Promised myself for three straight days, I’d have soup. It’s one of my favorites. I have a can, two actually, sitting on a shelf in the pantry.
I have a microwave, power, ceramic bowls (hell I even have a few disposable ones, so no dishes to wash).
Ratties are clanging their empty water bottles. They’re probably hungry, too.
I have food for them. It’s sitting in bags nearby their tanks. Guaranteed Pretzel and Charm are hungry, too.
One of my co-workers is battling a hefty bout of depression. Found him damn near crying by the microwave. Poor kid. Less than half my age, fighting demons I haven’t learned how to fix. So what the hell advice could I tell him?
Car(e)less Co-worker is shutting down, too, and retreating into his fan-fic writing. On the clock. While we need him to do his damn job, so he gets yelled at while everyone else stands around frustrated. That’s super fun.
Special Co-worker is dealing with domestic problems that are, frankly, above her pay grade, mentally. So she’s a hot mess.
Me? Couple days ago, I ugly-wept sitting on a box of bagged sausage in the walk-in, like a goddamn adult.
S.M. must be swamped, dealing with all her crew side problems, on top of the fact that the damn reach-in has been on the fritz for … couple of weeks now? … and we have the friggin’ upcoming Superb Owl to deal with, but equipment failure is hamstringing the entire operation.
Even on a slow night, things don’t go smoothly right now. A super-slammed night will KILL us if they don’t at least replace the stoopit reach-in.
Whelp { slaps thighs in Midwestern } that’s enough outta me. Gonna pull on the cleanest PJ pants from the pile of clothes on the floor, whipe snow offa my car, scoop up Special and see what the day brings.