So today wasn’t such a great day. I woke up late. I wasn’t technically “late” to work – I got there at maybe 5:33 to 5:35. But I had that panicky feeling you get (or, at least, I get) when you’re running behind and you don’t know exactly what time it is or what day it is, you just know you’re late. Late!
The dogs were all under my feet as I was trying to get ready and let them out and then they refused to go back upstairs after they’d peed, whining like it was time to eat and go for a walk.
That sort of set the mood for the rest of my morning. I was out of sorts and almost set off the alarm at the store because I kept punching in the wrong code, so I got even more panicky, waiting for the nerve-shattering ringing to go off. And since I was out of sorts I did everything in a weird order and wasn’t finished opening when Audrey got there. As I was trying to unlock the patio furniture people started pulling up in packs, which further irritated me. We had about five minutes before we would open officially, but everyone just started walking their happy asses inside because the door was unlocked, completely ignoring me as I said “We don’t open till six . . .”
Then I got stuck on the bar first thing and everyone and their mother wanted a latte because it’s cold outside (it was, like, 65 degrees, not exactly freezing). I was going to punch someone if I heard “Will you turn on the fireplace?” I’m dreading that.
Maybe because it was a full moon, I don’t know. Maybe that’s an old wives’ tale and doesn’t mean much. But, geez, people were in a bad mood this morning, myself included. No one came to get their drinks when I called them out, even after two or three times. They’d saunter over and point at the single cup on the counter and go “Is this my drink?” And I wanted to ask “What the fuck do you think?”
Or I’d say “That’s your drink” and nod at it and they’d then ask if I got their drink “right,” you know – decaf or sugarfree vanilla or whatever special order they’d had on it.
Some people asked me several times. “This is decaf, right?”
“Yesssss,” I’d say, gritting my teeth.
“And it’s got an extra shot, right?”
So I would repeat the entire order to their satisfaction.
I finally got off the espresso bar only to keep tripping over myself on the register. I couldn’t really focus on much. In fact, I’ve been off work over three hours now and I think I’m only operating at about 75%, mentally.
Once I left, I got home to find someone (I’ll give you a hint – it wasn’t Charlie, Cavan, or one of the cats) had chewed up my bite guard that I have to wear at night to keep myself from grinding my teeth down to nubs. I found pieces of it all over the bed.
If I didn’t have to be back at work at seven tomorrow morning I’d just take a nap.