Thursday, January 22, 2009

Tale of Old C$%t

H.B. is on vacation this week and I was lulled into a false sense of security. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and children of all nations, races and religions were joining hands and dancing through the streets. Getting up for work Tuesday morning wasn’t nearly as painful knowing that I had a blissful H.B. free week ahead of me.


            I had forgotten about O.C., or, more accurately, it wasn’t so much that I had forgotten about her as I thought that the absence of H.B. would mitigate any suffering O.C. chose to inflict. *sigh*

            O.C. is a terrible beast with noxious, flaming breath and poison dripping from her jagged claws.

            She used to manage the store but retired a while back and now comes in part time because she enjoys the challenge of trying to make me cry. She addresses me in the same contemptuous tone H.B. employs and I often imagine them at the Olive Garden, cackling over unlimited soup, salad, and bread sticks, as they plot the next wave of their assault on my will to live.

            In order to make it through her shift without punching her in the face I focused on unpacking shipment while listing school that I am thinking of applying to. Also, an Ace of Base song made an appearance on the company controlled playlist and that helped.


P.S. Today I unpacked a box of “Fairyland Lavender” sweaters. This isn’t the Limited Too. Grown women shop here; I think lavender alone would have been sufficient. Unless instead of Asian children our sweatshops employ magical creatures and the sweaters really were more than your average purple… I’ll have to take a closer look tomorrow.

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