Permanent Hell?

So, as you've read I am a substitute lunch lady. I am being told by my loving but insane husband that I should actually go in when called in. I guess we have to pay for the new house. They never made that clear enough for me when we bought it. Grr. I prefer to say I have an appointment or something of the like, when called in, which hasn't been a total falsehood as of yet. I did go out to breakfast with friends at a previously agreed upon time. That's an appointment. I was actually sick once when called in. The other times, for the most part, I have gone in.

It's a terrible feeling not knowing from one day to the next if I am working or not. I need mental prep time before such a job. Any job is disconcerting when it's new. This one is nerve racking to me. It should be no big deal, but I take everything very seriously. I wish I didn't. I wish I could just relax and even slack off sometimes, but no. I was raised strict Catholic; enough said. I hate the dish washing, which I always end up having a hand in. The rest of the chores involved with the job are largely unknown to me still, so I can't just make myself busy. I also can't seem to be fast enough at anything for my taste. It's like a big race. I'm wasn't born with lunch lady speed, it seems. It'll have to be learned. Joy. There's nothing I'd like better than to become a fast lunch lady.

So I got called in to the high school on Monday for later in the week. I had to go today. I couldn't even remember how to get there since I'd only been there once before, a month and a half ago. Tom Tom got me there. Tom Tom thinks it's down the road further, but last time when I got lost I made a mental note so as to not do it again. I think it takes me like 20 minutes to get there. It's not my choice of schools to work at. One elementary school is not even a mile from my house. Another elementary and the middle school are close enough. I guess 20 minutes is okay when you live in the middle of nowhere. I'm trying to get used to that. Everyone complains that working at the high school is too hard; they're too busy there they all say. I have found all places to be equally frustrating and busy. 

I am working there three days consecutively this week. That's a huge commitment for me. At least this week I'm not getting the calls the morning they expect me. I was asked to work 4 days, but I turned one down. Luckily, I had made previous plans. It's Halloween that last day and my kids have a parade. Toddler and I plan to attend. He took the day off. That got me out of one day.

I was doing something at work this morning when an older woman whose name I don't know (I know only 2 people's names there of the 6 or so.) confided quietly to me that a position is open. She wondered if I'd applied. This was news to me. She showed me the write up, taped to a table, that explained the position. It's 3 hours a day, 5 days a week, school days only. That would give me snow days and off days home with the kids causing no need for any type of day care. It also allows me to put them on and take them off the bus. It looks so good on paper. It pays about $2/hr. more than I currently make for doing the same job at no notice. The woman told me to steal the paper so I would have the info with which to apply. I did, feeling like red flashing lights and sirens would go off at any minute, triggered by the theft.

Yes, I applied. I had no time to think about it. The deadline for application is tomorrow. I had to scurry home and get the resume out ASAP. I thought it might be nice to have real resume paper for the resume, of which I had none. I scoured the town for some. That means I tried the two stores I live anywhere near. No dice. No resume paper either. I did score a 99 cent pumpkin spice latte, however. Dunkin Donuts is in town and they have a special from 2-5pm right now. I just applied there, too, but I doubt they'd let me work the hours I want. I worked there about 8 years ago, too, and it wasn't a great job. Nothing I can do really is. 

The resume got printed on plain paper and I rushed back out to the post office. I tried the door and it seemed locked. The last time I'd gone to the post office it was closed up tight, so this didn't surprise me. I sighed and dropped the horribly time sensitive post in the outdoor box. As the little door to the postal box slammed shut didn't another car pull up. The woman who materialized from it was able to open the door effortlessly. Doh! I then saw visions of a sitcom. I saw myself in the box, feet sticking out, in pursuit of my letter. I stared at the box instead. It said the last pickup would be 4:45pm. I was somewhat safe. It would, in fact, go out today. I just wanted it out earlier today. I was troubled that someone else might get this job that I don't really want instead of me. What is my problem? I don't know. I guess if I have to work this is my best bet. Oh bother.

Garage Sales Suck

Some people live for this. I hate it. I hate all of it. I hate the sorting and unpacking of the shit. I hate the arranging and pricing of the shit. I hate the advertising of the shit and the marketing of the sale and items. If it weren't for my mom who lives for such insanity, I'd have never made it so far. I stood by largely watching her work her magic to make this whole stupid idea work.

Why even do it? Why punish myself by even having a garage sale? Well, geniuses as we are, we bought a house sans storage. We moved from a house with a full attic and basement to one with neither. It's really a good thing, mostly. I mean, I no longer have to take two flights of stairs to a dungeon full of boxes of unused who-knows-what to do the laundry. Basements are spider and dust ridden nastiness from wall to cold concrete wall. Attics are cool, I guess. The thing is, the more storage space you have the more you tend to store. We had a lot of space and we lived there 11 years. Enough said.

So, I've had a sale for four days, three weeks in a row. The first few days were actually kind of nice in that I made a killing and met all of my neighbors, all of which I like. The next few days I made less and saw a lot of the same people over and over. I'd forgotten their names, so I felt awkward talking to them, all the while wondering what to call them, if anything, and in what house near me they lived. The days passed such that each got less prosperous. I think I made over $200 the first day. Today, I made $6. There's new stuff out all the time, too, so it's not that my stuff is too picked over. I think everyone in the entire small town has been here a few times already. It's really too bad, too, 'cause I still have so much to sell. I don't care so much about the money as I do about getting rid of the stuff we can no longer use or store. I can't donate it ALL, though. Some of it is too pricey and or priceless. People have said they'd come back for the big ticket items and of course they didn't.

Then there's the thieves. My sister wanted me to put out some of her stuff. There still is a camera she wants $100 for and a bracelet she wants $42 for. One bracelet already sold. The third was lifted right out from under me. Some older woman who was dressed so expensively and stylishly came. She was interested in one of the bracelets. She asked me how to do the clasp. I showed her. I put it on her and feigned delight at how it lit up her wrist. She took it off, put it back, and continued to shop. She ended up buying a lot of small stuff. I bagged it all and tallied her bill. She chatted nicely and I never thought. I took it one tragic step too far. I decided she needed a rubber band on the board game she bought so as to not lose all of the pieces. I told her I'd be right back. No one was there. I'd just be a second for a rubber band. Nope. I couldn't find one and quickly gave up figuring tape would have to do. I returned to her side to take the cash and give her the bag. She was terribly cordial in a classy way. I enjoyed chatting with her as sitting there all day is crazy boring. She left. I felt good that I'd sold a bunch. I decided to busy myself by rearranging the stock to cover up the empty spaces that her purchases left. DOH! I saw right then- the bracelet was gone. The very one she'd fawned over. Son of a bitch! I'd just been taken by an old lady who could buy and sell me a few times over. I felt terrible. I called my sister in Georgia to explain the tragedy and apologize. I felt like hell for letting that happen. I contrived all of these ideas to track her down and accuse her, but none of them were logical. It was just a lame attempt to make myself feel better. Now the cameras and last bracelet are in the house. A sign tells people to ask me to see the big ticket items. Nobody even reads it.

People are idiots. My driveway is probably 150' long, right? Ok. Well, at the very end of it is the two+ car garage packed FULL of items for sale. The stock ranges from Syracuse China to socks. You know, people will actually slow down and make a rolling stop out front as if seeing my wares and discounting them all from 150'. I had no idea people in these parts had x-ray vision. They need a way to market that. Then there are the men. Why do men go to garage sales? Good question. I can't answer it. They sometimes ask up front if I have certain items: hunting and fishing goods, stamps, postcards, old gold, tools and electronics. I can respect that. I often know just what I want and asking is logical. Why not take a quick peek, though? What if I have something you didn't know you needed? Then there're the men who just stand outside the entrance to the garage glaring in before returning to their car. The rest of the men revolve around any electronics I have, no matter how lame and old they are. None buy much of anything. The women are slobs. They fondle everything that is laid out with precision for the best possible display, putting nothing back the way they find it. They put back $1 items because they're too expensive yet they'll go to the dollar stores and load up a cart full of crap. Nobody ever looks over the inventory well enough to see everything. I especially like the people who survey half of the garage, seemingly interested, only to leave without even glancing at the other half. One guy had the balls to ask me to take $5 for a stand my uncle made me by hand. I'd labeled it $10. That's a deep discount, is it not? I paused and gently replied that I'd gladly do $7 but not less. He said, "Nope. $5." I said, "Sorry." He said, "I'm walking away!" as if to scare me into taking $5 for this priceless piece of my childhood that would surely serve anyone well for years to come. I said, "Ok, then, have a nice day." Inside my mind, I said, "Leave fast before I slash your tires, Asshole!"

Over all, garage sales are a big fat pain in the back side. I don't recommend anyone have one. However, if you happen to stop at one, be respectful of the poor slob who has to sit there all day. Look the stuff over well, don't haggle about ridiculously low prices, and put things back how you find them.

Fall Hath Fallen

Yep, it's officially fall here in the shitty part of the world I call home. The stores have had Halloween crap strewn about since the second week of September. People started decorating their homes and yards not long after. I made an observation on that note: the lower class you are the earlier and more elaborately you decorate for Halloween.

I actually do like Halloween. What better holiday? You dress up so nobody knows who you are and then you go to strangers and take candy. It's so twisted. Who can resist strangers with candy!? Still, there's a time and a place. At least spare me until mid-October, please, I beg you. That doesn't mean I can't start buying the candy and consume it in mass quantities starting now.

The leaves, oh the leaves. Aren't they just beautiful in other people's yards? Mine is littered with a thick carpet of those little carnival colored bastards. I will not rake however much of our 2.5 acres is mowed. I just refuse. That leaves me with one option: mow over them with my non-mulching tractor all into the center of the lawn and then mow over them with the mulching push mower. What a hassle just so they can come down in droves the minute I finish, before I can even gaze about with a feeling of accomplishment. Then there's the lawn tractor. I tend to beat it up horribly, therefore it's currently incapacitated. What, may you ask, can one do to destroy a lawn tractor? Well, let me tell you. It's all very simple. I have a multitude of trees (yes, all leafy) in my mowed section of lawn. I try diligently to mow as close to those trees as possible. Push mowing sucks and the more I leave un-mowed by the tractor, the more I have to push. Got it? So the damn trees sneak up on me when I am sure I am just close enough to mow without hitting the base of the trunk. They dive sideways and bam! I sideswipe the trunks. Know what that does to a big expensive lawn tractor? Let me tell you: it bends the metal deck under which the blade is supposed to spin. The blade will no longer spin without hitting the dent and making a horrible noise if it doesn't cut right through the deck. I know for a fact. I've done this twice in two months. Luckily, I have a handy friend who can fix about anything. He bails me out, laughing at me the whole time, like any good friend would do.

Finally, there's the telltale chill in the air and the early darkness of impending winter. I won't say the four letter S word that I immediately think of when I think of winter in Central New York. There'll be lots of it in due time. All in due time. That means way too soon, in my opinion. We get too much of it, too. It can start in October and take us straight into late March or early April. Doesn't that just suck? Trust me, it does. Then, to make matters worse I moved into an area that is renown for getting more. What was I thinking? The house also seems to have broken thermostats in the bedrooms. Joy!

Trick or F'ing Treat!