Taking Care of Business, Working Overtime…

January 10, 2011 at 1:01 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

Life has been busy since the first of the year. I’m not ignoring you, though it may seem that way.

I’m into the second week of overtime-plus. Boss Whitney has been out on medical leave for three weeks now, causing concern amongst family and friends. His condition is a mystery; doctors are on the case but having difficulty coming up with a diagnosis. We’re cautiously optimistic.

In the meantime, Dr T has been moved to the Waterfront Store to keep a rein on things. I have been blessed with an assortment of co-workers working the shift before mine. While none carry the conversational skills of Dr T, one can do worse than to be greeted by a smiling Emmy first thing in the afternoon. Example: Uncle Cliffy, who recites procedure to me like a high school football coach giving a pep talk. It’s funny when he gets to the point where he realizes I am the one who trained him when he started working for Master P. (Ah, blessed quiet.) The other upside? They can’t wait to go home, and I can’t wait to let them. To paraphrase George Thorogood, “When I work alone, I prefer to be by myself.”

Since I’m scheduled into overtime, I take lunch hours unless people don’t show up to give my break. It works out well; I hop a bus up the street to Meg’s, or a MAX up to Northwest to visit another lady-friend. A bit of detachment from the workplace can be a good thing. (Especially when it leaves you silly-grinning on the walk back to work.) I think of it as nutrition for the soul.

Today’s challenge? The annual inventory comes to my store. A herd of managers and efficient co-workers descend upon the store for hours of mind-numbing counting and logging. I have experienced the pain of inventory, and am grateful every year I miss out on the opportunity to help. Art East has been put in charge, and his common-sense combined with technical know-how has removed a lot of the pain of the procedure. The days of three eighteen-hour counting marathons are over. In fact, Uncle Cliffy maneuvered to get out of inventory so he wouldn’t miss any football, and ended up working two hours longer than he would have if he’d left things alone. HAW-ha!

I shouldn’t get too cocky. I still have to face the team at the end of their day. Must remind myself that they are probably in no mood for my smart-assery, and aim zingers accordingly. In a perfect world, Art will be chilling on a milk crate making sure the computers are running smoothly, and Dr T will be around the corner holding court at the bar, sipping Jameson and ogling Melony, our favorite buxom blonde bartender.

Worst case scenario? Giggles and Grinder will be cranky, Pan will be sullen, and the rest will suffer in silence. I can look forward to lunchtime, whence I can spirit off for an hour and get that which temporarily makes it all better:

A hug.

1 Comment

  1. ArtEast said,

    Like square root of nine
    It’s now a third of the time
    It feels mighty fine!

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