2006-07-10 @ 5:40 p.m.
Large anonymous crowd mumbles "Hello awittykitty"
"...and I (momentarily stumbling over my words) DIDN'T see "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" over the weekend...."
Loud audible gasp from audience.
yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. What a travesty! And I was such a rebel too! I actually went to see "The Devil Wore Prada", the first movie I've seen in 6 months and was duly disappointed. I really thought it was going to be a totally catty, pull all the stops out bitch-o-rama fest with Meryl Streep, in one of her wonderfully wicked over the top performances like in "She-Devil", but instead, it mainly focused on the goodie goodie Anne Hathaway princess girl who was way too gorgeous to be considered a "fat" ugly duckling by her twittish coworkers. I really wanted to see some fur fly. I really wanted some witty repartee with the gay art director Stanley Tucci. Honestly....a movie about the fashion industry that didn't include some kind of crazy cat fight? What kind of movie is this? I mean other than bringing up the subject of really horrible bosses, what good was it?
I've had a couple of inept ones over the years. But only one really bad one springs to mind. She was out in California and made my life totally miserable. She was always up in my face. And very demeaning and for lack of a better word, a total bitch.
For instance there was always a really terrible traffic jam going into work everyday. And I kept leaving earlier and earlier to get there on time. And then I started getting off 3 exits early and going up some back way through Novato to trim off some time. And then I'd get there like a minute late after literally RUNNING in from the parking lot and she'd dramatically lift her arm up and look at her watch and say: "Oh, glad you could make it for lunch."
And what was funny was, I was one of the best classified sales reps at the newspaper. My specialty was getting people to renew their newspaper ads. I was the champ. One month our newspaper had a contest to see who could get the most renewals in a single month. I knew it was mine. No doubt about it. The only problem was. The prize? Lunch with the Boss from Hell. It was sorta like...You can win a Million Dollars but you have to have Sex With Richard Simmons first. Argh!!
So I won the contest as I knew I would. And I had to have lunch with the Boss from Hell. I practically puked waiting to go to lunch with her, because who wants to go to lunch with someone you absolutely despise? Fortunately there was a third person who had won some other work-related contest, so I just sat quietly and ate my lunch and looked out over the hills of Marin. And then back at the office she went right back into Boss from Hell-mode and any pride I felt from winning a contest that made my company big bucks quickly dissipated.
I eventually DID have what amounted to a nervous breakdown at that job. The constant pressure to perform. Psycho-bitch from Hell breathing down my back....literally. My desk was right in front of her's. I literally could not say or do anything without her seeing or hearing me, but that didn't mean I didn't. I had some really good friends at that job and we were incredibly mean and catty about her, since nobody liked her.
I sat directly in front of her, with my back to her, so whenever she screamed something, I'd make some outrageously grotesque face or hang my tongue out the side of my mouth or stick my finger up my nose and everyone in my quad would laugh. She didn't exactly know what I was doing, but she knew it was something about her and she'd get really pissed. But since she couldn't exactly see me, she just made my life a living hell. Of course, I did pay her back in a million different tiny ways with my friends. The faces. The elaborate nasty names involving her significant girth. I had to have some fun, didn't I?
When I finally left my job (the stress caused me to lose my voice. I ended up suing the company and actually winning), all my coworkers gave me a big going away party. On my last day, former coworkers came streaming back into the office with flowers and wine for me. Another worker went around and handed out invitations to my party. It was really obvious what was going on. A party for witty. Everyone got an invitation EXCEPT the Boss from Hell. They wanted to make the point that she WASN'T invited and that they all cared about me and for me, that was about the best thing ever. It was the most loved I had ever felt at a work place.
Anyways, after the movie yesterday, I went over to my favorite Filipino cheap-o nail salon for a chin waxing. Yup. I was starting to look like Old Yeller once again and since the Filipino's is the cheapest place in the mall, I just put my extreme distrust of filippinos aside for about 15 minutes and get the deed done. And while most women probably dislike the thought of hairs getting rippppppppp'ed out of their flesh in one fell swope, I kind of get off on it in a way. Its kind of refreshing. Exhilarating. Okay, I'm a bit of a pain slut.
Was it good for you, baby?
What can I say? Hot wax. A smattering of pain. A Filipino laying across my bosom, taking out her frustrations because she didn't land an old rich white dude like my Dad. "Rii'iiiiiiiipppppppp!!!!"
Usually I have the young one do it, but yesterday it was the momma. And she seemed particularly angry about something, because she was practically yanking molars out through my nostrils. Because what usually takes about 6 minutes with 6 strips of wax, took about 15 minutes. I swear, she must have plucked about an additional 5000 hairs down to almost my pubic area, because she was practically laying on top of me, plucking my face so fast that a thin stream of smoke was rising up. And the song playing on the Muzak overhead? "I Did It My Way!" rather ironically.
And then when she finished she didn't even give me a mirror. They always give you a mirror so you can see their handywork...good, bad or kung-fu like. I've had the kung-fu eyebrow thing before. An Asian woman plucking your eyebrows in some weird upsweeping thingie, making me look either like some chubby Irish kung-fu master or Spock's illegitimate child.
So after I left the place I was walking through the mall wondering what I looked like. I kept stopping at storefronts trying to look in the glass to see if I looked bizarre. Then there was this earring kiosk out in the middle and they had an actual mirror, but I knew if I stopped, I would somehow be required to buy some large oddly shaped dangle earrings just to look at my bright red forehead from whence a scraggly eyebrow once lived. I finally went to a Dollar Store and found a Dollar Mirror and she had actually done a good job. And no chin hairs either. Or chest hairs (if I had any to begin with. Maybe not). Or armpit hairs. Yup. I think she got all the legally removable hairs.
I then finally headed over to the yuppie grocery store. They still haven't responded to my latest application and I've talked to several managers, none of whom seem to know anything about the store's wildly mysterious hiring practices. It must be a secret like the recipe to Bush's baked beans. But at least I haven't got the usual rejection postcard yet. Yay me!
I had to pick up some stuff for a party at work Monday. The guy for whom I wrote a letter of recommendation a couple of weeks ago got hired, so we always have a welcome breakfast for new hires. And then I got a couple of things for myself. So I loaded the party food on the conveyor belt first since I had to pay for it with a company credit card. And then this middle aged guy starts loading his stuff on and you know how conveyor belts keep going and suddenly all the other person's food is right up to the scanner? Unfortunately, I was still unloading my cart, with the second half of my order. And I was still clearly leaning down into my cart getting stuff out. So I momentarily turned and attempted to stop his stuff on the conveyor belt by putting down one of those divider thingies. Well, he totally blew up and started cussing and swearing at me. He called me stupid and idiot. He said not to touch his groceries. And then he demanded to know why I didn't already have everything out of my cart.
Because my sole purpose in life is to annoy you, you fucking asshat?
And then he suddenly started taking all his precious little groceries (asshole pills, Dickhead soup, fucktard pickles) and slamming them back into his shopping cart. I mean totally slamming them. My god, what a drama queen. That'll teach me, huh? Not being completely ready for when drama-boy decides to puts his precious little dumbshit cream broulee on the conveyor belt. Sheesh!
Gee witty. Maybe he's single. Woot!
I did comment to the cashier what an asshole he was, but the kid, to his credit, did not respond. I guess I really should keep my opinions to myself, since lately, they've been getting me in trouble it seems.
But the strangest thing happened on the way out of the store. I was wheeling my cart out and I walked by this man who was standing by the entrance. I just barely glimpsed him, as I passed him but it was like this bolt of lightening. He was in his 40's from my glance. He had longer hair like a hippie. He was dressed in cargo pants, a linen shirt. He was wearing horn rimmed glasses.
Damn, I didn't even really look at him, but I felt such a huge jolt of electricity or karma or something. It was really weird. So did I turn my little cart around and go back? No. The feeling was so strong, I was just too scared.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty