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I am sick and cranky and right pissed off. grr!
I can't call the stupid cineame to fins\d out if I am supposed to work tomorrow because they never fucking answer the fucking godamned phone. So now, I have to *assume* that I am working, which means, planning for a long, horrible day of SHIT, working the fucking friday night of matrix opening weekend, and I don't even know if I am supposed to be there. Also, I don't know how long I'd be working, and I heard a nasty rumour that we have to stay open a bit later too, which probably means I'll be waitihng around for a fucking *HOUR* after I get off work to catch the bus, and walk half an hour to get home, sometime around 1. And then get up at 6 in the morning, to catch a bus at 7, wait 40 minutes in downtown with nothing open and nowhere to go, to be to work at eight, on a Saturday (long weekend, expect busy-ness at ESM too), to cook a hundred pounds of pasta and cut a million heads of lettuce. Which I'll also have to do tomorrow.
Which would be tolerable if I at least *knew* that I wasn't going to have a wasted day tomorrow, with nothing to do, because they won't fucking PICK UP THE GODDAMNED PHONE.
Rational? Maybe not. Bite me.
I can't call the stupid cineame to fins\d out if I am supposed to work tomorrow because they never fucking answer the fucking godamned phone. So now, I have to *assume* that I am working, which means, planning for a long, horrible day of SHIT, working the fucking friday night of matrix opening weekend, and I don't even know if I am supposed to be there. Also, I don't know how long I'd be working, and I heard a nasty rumour that we have to stay open a bit later too, which probably means I'll be waitihng around for a fucking *HOUR* after I get off work to catch the bus, and walk half an hour to get home, sometime around 1. And then get up at 6 in the morning, to catch a bus at 7, wait 40 minutes in downtown with nothing open and nowhere to go, to be to work at eight, on a Saturday (long weekend, expect busy-ness at ESM too), to cook a hundred pounds of pasta and cut a million heads of lettuce. Which I'll also have to do tomorrow.
Which would be tolerable if I at least *knew* that I wasn't going to have a wasted day tomorrow, with nothing to do, because they won't fucking PICK UP THE GODDAMNED PHONE.
Rational? Maybe not. Bite me.