made me look him in the eye as he emphasized his last point. "You are worthy."
I've been needing to hear that for 6 months. How can I possibly doubt?
Thursday, February 01, 2007
God and Science
She might have been crazy. One of those loud-mouth-make-a-scene-holier-than-thou-look-at-me-I'm-a-Christian types of crazy. I'm not sure how to deal with those kinds of people.
The girl walked into the first day of 'Astronomy 101' 25 minutes late, which is never a good way to start a class. She had already missed most of the syllabus and the introductions. Professor Suarez asked her to do what the rest of us had done - say our names and why we were taking Astronomy. She only had one rule. We couldn't say, "Because it's a requirement" or"Because it's the science that takes the least amount of math". Even if those are the reasons, it shouldn't be very difficult to make up something like, "I want to learn how to find my way around if I'm lost in the woods."
"Well, because I have to." The girl flicked her hair back and her large, dangly earrings jingled. "I hate science but I have to take one." Prof. Suarez started to argue with her that her answer was expressly not allowed, but decided to not fight that battle and start talking about the history of astronomy instead. She began with the Big Bang, 15 billion years ago, and continued until she reached the launch of the Hubble Space Telescope in 1990. At the end, crazy girl stood up and announced that she was dropping the class because she couldn't believe in God and the Big Bang at the same time, and she believed in God. She walked, or rather sauntered, out of the room - flipping her hair on the way out.
I just don't understand it. Who says that God and the Big Bang can't exist at the same time? Who says the two terms are mutually exclusive?
I don't believe or disbelieve the Big Bang Theory. But this is what I know: The Universe is held together by natural laws that just are, that just exist. Gravity is an example of one of them. The Bible tells us that God works by natural laws; so why couldn't He have been the author of the Big Bang, using the 'ways of the universe' to create His magnificent works? God and science don't have to be on opposite sides.
The girl walked into the first day of 'Astronomy 101' 25 minutes late, which is never a good way to start a class. She had already missed most of the syllabus and the introductions. Professor Suarez asked her to do what the rest of us had done - say our names and why we were taking Astronomy. She only had one rule. We couldn't say, "Because it's a requirement" or"Because it's the science that takes the least amount of math". Even if those are the reasons, it shouldn't be very difficult to make up something like, "I want to learn how to find my way around if I'm lost in the woods."
"Well, because I have to." The girl flicked her hair back and her large, dangly earrings jingled. "I hate science but I have to take one." Prof. Suarez started to argue with her that her answer was expressly not allowed, but decided to not fight that battle and start talking about the history of astronomy instead. She began with the Big Bang, 15 billion years ago, and continued until she reached the launch of the Hubble Space Telescope in 1990. At the end, crazy girl stood up and announced that she was dropping the class because she couldn't believe in God and the Big Bang at the same time, and she believed in God. She walked, or rather sauntered, out of the room - flipping her hair on the way out.
I just don't understand it. Who says that God and the Big Bang can't exist at the same time? Who says the two terms are mutually exclusive?
I don't believe or disbelieve the Big Bang Theory. But this is what I know: The Universe is held together by natural laws that just are, that just exist. Gravity is an example of one of them. The Bible tells us that God works by natural laws; so why couldn't He have been the author of the Big Bang, using the 'ways of the universe' to create His magnificent works? God and science don't have to be on opposite sides.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Sick
"You don't make a very good sick person," my husband said to me last Sunday morning as he countered my efforts to get up and make breakfast. "Just lie down; I'm making you breakfast." Although I was slightly frustrated that I couldn't do what I wanted to, I was grateful to have a husband who takes care of me so well.
Inventory had been that weekend, and I'd volunteered to take the Saturday night shift. 30-40 of us went through the whole of 'REI at College Park' to count every single item on the floor and in the warehouse. It was quite the ordeal. A lesson on using the scanner guns began at 7pm, all the customers were out of the store by 8, and by 8:05 we were set to work.
"Beep! Beep! Beepbeepbeep!" went the scanner guns from all across the store. If you were standing too close to someone (about 7 feet away or closer), it was difficult to tell whose gun was beeping. That became a problem if you weren't sure whether you had actually scanned the item in your hand, or if it was your neighbor's gun that had beeped. I had to recount 117 pairs of socks twice because I got to the end and was off by 1 or 2 pairs. Talk about frustrating. There were bags and bags of candy at the front of the store for general consumption (to keep us awake), and the food from Chipotle came around 10:00.
By 2 am or so everyone went home except for 3 of my managers, Julie, and me. We stayed and recounted some of the items that someone had obviously miscounted (eg: the computer showed only 2 kayaks having been scanned that evening, yet we could clearly see 4 hanging on the wall). We wanted the count to be as accurate as possible. Julie and I finally left and I got home around 4 in the morning. Scott had gone to sleep around 2:45 and had just gotten back up to wait for me some more, so we both crawled into bed exhausted.
Sunday morning dawned bright and way too early, and I couldn't believe the way I felt. I'd made myself sick off of too much candy and caffeine on Saturday night in an effort to stay awake and working. The idea seemed like a great one for awhile, until Sunday morning when my body simply crashed. The good thing was that it didn't take very long to recover - I just slept it off and was fine.
But now I'm ill once again, only this time it wasn't self-inflicted so I deserve all available sympathy. I'm plagued with a stuffy nose, a congested chest, fits of coughing, a headache (a little worse than the usual one), a sore throat, achy muscles, fevers that come and go, and an 8-hour-a-day work schedule. I drink a water bottle full of orange juice a day and then some, sleep as much as I can, and eat healthier than normal. Tonight's ice cream cone was the first bit of sugar I've had in 4 or 5 days. Scott helps out as much as he can and takes great care of me. He does most of the housework, plus makes me food (and makes me eat).
I suppose that's his job; besides being my husband, this time it was he that got me sick.
Inventory had been that weekend, and I'd volunteered to take the Saturday night shift. 30-40 of us went through the whole of 'REI at College Park' to count every single item on the floor and in the warehouse. It was quite the ordeal. A lesson on using the scanner guns began at 7pm, all the customers were out of the store by 8, and by 8:05 we were set to work.
"Beep! Beep! Beepbeepbeep!" went the scanner guns from all across the store. If you were standing too close to someone (about 7 feet away or closer), it was difficult to tell whose gun was beeping. That became a problem if you weren't sure whether you had actually scanned the item in your hand, or if it was your neighbor's gun that had beeped. I had to recount 117 pairs of socks twice because I got to the end and was off by 1 or 2 pairs. Talk about frustrating. There were bags and bags of candy at the front of the store for general consumption (to keep us awake), and the food from Chipotle came around 10:00.
By 2 am or so everyone went home except for 3 of my managers, Julie, and me. We stayed and recounted some of the items that someone had obviously miscounted (eg: the computer showed only 2 kayaks having been scanned that evening, yet we could clearly see 4 hanging on the wall). We wanted the count to be as accurate as possible. Julie and I finally left and I got home around 4 in the morning. Scott had gone to sleep around 2:45 and had just gotten back up to wait for me some more, so we both crawled into bed exhausted.
Sunday morning dawned bright and way too early, and I couldn't believe the way I felt. I'd made myself sick off of too much candy and caffeine on Saturday night in an effort to stay awake and working. The idea seemed like a great one for awhile, until Sunday morning when my body simply crashed. The good thing was that it didn't take very long to recover - I just slept it off and was fine.
But now I'm ill once again, only this time it wasn't self-inflicted so I deserve all available sympathy. I'm plagued with a stuffy nose, a congested chest, fits of coughing, a headache (a little worse than the usual one), a sore throat, achy muscles, fevers that come and go, and an 8-hour-a-day work schedule. I drink a water bottle full of orange juice a day and then some, sleep as much as I can, and eat healthier than normal. Tonight's ice cream cone was the first bit of sugar I've had in 4 or 5 days. Scott helps out as much as he can and takes great care of me. He does most of the housework, plus makes me food (and makes me eat).
I suppose that's his job; besides being my husband, this time it was he that got me sick.
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