kittydesade | Dec. 1st, 2008

GAH. Just... gah.

Okay. So, Thursday, Thanksgiving, go over to Thanksgiving dinner at my friend and pagan's family's place, both because I think it'll be smaller and less daunting for the boy, since we're not traveling (there were... um. At least twelve people at dinner out on the farm, maybe more.) and because it's been a while since I've been around that group. This is, incidentally, for those of you who are following along on

hottestpsychic's journal with my ficlets about her pagan background, where her teacher comes from. Most of the mannerisms and a lot of the lessons are real. So is the death, if not the specific manner. Anyway.

Thursday, Thanksgiving. Get to sleep in, yay. Get to stuff face with turkey, yay. Work Friday, but only a short day, going in and packing up what can be packed up early and shipping out what can be shipped out by mail, because UPS doesn't run that day. Go home early. Offer to come in on Saturday because the Witch Queen is coughing and doesn't look all that well, and because while it was pretty well staffed for Black Friday, weekends are a smaller staff.

Come in Saturday. Bring laptop in case I can do some writing. Get only one tiny prompt for TM done all day. Spend most of the day running around helping people, checking people out, giving people bathroom keys, finding things for people.

(One amusing bit in all of this was looking for a book for someone, not being sure where it is, and turning around to call up to the floor-and-a-half [first floor balcony] "Hey, Elf Lord!" I'm fairly sure that poor woman has never heard an Elf Lord paged in a store.)

Come home Saturday at closing time. Dear god, I'm tired. Sunday was supposed to be Quantum of Solace day? No one ever got back to us whether or not they could. Well, one person did. He'd forgotten it was his Dad's birthday. The boy and I look at each other and are all "stay in?" "Yeah." Sleep. Get a bit of writing done, none of it what I meant to get done. Get to bed later than I meant to because I'm up clicking the damn dragons. My own dumb fault.

Today. God. Wake up. Go to work. UPS drops off the morning shipment. And we're assaulted by broken candle scent. Which has to be refused and then sit around on my shipping pallet all. damn. day. We're talking about a gallon or so of candle scent leaking out. Almonds, no less. I only made half the arsenic jokes I wanted to.

After that? Comes the adventure of the wandering girl who reminds me vaguely of someone in The Village. Only she's either very young, mentally handicapped in some way, or stoned out of her fucking gourd. She spends three hours wandering around the store with a somewhat vacant expression and all she can tell us apparently is that her sister will come get her eventually. Yeah, your sister can come get you pretty damn soon, kiddo, before I get impatient and freaked out and the Department of Children and Family Services comes to get you. I was not a happy kitty.

Somewhere in all of this I manage to ship out a) the dye that was supposed to go out in a big hurry, b) 22 pounds of beeswax that was also needed in a big hurry, and c) pack up for tomorrow's shipment some... something. I don't even remember what the hell it was. Something that needed to go 3-Day Select. In a big hurry. And coordinate all these damn phone calls and emails so that I know what kind of yarn is going to us when and from us to whom when, offer substitutions, get all my actual work done, and all my confirmations out, and, and, and. AAAAUUUGHHHHH.

And then? On the way home? I find out that the two Americans who have been showcased at least on the American media as having died in the Mumbai attacks, a man and his 13-year old daughter? That man is the ex-husband of a cousin of store family. I got to hear about this allll on the way home.

I need a beer.