It's official. I never, ever, ever have to go back to that awful truck yard ever again! Whooo-hooo!!! I admit, I made an asshole move by calling out of the last two days. I would feel really guilty about it but I know that they would not hesitate to screw me over if they could. In fact, I'm not looking forward to the battle I know is coming over them paying out my vacation time. I know they have to, I earned it and never used it..but they will drag it out in hopes I forget and don't pursue it. Unless of course they were scared by my last e-mail in which I insinuated that the labor board and OSHA may be interested in some of the ongoing safety and human rights violations which take place there on a daily basis. If I were smart I really would pursue such issues - I could probably get some money out of it. Not seriously, I'm not the suing type. I am, however, the type that will fight for justice and the fair treatment of workers. Perhaps once I catch up on the five million hours of lost sleep, I'll look into it.
The night before last, my LAST! night, I had a driver come stomping up to my shack freaking out because he ran out of gas on the main road directly before the entrance to the facility. So he was blocking all the normal morning traffic as well as several tractor trailers bound for C&S on one of the major roadways people use in the area. It was beginning to look like a cluster fuck up there from what I could see. Drivers were laying on their horns, lights flashing, and this guy just gets out of his truck and leaves it sitting right in the middle of the road while he walks all the way, half a mile or so, to bitch at me about it. So I see him coming, thinking he must have broken down due to engine trouble or something. So I ask "Sir, do you need to make a phone call or something?" Immediately he starts half-cry hollering that "there is just NO gas stations in Vermont and what was he supposed to do! And now look what happened! What am I supposed to do NOW!? Call someone, call the POLICE! I need a container!!!" I was at a loss. This had never happened before. Guys had broken down at the gate before, but they were on our property at the time, not a state highway, and they were being polite and we ended up towing them out of the way. But this guy didn't want a tow, he wanted someone from our facility to take him to a gas station to get gas. I said that wasn't going to happen, the best I could do was maybe get him a push into the yard where he would then have to figure something out from there. I didn't even know who in the yard would be willing to put their jobs on the line to help him. It was like he was mad because I wasn't jumping in my own car to drive him to a gas station. What kind of idiot thinks the police are going to shuttle some lazy moron around who couldn't be bothered to fill his gas tank? Police don't even offer to drive stranded motorists around whose cars have legitimately broken down due to no fault of their own. He was stopped right at the top of a hill too. I told him to coast down the hill and move out of the way so people could get past him, and he went ballistic. He was screaming that he wasn't at the top of the hill (I could see the truck, and it was high enough on the hill he would have been fine) and what kind of an idiot was I. I was like, "Look man, don't take your anger out on me. It's your own fault you ran out of gas. You're going to have to calm down while I make some calls to see who I can get out here, if anyone. None of our shop guys are in yet, it's five a.m., you'll be lucky if a yard man answers me on the radio and I can't leave my post." Then he stormed away, shrieking, "Fine! Nooobo-oody wii-iilll helllp meee!" Oh my God! Be a friggin Man for crying out loud! I wanted to be like, "Look, Nancy-man, find your f'n ball sack and coast down the hill and call for roadside assistance like every other trucker in the world. Or better yet, fill the f'n two-hundred fifty gallon gas tank before you're on fumes! Or even fill your back-up tank too! What the hell is wrong with people? I did get the yard men to help him. But, like I told him, all he got was a tow into the yard. But he came walking over later with his paperwork with a smug little smirk on his face which made me think he and the yard men were out there talking about how I was such a bitch or some shit. I hate men like that. Never take responsibility for their own mistakes, and if they don't get the reaction they want from a women then we must be a bitch or PMS-ing, it couldn't possibly be because they are a raging asshole or anything. My God, I will not miss these idiots. I will not miss fat, sweaty, rancid smelling men telling me I need to smile. Why the fuck do I need to smile, MF? To make you feel more at ease, to hide the fact that you make me want to puke? If I never hear another person say, "Oh look at you all bundled up like a snowman, what do you think it's cold or something? What are you you gonna do when it gets really cold?", it will be too soon. I'd like to see any of them do my job, in and out, from the wicked hot, one temp only hot air blower they claim passes for a legit heat system out to the freezing wet cold every two minutes, let's see what it does to their body temperature. I can tell you it sucks. Never again!!!
Well, I guess I should stop bitching about a job I never have to go back to and start cleaning my house. Thank God nobody can see my house right now through this screen. You would all be appalled, and rightly so. It's a mess. I've been working both jobs, then the holidays are always time consuming and stressful, so I've had very little time to clean. And do you think Mike has done anything besides pick up the dog pads for their litter box(he only does that because he can't stand looking at it) and wash one dish at a time for it's immediate use by him? Of course he hasn't. But if you ask him, he's been breaking his back to help out. He can't even make the bed or put away the clean clothes that I washed and folded and put in the bedroom for him. He throws his dirty clothes all over the house. Every morning I clean up the kitchen, wipe down the counters and put all the cereal boxes back up on the shelf, and then he does it all again and leaves it looking like a kitchen bomb went off. It drives me crazy. But if I try to bitch about it, he starts screaming at me, calling me a f'n bitch and all I do is bitch and can't I just leave him alone. It makes me want to skin him alive. So now I don't even bother unless I'm having a really shitty day and he's been particularly messy, I might decide it's worth a battle. Otherwise I simply try to envision what it will be like once I have my own place that will always be clean. The only dishes I'll have to wash will be my own. Worst case, I'll have to make it through the winter, I'll be getting a bundle back for taxes this year. I finally caught on about claiming my medical expenses and other such write offs- hello new(to me, but obviously used) car, and apartment! I did lose it the other day and I grabbed a stainless steel frying pan off the kitchen hook, and very quietly, serenely held it up to my shoulder and looked him in the eye and warned him that if he called me one more name, swore at me one more time and I would put an end to it myself, swiftly with the pan. He stopped, at least for the time being. I was serious. I understand how some woman just snap and murder their husbands because they just can't handle any more abuse. If the looming possibility of a homicide is not enough to put an end to a relationship, I don't know what is.
Later, Maid Nellie is on call.