The only thing working as a check-out chick has confirmed for me is that I do NOT want to be stuck serving pain-in-the-arse customers all day every day for the rest of my life. Fingers crossed that will not be my fate.
There are lots of things that annoy me about work, but predominantly it’s that I could be doing something better. Standing about all day talking to people I don’t know and/or don’t care about is such a gigantic and utter waste of my time- for every minute I stand there, leant up against the frigging self-serve machine, I can feel myself getting older and ultimately, getting closer to dying. I know how morbid that seems, but it’s the God-honest truth.
It’s not as if my job actually has any positive ramifications. Working on self-serve, all I do is repeat the same instructions to every painful person who comes through- “Just wait until the green lights come on”, “You have to scan it and then put it in the bagging area”, “No, the GREEN lights”, “It’s not my fault, it’s a machine”. That place is turning me into a robot. I’m like a hotter version of R2D2.
Looking over what I’ve just written, it’s all a bit pessimistic and whiny. I guess everyone hates working, but it’s a necessary evil- you need money to survive, and unless you’re Paris Hilton, you need a job to earn money. (Sorry I just referenced Paris Hilton, the mere mention of her makes me feel like I need a bath).
And besides, not everything about my job is 100% sucky. Some of the people who work there are nice, or at worst, intriguing. And I’m pretty sure all guys have a secret sexual fetish about check-out workers. But by far, the biggest incentive to work is obviously money- I’m going to need every cent when I move out, and this fact has been playing on my mind a lot recently. Moving out means I have to pay rent, buy food, pay bills, buy petrol (the price for which is completely exuberant), and I’m going back to dancing, so God knows how I’m going to pay for all the costumes and makeup and whatever else.
Gah, I’m still complaining!
On the positive side, I’m going to be a Mum!
My dog’s having another litter of puppies and my folks have agreed that I can have one as a housewarming present. I’m thinking of calling her Luca, as a bit of a joke between my Mum and I. I have this Pawpaw ointment that I use as lipbalm, from a brand called “Lucas”. I have really dry lips because of my medication, so I never go anywhere without it. Whenever we go out, I’m like “Wait Kelso, where the heck is my Lucas?” Because I’m getting a female dog (I couldn’t handle a male like our male dog now, he’s so full-on), I couldn’t call her anything cricket-related, like Gilly or Punter or Roy, so I think I’ll settle on Luca.
Going to do some ironing (Gah I’m such a little old lady stuck in a 17-year-old body). Later x
