I LOL-ed and startled someone who was “reading” in the Erotica section

5 01 2009

Oftentimes, when a customer sees the huge line up at Chapters’ front cash, or get an urgent call to go perform emergency heart surgery, or just REALLY wants to ruin my fucking day, they drop whatever books they have collected in their wanderings around the store, and leave them for the dutiful (dutiful but not very cheerful) employees to deal with. I find piles of books abandoned on the floor, on display tables, behind gift products, in Starbucks… basically everywhere except for the sections they actually goddamned originated from. I came across this very interesting stack of books at work the other day, and I literally laughed out loud, abandoned a pile of books that I was shelving (on the floor, haaah), and ran into the back room to take a picture with my cell phone.

Please read the titles from top to bottom. I swear I in no way altered this picture nor the arrangement of the books for the sake of entertainment. Really.

pic-0071

Advertisements




Probably an innapropriate choice for the classroom

26 11 2008

At Chapters, I have the unfortunate mixture of “Cash” shifts and “Tasking” shifts, which means that some of my shifts will be spent chained to a cash register (“Have you heard about our iRewards program that saves you ten percent off all your book perchases for a year? *eye twinkle/mouth vomit*”) and the rest of my shifts are delegated to completing various tasks. Sometimes I shelve all day (omgyesplz.), sometimes I help with “merchandizing” the gift section, and sometimes I have other mundane responsibilities like “providing stellar customer service to EVERYONE FO-EVA!”. Yesturday, it was a Cash shift.

Halfway though my day, a man came up to my till, handed me his small stack of books and said “I’m a teacher and I’d like to get my 20% discount please.”

This is nothing out of the ordinary, we get teachers wanting a discount all the time, which isn’t a big deal, as long as they’re purchasing books for use within their classroom. So I started on my routine spiel… “Okay sure, I just need to see your teachers certificate and a piece of photo ID while I –”

And that’s when I noticed the books he was buying.

“Sir, you can only use your teacher’s discount on books that are for use in the classroom, and follow curriculum guidelines.”

“Yes, I know, these are for the classroom.”

I glanced down at the books in front of me and, understandably, had a hard time believing that he was telling the truth. He had chosen a Barbie Sticker Activity Book, a Kurt Cobain biography and Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk.

These books?”

“Yes, why?”

“Uh, I’m going to have to get my supervisor to approve the discount. I don’t have the authority to change prices…” This sounds like a lie, but its quite true. Since starting at Chapters, I was somewhat demoted from my position of authority at Coles. While at Coles, I was what is now called an ACEM, which is the position immediately below the Assistant Manager. I had ALL the codes and passwords and authority to do whatever needed doing — price modify, no sales, voids, refunds, etc. Now? I have nothing.

So I walked over to the Cash office, and explained the situation to the COD (cash supervisor). “Chay, I have a customer who wants to use his teachers discount on a Barbie sticker book, a Kurt Cobain bio, and Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk.”

Chay looked up and said “You’re kidding. Isn’t Snuff… -”

“…- the book written about a porn star who’s final performance is a gang bang featuring her and 600 men? Yeah, it sure is.”

Chay shook her head, and followed me back to my till. “Sir,” she began, “We can only give a teachers discount for books that are going to be used in the classroom.” And then, after seeing his valid teachers certificate, to try to catch him in his lie, she asked “What age are the children in your class?”

“Oh its a split level program. The students wrote me a list of books that they would be interested in reading, and this is it. I figure hell, if they’re willing to read something, it doesn’t matter what the book is about, as long as they’re gonna read I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Right,” Chay said, having trouble masking her disbelief. “But do you really think a Kurt Cobain biography and Snuff are appropriate choices?”

I chimed in with “Are you aware of what Snuff is about?”

The man shrugged and said “Not really, but it doesn’t matter, as long as they’re interested and willing to read, it will further their education and greatly improve their reading skills.”

“O…kay.” Chay said. “I have a hard time believing that any school board’s mandated curriculum would approve Snuff as an appropriate book for use in the classroom, but unfortunately, I have no way to prove whether or not you’re telling the truth. I’ll give you the discount this time, because I have to follow store policies, but I strongly feel that these books are wildly innapropriate for anyone who is learning to read, mixed level classroom or not.”

So the teacher got his discount on what I hope to GOD are Christmas presents and not books for his students. Short of books found in the erotica or sexuality section, I can’t fathom a MORE inappropriate book for the classroom than Snuff. On Amazon’s description of the book, one can clearly see that “Chuck Palahniuk’s latest novel is an X-rated story suitable for adults only”. Why is it that Christmas always brings out the crazies, the cheapskates and the blatant liars?





Some kind of special moustache?

9 11 2008

This video fills me with delight. And to keep from being labeled a “political blogger”, I’m going to say much about the recent election results. I’ll leave it at THANKFUCKINGGOD. I’m very relieved that our neighbours to the south didn’t fuck things up — again. I read somewhere online that there are a handful of people who are quite upset about Obama’s win, and are convinced he is going to make things worse. HOW MUCH WORSE COULD IT POSSIBLY GET?!
Ahem. On another note, I’d like to share a few of the mindbogglingly idiotic customer questions and queries I have been asked within the first week of my new job at Chapters.

– “I’m looking for a cookbook, but all I can remember is that it has a picture of food on the cover, and the word Cuisine in the title — do you have it?”

– “Do you have one of those Amazon Kindle thingies?” No, sir, they’re sold by AMAZON.

– “Since you don’t have the book I want in stock, could you just quickly check McNally Robinson’s inventory?” Uh, no, I don’t have access to their system because we are TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT COMPANIES.

– “Do you have that John Grisham one in hardcover?” Which.. one? “You know, the one! The John Grisham one!”

– “Have you read this?” / “Is this one any good?” You mean that randomly chosen book which is one of the THOUSANDS if not MILLIONS of books we have in the store? Yep.

– “How much is this?” The price is printed on the back cover. “No, it isn’t, I looked EVERYWHERE! It isn’t priced!” Bottom right corner. $18.95. “Oh. Well, the other copy I checked wasn’t priced, you know..” Right.

– “I’m looking for a romance novel my cousin has, she said she bought it here.” Super, whats the title? “Oh I don’t know the title, I know that there is a woman with a big poofy dress on the front, and that she’s standing beside this hunky muscle man with no shirt on…” That.. doesn’t narrow it down at all. Literally every romance novel cover has a slight variation on that very scene. In this one, for example, the hunky muscle man has an eye patch, and the woman is holding a parrot. “I think the man has green eyes” Uh.. okay… but see, I can’t actually search the database based on a description of the wardrobe or eye colour of the people on the cover… “Really? Wow, you should probably be able to do that, it would be very helpful.” You know what would be helpful? TAKE FOUR SECONDS TO WRITE DOWN THE FUCKING TITLE NEXT TIME.

– “I’m looking for a book…..” (after waiting for more details, and only getting a vacant stare, I usually grab closest book off shelf) Is this it? “Uh, no, this isn’t it.” Oh, it isnt’? DO YOU MAYBE WANT TO TELL ME THE FEW VAGUE DETAILS YOU DO KNOW ABOUT THE BOOK? Like the colour of the cover? Or whether or not the author has a moustache? IS THERE A NUMBER IN THE TITLE? (All of which have been details I’ve been given, when I’ve asked people which book they were looking for. “Oh I don’t know the title, but the author has a very smart looking beard. Do you know the book I mean?”)

My mom (who owned her own bookstore while I was growing up, and now works for the same company I do — Chapters/Indigo/Coles) and I joke about how convenient it would be if our stores were organized by colour instead of my topic. Like the amazing art project, There Is Nothing Wrong In This Whole Wide World, that happened in San Fransisco a few years ago. The artist, Chris Cobbs, rearranged the inventory of a local bookstore entirely by spine colour. I had my dvds arranged the same way, in my old Thunder Bay apartment, and would have them that way again if I had a big enough bookcase for them. Although, I bet if bookstores WERE arranged that way, customers would start coming in knowing the author, the title, and the ISBN, but with NO idea what hue the cover might be….

blue

1555430_9539d0fa73_o





Whats new?

21 10 2008

Because I am forgetful and easily distracted, I have been neglecting my blog as of late (as well as my email correspondence — Sorry Craig) so here I am to give you an overview of my life.

I’ve been having a whole lot of rage issues directed solely towards my bank (Scotiabank), such as me depositing a check ($600) and them holding a large percentage of it (2/3) for SIX BUSINESS DAYS. SIX. This came at an especially bad time because my car insurance was scheduled to come out around the same time, and it COULDN’T because THE BANK WOULDN’T LET ANYONE ACCESS MY GODDAMNED MONEY FOR SIX BUSINESS DAYS. I went and threw a minor fit, and threatened to close the account and they scrambled to take the hold of, and said “they would do everything they could to reduce the hold”. I got tired the whole thing, so I left — to find another bank that I don’t hate the existence of. Six business days, Scotiabank? Seriously? Every other bank I’ve ever been associate with (and that’s more or less of them, excluding BMO) has a 24 or 48 hour hold. SIX BUSINE- okay that’s enough.

I quit Baked Expectations a few weeks ago. Who say that coming, right? Not me, that’s for sure — until the insane woman running the place vaguely accused me of stealing $1000, and then completely ignored me for a week. We’re talking no eye contact, no direct conversations or requests. Nothing. If I answered the phone, she would ask to talk to someone else. If I asked her a question, she pretended not to hear me. Yves, one of the servers I worked with a lot, told me that this was her way of “apologizing” because she had “changed her mind, and didn’t think I stole the money anymore”. Right. Very mature. Eventually, though, she did start talking to me again, but in a way that made it very clear that she no longer liked me. She would complain about me to Yves while standing three feet away from me. She would roll her eyes if I asked her to confirm any of her barked orders (because in all seriousness, a lot of the stuff she says is insane/doesn’t make sense/isn’t fully explained), she would roll her eyes at me and glare at me as though I were a completely fucking idiot. After I had been working days for two weeks, and had been putting up with this kindof bullshit treatment, I was feeling slightly uneasy about what my upcoming schedule was going to be like, so on my way out the door one day, I asked her if me doing the day shift was going to be a permanent thing. Let it be known that she had previously told me that it was, but clearly, her opinions of me had shifted, so I wanted to be really sure. She said “PFfft no, of course not. You’re only working days until Ernie gets back from his vacation. Then you’ll be working nights, MAYBE with full time hours” I said “…Oh” and walked out, then walked home to print off my letter of resignation. Accuse me of stealing, ignore me for weeks, treat me like shit, take away my day shifts, demote me back to nights, and say that I MIGHT (MIGHT!) get full time hours? Oh. Fuck. That. So I quit, and during my final week there, I almost walked out in the middle of my shift FOUR DAYS IN A ROW, due to her treating me like garbage. I’ve gone back into Baked a few times, to pick up my last check/tips, and to visit, because by the time I was done there, I had become friends with most of my co-workers, even some that I hated when I first started there. Everytime I go in, everyone is so excited to see me, and they all ask how I’m doing, where I’m working, etc. And they ALL always say “PLEAAAAASE come back, Beth hired four people to replace you and they’re all fucking idiots. You were very good at your job, and were super fun to work with. Beth is a fucking bitch-face… camonnn.. come baaaackk” Sadly, as much as I miss everyone, because they are way more awesome than the pre-teens that I work with now, I can’t. If I went back, I would be stuck on nights, and therefore wouldn’t see Bryan or any of the handful of my Winnipeg  friends ever again, because they all work days, and me getting off work at midnight doesn’t make for a good time to START hanging out.

That being said, g’bye Baked, Helloooo Second Cup. The only reason I applied there was because I stopped in for a cappuccino after dropping Bryan off at work, and the only reason I took the job over going back to Starbucks is because 2nd hired me before I got the chance to apply at Stabbu’s. And, sadly, after finishing my second shift at Second Cup (heh), I wanted to quit. I am the second oldest person working there, the oldest being the owner of the cafe. Everyone is 18-20, some of them are STILL IN HIGHSCHOOL, and the rest act like they still are. No one bothered to train me on anything after my first shift, because, and I quote, “they assumed I already knew how to do everything”. Uh, what, why would you fucking assume that, its my THIRD SHIFT, how much could I POSSIBLY know how to do much of ANYTHING. What a terrible and idiotic thing to assume. They should, correctly, assume that because I’m NEWLY HIRED I don’t know ANYTHING and they should maybe ASK WHAT I DO/DON’T KNOW. I have to ask people allll the time to take three seconds to show me how to do things, and the response I usually get is “Ughhhhh nevermind I’ll just do it myself”. I know I’m not actually all that much older than most of the people working there, but my GOD do I feel old when I’m around them. I overheard one girl say “I can’t wait until I’m 18 and can drink! But its like, so far away, cause my birthday was just a few weeks ago!” (18 being the drinking age in this province. She just turned 17. Ohmyfuck.)

In addition to feeling like I should be mentoring them on how to lead a drug-free existence (haaaaah), I’m kindof at the end of my rope when it comes to working in the Food Service/Retail industry. I’ve had too many shitty minimum wage part-time-ish jobs, and have been forced to deal with stupid/pre-teen/asshole people for too long. Now that I’ve graduated college, its time to start looking for a REAL JOB, a FULL TIME one with a REAL SALARY and REAL BENEFITS. Since I’m not financially secure enough (read: at all) to work in the ever unstable and unpredictable film industry, I need to work for a while to gather a pile of ze monies large enough to support me in between film jobs. And because I will hang myself with a paper chain made of coffee filters if I have to gather said pile of monies solely from a service job like Second Cup, I seriously need something more grown up. I’ve applied and had interviews for an ACEM job at Chapters (kinda like a supervisor/assistant manager thing), and want to reformat my resume to wow the powers that be at the CBC (sweet rhyme). I’m going to apply at banks and camera stores and radio/tv stations, and anywhere else I can think of. I might end up hating whatever job I end up with, but at least I won’t have to listen to “And then Kim totally broke up with her boyfriend at prom!” stories while explaining to the millionth redneck idiot of the day that no, we don’t sell Tim Hortons Iced Capps.

Also, please enjoy this Onion video because it made me pee a little bit out of extreme hilarity. Meteorologists Predict Worst Autumn Ever





So. Winnipeg.

13 09 2008

Its 2:38am and I can hear sirens. Loud sirens. And thus, life in a “big city” aka a medium sized city, but one that is 7 times the size of Thunder Bay. In Thunder Bay, any siren-worthy activity that happens after midnight is “curfewed” to lights-only, especially in residential areas. Definitely not the case here.

Our apartment is on the edge of cracktown on one side, and the edge of hipsterville on the other. Not the worst neighbourhood in the city, definitely not, not by a long shot, but its one I wouldn’t want to stroll around at night whilst wearing skimpy clothing either. Rent is cheap, which means that half of the people that live here are starving university students, and the other half are crackheads. Sweet.

My car is the number one stolen vehicle in all of Winnipeg (possibly because they outnumber almost all other models 3 to 1), which means that my insurance is a not-so-whopping $1400 a year. Average car insurance here is around $900, so I’m told. Did I mention that the annual $1400 insures the CAR not the DRIVER? In Manitoba, Land Of Plenty, you pay to insure the car, and (here’s the amazing part) anyone who has a valid Manitoba Drivers License can drive it, get into a horrific accident involving those damned cyclists in the damned diamond lane, and be totally and completely covered. They insure the CAR, not the DRIVER. Hey, whats that? Random crackhead down the street, you need to borrow my car? Do you have a valid Manitoba Drivers Licence? Cool, don’t forget to signal your turns. To compare, in Ontario, my insurance cost around $1800 a year, and that enabled me to drive my car. If Bryan was to be insured on it, it would be an additional $2500+. Here, its $1400 for everyone in the entire province of Manitoba.

Because Civics are stolen so often (usually by new gang members. Apparently, its an initiation thing — steal a car, and kill someone with it. Welcome to Winnipeg.), I got a $50 annual discount for having an IMMOBILIZER installed. Imagine a dude with a really deep impressive voice saying that. IMMOBILIZERRRRR. So! The Immobilizer cuts of the supply of gas to the engine unless the fancy schmancy new sensor recognizes a little dangly thing on my key chain, which is unique to my car. If the dangly isn’t there, the car will.not.start. Those clever little gang members can pick the lock and tamper with the ignition to their hearts content — the Civ ain’t goin’ NOWHERE without my permission/dangly thing. Amazingly, the cost of having the Immobilizer installed (approximately $500) was TOTALLY covered by the insurance company. Cheaper for them to shell out $500 for a dangly sensor than $5000 for a new car. The best part? Included in the installation of the immobilizer was a little red flashing light that blinks every 5 seconds or so. I’m told that the specific pattern in which the light blinks will somehow enable me to start the car WITHOUT the dangly, if I’m an idiot and lose it. But I sure as hell won’t be doing THAT anytime soon, because the light blinky car starting pattern is damned complicated and I might as well push my car into a river and claim the insurance money because I seriously doubt I’ll be able to figure out said blinky pattern.

And also, the red blinky light obviously proves that my  car is now a Cylon.

I’m getting used to using THE CLUB everytime I park the car, and am also getting used to removing all valuables (including iPod radio dock, and car registration).

Everything closes before 6 on Sundays. Everything.

There is no 24-hour grocery store here. Seriously.

Despite not having a huge group of girl friends back home, I really REALLY miss the ones I had. I only recently became friends with a girl here, also named Emily, who has an alarming number of things in common with yours truly. She’s quite fantastic, and I can’t wait to hang out with her more, but its incredibly hard to live in a city where you don’t have many friends, or ANY girl friends. I don’t really have anyone to girl-talk with, or vent to, or halfheartedly complain about Living With A Man (not that I have any enormous complaints… thats just a section of normal Girl Talk). The cafe I work in strongly reminds me of the diner where the girls from Sex and the City go for their weekly lunches, to catch up and have girl talk and to gossip and to laugh. I see groups of girls in there doing exactly that ALLLLLLLL the time, and it makes me quite pouty. I can’t imagine where I’ll meet girl-friends that I really click with either, which makes me EXTRA pouty. I mean, yeah, Other-Emily is rad, absolutely, and some of the other people I work with are cool, I guess, but… I just.. miss talking to someone just knows what I’m talking about, and knows all the backstory and everything. I guess that’s what I get for moving to a strange city and leaving my close friends behind. Pouty…

I’ve been working 6 days a week at Baked Expectations, which is almost always crazy busy and hectic (which I LOVE). Oh, I’m sorry, did I say days? Because I definitely meant NIGHTS. 6-12 or 6-1, which means that I don’t see the few friends I have in Winnipeg, like ever. They all work day jobs, and need their post-midnights for sleeping. I, on the other hand, sleep most of the day, and am wide awake late at night and ready to party. This results in an even lonelier Emily than could have ever been imagined. But thank you Sweet-Teeny-Baby-Jesus, because Beth (the owner of Baked, Medusa-incarnate. Imagine Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada, and then picture how she’d react to glass streaks on a cake display case. “Emilyyyy-ahhh! Wipe up this DISGUSTING mess, how could you possibly neglect to see them there? Absolutely appalling…”) has decided that I’m not a complete idiot, and has said that as of this week, I’ll be the new Daytime Counterstaff Ladyface. Wednesday to Sunday, 11-6. Oh-Fuck-Yes. BUT I’m not getting my hopes COMPLETELY up for this somewhat promotion, because like I said, Beth equals Medusa equals Miranda Priestly. Seriously. She drops by for a surprise visit and everyone has a full blown panic attack. There are frantic phone calls made to other employees that consist of “HOLYFUCKINGHELL SHES HERE. SHES HERE RIGHT NOW AND YOU TAPED A POSTER TO THE WINDOW ON A SLIGHT ANGLE AND SHE WANTS TO ANALLY RAPE YOU WITH HER SCORN”. That being said, I’m not scared of her. She can huff and puff and tell me that I wiped the counter improperly, but I will still apologize and agree and wipe the counter however she wants… while she’s in the cafe. As soon as she leaves? Ohfuckthat. Anyways, I’m not getting my hopes up because Beth is insane, and for all I know, tomorrow she’ll change her mind and decide that I have an attitude problem…

Anyhow, its now almost 4am and my rum is gone. “But why’s the rum gone?” Why indeed, Johnny Depp, why indeed…

PS Its blog entries like this that make me lean back and go “Huh. I really can write well, when I want to…”





I’m… baked

31 08 2008

Erm, I mean I’m EMPLOYED at Baked. Baked Expectations. Which is, to quote, “a Winnipeg landmark located in the heart of Osborne Village”. Its a colourful and funky little cafe/bakery/eatery that Reed took us to on one of our first trips to Winnipeg, many moons ago, and one that I have returned to each time I’m back in town. I brought Mantha there when we came up to go shopping, and I brought my parents there for breakfast when they helped us move here from Thunder Bay. I’ve only ever had delicious food there — including some GODDAMNED DELICIOUS pink lemonade, — and genuinely friendly service, so I asked the waiter, on a whim, if they were hiring. Sam and I had been chatting with him for the duration of our lunch, and he insisted that I bring a resume in as soon as I got settled. He did, however, warn me that a lot of people quit (or are ‘let go’) for various reasons such as school, scheduling conflicts, and general inemptitude, but most importantly that the owner was “a little… intense”. I smiled and said “I’ve worked for intense business owners before, and I know how avoid screwing myself out of a job.”

And so, long story short, I went and dropped off a resume to the nice waiter, who immediately set me up with an interview, which was yesturday afternoon. The owner is, indeed, intense, but not in a verbally abusive way (I hope), more like a… “This is my business, and its been a successful one for 25 years. I know how I want things done, and if you disagree, or think you know a better way, too goddamned bad. Do it my way or find yourself unemployed: your call.” Thats just the vibe I got from her during the interview, which is how most restaurant managers/owners are, if they’ve been running things a certain way for a long time, and aren’t struggling to stay in business, chances are they’re doing something right. And I’m totally okay with that. Thats how it was at Gino’s and thats how I was taught when I first started there. “This is how we do things here, and have been doing for the last ___ years. So this is how you will be doing it too.” Restaurants have an infamously high turnover rate, one that I witnessed dozens of times at Gino’s. People are hired, work a week or so, decide they don’t like it, and quit with little to no notice. Or alternatively, people are hired, do their job shittily for a few weeks, give attitude to their superiors, slack off, and get fired. I’ve seen it all, and know by now how to not be an idiot at work.

Anyhow, from what I understand, I have been hired as a full time (YESSSSSSSSSSS) barista / table busser / whatever-er, and am under ‘probation’ of sorts. IF I prove to be not retarded and/or incompetent, and instead turn out to be friendly, hard working, and a quick learner, I will be promoted to serving. Which is totally cool by me.





Freaking out.

11 07 2008

I’ve been filling a notebook with lists of things I need to do/buy/prepare/plan/find/arrange/change before I move to Winnipeg. Bryan and I were planning to move in the beginning of September, which means that I have very little time to get everything ready. For example, my car needs:

– rust check / oil change / tune up

– new windshield (small stone chip means it won’t pass a safety)

– safety itself

– parking pass?

– change in ownership (from my parents to me)

– new manitoba plates

– manitoba car insurance

– manitoba drivers licence (for me, not the car)

And thats just the stuff I need to do for the CAR. That’s not mentioning the stuff I need to do or buy for the apartment, bullshit I have to change with Rogers (my arch nemesis), setting up internet/phone/whatever, finding furniture, and oh, gee, one other minor thing… FINDING A JOB. Thank GOD we found an apartment already. We stumbled across a funky studio apartment on Craigslist, but by the time we got in touch with the landlords, it was already gone, but she reassured me that she had “several other suites coming up”, that she swore would be equally funky. After a few confusing emails back and forth, we talked on the phone and by the end of a conversation, I was writing down her address to send her a deposit, and she was asking me if she  could paint a Pong stencil on our living room wall (to which I said “uhhh HELLS YES you can, thats INCREDIBLE”). She owns four buildings in the area, and is systematically renovating each apartment, one by one. She replaces the windows, the hot water rads, the hardwood floor, the water fixtures (sinks, etc) and wraps everything up by painting the walls with bright colours and funky designs. Recently renovated, bright colours, funky neighbourhood; all for $500 a month plus electricity? FUCK YES. FUUUCK yes. The cherry on the cupcake on top of the sundae beside the bag of free money = I’m splitting the already low rent with Bryan. $250 a month. Thats laughably cheap.

The LCBO is fucking me over. When I was hired, I was under the impression that I would be getting “moderate” hours until July, at which point the regular, full time employees would be taking their vacations, and I would be “slammed with more hours than I could handle”. As it turns out, this was a secret government code for “You’ll get four hours a week or less, regardless of the month, but we still expect you to be available at all times, whenever we deem to call upon you”. They “frown upon” me having another job because that means I won’t be available “just in case they need me”. There was one week that I had one three-hour shift, and I was called every day and asked to come in, ususally with about 30 minutes notice. In the words of my dear friend Derek Kirk, “W-T-FUCK!?” The LCBO have twisted my arm into quitting Gino’s, which might not be the greatest job on earth, but I get to work with some of my favourite people in the world, and I get to have a fantastic time doing it. Sure, there are stupid customers and a handful of stupid employees, but for once, the good aspects outweighs the bad. I would have been better off staying at Gino’s, and ONLY working weekends. I’d be making more money and getting more hours doing that than I am at the LCBO. And they wouldn’t dream of stopping me from working somewhere else.

So, as a result of this, I’m giving serious thought to breaking my  contract at the LCBO (gasp!), quitting in a few weeks, and moving to Manitoba in the beginning of August. Obviously, I don’t have much money saved up, and obviously, this puts even MORE stress on me to get everything sorted out before I go, but really, why would I stay? I’m clearly not going to make enough money to make it worthwhile. I might as well move to Winnipeg now with the little money I have, and find a job there that will provide me with more than the absolute minimum number of hours per week. Or even find TWO jobs and work my ass off to pay off credit cards and student loans, which is what I was planning to do this summer with my “promised moderate hours” from the LCBO (those lying fucking bastards). Of course, the weekend of my huge breakdown and major life reconsidering happens to be the very same weekend Bryan is out of town, for a family reunion. And not only that, but he locked his cell phone in his house here, and is pretty much unreachable. Fuck.

Sigh. I need to go to bed. Its 1 am and I have to work at the LCBO at 10. Guess how thrilled I am about THAT…