Letting The Dust Settle

October 30, 2011 at 11:11 am (Cussed Dumbers, On the road again...)

Hi, everybody! Miss me much?

It’s been a while since I’ve been on here. Like the title of the post says, I’ve been letting the dust settle. Work has been hectic. Life has been good, but uncertain. (Just the way we like it.) Since discretion is warranted, this won’t be the tell-all gossipfest you’re used to. But I can make broad hints.

Like I don’t always drop hints when broads are around…

WORK: Yup, shit happens at work. Problems occur. Things get fixed. People bitch, things get fixed some more. End result? I get relocated to the Waterfront Store. Oh, dear! Oh, the humanity! What *will* I do without my bands of happy crackheads to amuse and provoke me? As Gloria Gaynor sang, I will survive.

I was moved because other people were having issues at work. Apparently, since I enjoy my job and life, they felt that I was “getting over on the man” and wanted their share of the easy life. So the Nightclub Store is now the catch-all for the disgruntled. I have been displaced, and they have my old spot.

I don’t think they have ever been more disgruntled. Enjoy your new location!

Now I spend my evenings at the Waterfront Store, babysitting a train stop and watching the comings and goings of strip and sex-club patrons. Dealing with the relative calm compared to the Nightclub Store has been therapeutic. I’m still settling into a routine, but it’s not much different than any other store I’ve worked.

The best part? I’m back under the watchful eye of Dr T, who was recently given a bump on the managerial ladder. I am back to going about my business without fear of backstabbing from above, getting straight answers to simple questions, and enjoying arriving at work instead of dreading each moment until I am working alone.

This song has been stuck in my head for the last week. I pass the earworm to you.

My mother hated John Denver, because he admitted to smoking weed and mowing his lawn in the nude. (“But Mo-o-o-om, his nearest neighbors are a mile away!”) She still found him inherently deviant. I could never quite muster fandom, but I appreciated his musical contributions to the ’70s. He was also unintentionally responsible for one of my favorite insensitive jokes:

What two things were wrong with John Denver’s homemade airplane? (Besides being homemade.)

It wouldn’t float and it wouldn’t fly.

Other things have been going on. A friend got arrested in front of me at work, and I got 86ed from the mall.

Wh-wh-what?

Yup, true dat. But those tales will come later. I have a job to go to. (He says while whistling Annie’s Song…)

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