E4: Take what you can

So did you ever wake up one morning and be like, "Hm, it's tuesday. I'll go to school, I'll do my work on the newspaper, and then I'll come home, play video games and chill all night?" I was really looking forward to that.

But stupid me.... stupid, stupid me, thought, "okay, what harm could come from giving another call to those Cafeteria people and maybe get some kind of interview." I made the call, and while the phone is ringing, I think, "Please be the machine. Please don't be the machine. Please be the machine. Please don't be the machine." I was panicky. It was the machine. I left the same message I left a week ago, left my number and went about my business.

I practically had my neck out the door for an errand when the phone rings. My stomach sinks. I know it's them. It is. I answer. They offer me the job. They ask if I can come down today.

A-hum-whatnow?

Well I kind of got suckerpunched, and I was totally unprepared to weasel my way out of it. So I say, "sure, I can come..." blah blah, a few details, by 2:30, I'm there. And I'm nervous as hell. This was a far cry from the lounging and playing video games I had planned. After being issued a uniform (without any fuckin' pockets?) and an assload of paperwork, I'm officially working at the Tim Horton's at Sheridan.

Nice move, Scott. Hardly a day goes by you don't complain about the lines at that place. Now you're serving them. Way to go. Idiot. Somehow, I succeeded by accident.

So it's starts off, I'm the little bitch. I can't sweep fast enough, I'm standing around too much, etc etc. Usual first day hassle, I guess. After an hour or so of misery, I'm shuffled into the bagel corner. Not bad. I get flashbacks of my days in the Cafeteria serving the public. I can make a bagel, and I did that for a good portion of the afternoon.

By the time it's my dinner break, I've made too many bagels to ocunt and I can't eat. I want a Coke, but opt for water. And then I sit down someplace quiet with my bottle of water, and utter to myself those five little words made famous by G.O.B. Bluth all those years ago...

"I've made a huge mistake."

The evening goes on. I take to making people's coffee after the luncheon-dinner rush is over and the late-after-school crowd starts filing in. Plus, it keeps me busy in a way that making bagels didn't always satisfy.

At lasy 9 O'Clock comes and Maureen, the Manager, closes the gate. Following a prolonged cleanup session (during which I reverted back to my little bitch status,) I at last heard those magical words, "you can go home." I worked 7 hours. The place was hot, I hadn't eaten and to this moment feel no desire to. I schlepped my gear back home though the sketchy forest and sat down...

and I went to the fridge...

and I got that Coke I had promised myself earlier that night, and teased myself with all throughout...

and I opened it, and took a sip.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the feeling of accomplishment.

So I woke up this morning, my biggest concern was, what is mom doing about dinner? The afternoon could not have veered further from that train of thought.

So I've got this job. I'm not going to lie, I'm telling people I don't know how long I'll be there. I expect to quit, quite honestly, before long. Remember last year, when I was like, "I'm totally not going to stay at this bowling alley past November." Okay, I made a bit of a liar out of myself by staying into January, but I essentially stuck to my guns. I've got a taste for quitting. Plus, I've got something of an escape plan. I've still got a feel out to that halloween store, and if they still want to hire me, I'm going to jump off this Tim Horton's ship, presumably before I even get my first paycheck. And then I'll work until Halloween, rake up some dough, and be set for a while.

The alternative is that I work for Tim Horton's at Sheridan until I kill myself, but I suspect the length would be similar. And I wouldn't get to keep the money I made, because I'd be dead. You can't take it with you.

Not that it's all bad. It's a decent day's work for what I assume is fair pay. The people are generally nice and adaptable, and the work is do-able. And, as I summed up to mom upon my arrival home, "at least I didn't have to drive all the way out to Mississauga to do it."

Unrelated tangent: there's something about little golf pencils that makes you want to steal them. That's just a fact. Whether at a mini golf place, a bowling alley, or a grocery store, you just want to walk away with it. I try not to, but it's not like I didn't snag a few from Classic Bowl, advertently and otherwise.

The Daily Show is running a retrospective of a great feature long past, "Even Stephvens," which was a brilliant debate piece between Steve Carrell and Stephen Colbert, both of whom have, according to Jon Stewart, "become lost to obscurity." It shows that these guys didn't suddenly turn up one day and be funny. They've been hilarious for years and people have recently taken severe notice. The future looks decent.

Anyway, although I could ramble on more about work and my already-Machiavellian designs on leaving it as suddenly as I arrived, I think tonight's post has reached its end, and I'll save it for another day.

Nobody tell anybody about my plan.

And never, ever, ever, be available to come down "today." You need two days at least. REMEMBER THAT.

I have to go lie down.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto