15 July 2013

I'm at work, but that doesn't mean I'm awake.

You know it's not a good day when you feel like punching an old lady in the face, in front of your mother, and it's not even noon.

There are certain type of people who think that if a conversation is going on within their earshot, even if it could in no conceivable way involve them at the moment, that they are a part of that conversation and shall interject their opinions whether you like it or not.

Fuck those people.

There was this one guy at my non-liquor job in England who used to do that all the time.  He'd be in the same room, but you'd be sat at a computer right next to someone else talking about whatever, and from like, 30 feet away he'd all of a sudden start talking like he was 'in on it' the whole time.  What the eff?

My mum and dad came by the liquor store today to pick up something from me.  Being Sunday, it was a little slow, so there weren't a whole lot of people around.  This one lady in particular, I have nothing against her.  She's kind of nice, generally.  But this morning was one of those mornings where it takes half a pot of coffee for this to stop going through my head:

Half a pot of coffee before I didn't feel like crying, yelling and hating my life all at the same time.  I don't like not getting enough sleep.

So my mum comes in and gives me a big hug, as mum's do, and stood there chatting a bit.  This lady comes in, buys her beer and I give her back her change and say goodbye, and then turn back to my mum and we keep up our conversation.  Incidentally, we were talking about how much pasta salad to make for dinner tomorrow, when this lady, and here's the bit where I want to interject rude words, she decides that we need her opinion on how much pasta salad to make.  Because she's totally going to be there and completely knows exactly how much food I tend to eat.

This pasta salad was just for me, since I have to have special glutard-friendly food.  I tend not to eat a lot at once, I'm kind of a grazer.  I like to snack and eat little things all day, except for when I haven't had a chance to eat, and then my eyes are about 100 times bigger than my stomach and I'll end up eating two bites and being full.

Anyways, this old lady, she interjects her opinion, and all I can do is turn to her and do this:

The stare that says 'I'm going to stab you in the face to death.'

Thankfully, she left and my mother didn't discover what a rude bitch I can be when I'm super cranky and tired.  Also thankfully, nothing else really bad happened today.  I've been working a lot, opening the liquor store and then doing deliveries in the evening.

This past weekend in my city there was a certain annual festival of sorts, involving classic cars.  It's a big draw, lots of people travel into town for it, and on Friday night there's a huge cruise, where everyone who has registered to participate drives their car around town for about 3 hours and lets everyone have a look-see.  Suffice to say, traffic was terrible and it was taking close to an hour for deliveries because, naturally, the store I work in is right on the main road where people were driving.  The parking lot was crammed, there were drunk people everywhere.  Nothing went horribly wrong, really, other than being way, way too busy for having one of our drivers not come in.

Let me just say, I'm amazed I didn't get any tickets this weekend because slow drivers make me kind of angry (picture She-Hulk).  I managed not to hit anyone or do anything overwhelmingly stupid, other than speed a bit and do a little too much 'multitasking' between driving and phone usage.  I use my map app on my phone to find addresses, so I have to adjust the resolution sometimes while driving, and sometimes I have to phone the customer when the pizza's late, but I always use the speaker-phone when doing that and I have my phone on a hands-free mount.  Trying to be a little safe, you know, for the sake of anyone who happens to choose a poor time to cross the road impulsively, and for any police that end up reading this.

Sometimes I really wish there was a club or a hang-out spot for people in the liquor industry to go hang out and chill with other people who understand their pain.  As far as I'm aware, no bar in my town has an industry night, which is a shame.  The commiseration of other people, especially those who work in liquor stores, does wonders for being able to handle this type of job.  You'd think it was like any other retail job, or at least a regular retail job crossed with working in a bar, but it's not quite the same.

People buying cheap stuff and barely affording it, or just coming in two or three times a day. Guys who go through a 750 mL of cheap rye every day, or the guy who's hands are shaking as he reaches for the 50 mL shot of vodka to tide him over until he gets home to drink his 6-pack. People who buy a 200 mL bottle, which isn't much, but you know they do that every day, and not just at your store, either.

But most of all, it's the fact that we have so many regulars, far more than I can remember the names for. Each of them wants to be treated differently because they're a regular, they want to know you and be friends, but there's so many, hundreds, and I can't be friends with everyone. It seems like they expect it, though, and they all want a piece of my life, and I can't tell so many people all my personal stuff. It literally takes something out of me since I tend to be somewhat of a private person around people I don't know (anonymous blogging is different). But I try my best to give them nothing and just a stock, customer service answer, but then I run the risk of them thinking I'm being a cold, rude bitch.

I also get the people in with verbal diarrhea that want to talk about so much stuff I could not give less of a shit about. I don't care about them at all, with the exception of a very few regulars who I do kind of consider as friends. But no, I have to listen to them ramble, because that's the alcohol industry, it makes people talkative and lonely.  It can be very depressing having so many dozens of people sponging off of you, not even in a malicious way, but because their own lives are so depressing that they can't help but feed off of your small amount of happiness.

Back in January I was really sick and it hurt to talk a lot.  My boss, because she's wonderful, made me these:

I'd love to have those to use whenever, except I want one that says, 'I'm done talking to you, go away now please.'  This one, naturally, is my favourite:

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