The bad: Thanksgiving turkey fuxx0rz3d with my sleep, to the point where I overslept and missed my chance to haul my butt up to Pack 'n Mail to send out the XV tapes. They will go out by Tuesday at the latest. Promise.
The ugly: Well, my lovely Distric Manager wants me to haul my to another store to help out there. I work at #301, in Alsip, my lovely hometown. It takes me, at most, seven minutes to get to work. And while my mom was working out at #159 in Orland Park, I really didn't mind going out there. Mainly because it was my mom's store. And that drive was 30 minutes during the holiday rush.
But my DM does not want me at #159. He wants me at #45, in Frankfort. Which is about a hour+ drive to it.
Screw area, this damned store isn't even in the same fucking COUNTY I'm in. The intersection it's on is the crossroads of the middle of nowhere and bumfuck. (Note: Not the actual street names, but it's damned close.)
Now when I was told of this, I said "I would think about it.", thus leaving me the decision on whether or not to haul my carcass out there. But according to next week's schedual posted today, my decision has been made without one bit of input from me.
Oh joy, I'm working in the destitution of suck that is #45, a gas station who sells more in booze and milk than gas.
And my "bonus" for working there? 50 cents an hour only while I'm at *that* store. (Which I'm going to get that permanent. $9.50/hr = RJ HAPPY & MONEY.)
... Vic-fucking-toly. And the half a buck is to cover gas. Which I'm lucky that the Jimmy, for being a SUV, doesn't burn the fuel like a SUV.
Ugh, I would rant more, but the headache because of this crap is starting up and I have to get to bed anyways.
And Ginji Kawai still owns your ass for free, and uses it as part of KFC's secret herbs & spices. :P
