Today's rambling: Utter craptasticness
Written on Friday, May. 10, 2002 at 7:41 p.m.
while feeling a bit

Well, the past two craptastic days have culminated in an astounding display of Hell-like proportions.

The topper to it all what I just found out from Mom: our little Pierre, the Jack Russell terrier we had to give away (thanks to the house foreclosing) was hit by a car. Every so often, I can hear her out there crying brokenly, and I'm surprised I haven't broken down in tears yet because this is absolutely devastating. I've never had a pet killed by a car, and even though Pierre technically wasn't mine anymore, it still hurts.

What I am right now is angry. Pissed off. We gave Pierre to this guy because he lived on a farm and it would be the best place for Pierre to run around. Apparently, we chose the wrong person. I feel bad for writing this, because I know Laura has had experience with dogs being hit by cars, and I pray she doesn't take offense to this because I'm about to write in anger and I'm not including her in what I'm about to say.

How can ANYONE be so CARELESS?? It's one thing to have somehow tried to restrain the dog (whether by a chain or by a fence), and the dog somehow escaped. There's not much you can do about circumstances such as those. But if you live close enough to a road that there's a possibility for the dog to run off, then for god's sake, put up a fence or SOMETHING!!! Pierre wasn't known for staying in his own yard; he liked to run everywhere. In the past when I've had dogs like that, I tied them up when they went outside. I never just let them out and allowed them to go where they wanted to. When you do that, it's like saying you don't care about your pet, and that's so IGNORANT!!! Would you let your child just go traipsing off, allowing him to stray into the road and be killed?

I'm so irritated. I wish I could find this guy and kick him repeatedly in very tender spots. Explain to me how Pierre could've gotten so close to the road. Because right now, I'm so angry I could push HIM in the road.

I hate even writing angry things like that in here anymore, because I know people read this. But I got this diary for the express purpose of venting when I need to, so I can't let the possibility of conflicting opinions stop me. I'm sure I'll be crying by tonight. Yay.

This day just STARTED OFF bad. Mom woke me up at 7, asking me if I was going to work or not. Bewildered and groggy, I replied that yes, I was, but we weren't due in until 11:30. She gave me a puzzled expression in return and said that she was scheduled 8-4:30. But I distinctly remembered my schedule saying 11:30-5 in bakery, and 5-8 in salad bar (of course I remember, because I hate salad bar). The sensible thing to do, I realize, is compare schedules when they're first posted each week. That way, we can catch problems like this well in advance. However, neither of us write our schedules down - we just sort of go day by day.

Mom called the store to confirm that she was in at 8, and when Toni said she was, I had to talk to Dave. This is where things became worse. "The schedule's been up for two weeks," he said, "and you just noticed this now?"

I tried to explain myself to him, but he didn't even give me the opportunity...every time I would pause for breath, he'd jump in and repeat the 'two weeks' thing. Finally, he snapped that I could come in at the same time as Mom...so I hung up and immediately started crying.

At the store, I clocked in and headed for the bakery, as usual...only to find out from Zenon that I was supposed to be in sandwich shop. "Sandwich shop??" I echoed in disbelief. Before I'd quit way back when, I had worked in sandwich shop enough times to have a basic idea of what to do. However, since then, Slaveway has taken over and everything is different. And so when I found out I was going to be shoved there, I ran into the cooler...and cried again. I hate crying. It's so weak.

Was on my way out the door when Joanne came in, saw my face, and pulled me back in. "What's wrong, what's wrong?" she demanded, sounding concerned. Even though she sounded concerned, I couldn't help that thought in the back of my mind that said, 'She's just asking so she can get some good gossip.' Nevertheless, I explained things to her. Then I walked out into the bakery again, and a minute later Zenon informed me that I had to work in the salad bar. This being jerked all over the place was wreaking havoc with my nerves. Guess what I did again when he told me that.

Yup.

Ellie must've seen me, because she walked into the cooler a couple of minutes later and grabbed me up in a hug. "I know, you hate salad bar," she said, to which I laughed and told her that THAT wasn't the reason why I was so upset. At any rate, she continued, "I need you to start switching the bowls over, and I'm going to clean up the bar. If you need anything, I'll be right out there to help you."

It was the first time she'd ever been so nice to me, and while the distrustful part of me was still wary of her, I couldn't help but feel better. Marginally, anyway.

So my day consisted entirely of salad bar. Frank was there all day (I felt bad, because he had to work from 8am-8pm, and I screwed him over for the closing shift since I couldn't work 11:30-8)...but he didn't talk to me much at all. Geoff was off today, which was probably a good thing, but I still just felt kinda isolated.

I am SO in need of this vacation. I feel like there's this cosmic law that states that neither Mom nor I shall ever be happy. We're both pretty much miserable right now, and every time things seem to perk up, it's not long before MORE bad stuff comes crashing down on us. Did I do something in a past life to give me such bad karma?

Oh, turns out Pierre had been killed quite some time ago...and neither the guy NOR Charlie (who's friends with the guy) had the decency to tell Mom. That just compounds the pain of Pierre's death. The bastards. If I see Charlie again, I'll kick him! He had the balls to get angry with Mom when she left the apartment (balls which he might not have for much longer, should I get a hold of him)!

Anyway, that's it. An ugly entry. But we all have 'em occasionally, I suppose.