On my way out the door to go to work this morning, I put a Netflix DVD atop of the wall-inset mailbox. I do this with all of my outgoing mail, and I’ve never had a problem.

I got home from work about 2ish and the DVD was gone. I checked my mailbox, but nothing was there, which was odd because I was expecting my new Netflix selection.

At 3:30 I was back out the door to meet a friend for a late lunch, and then, as it turns out, ice-cream desert at a Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins mixups in the city. On my way out, I stuck my AT&T bill above my mailbox so I wouldn’t forget to mail it tomorrow.

Well, when I got home, at the AT&T bill was gone.

And there was mail - plus my new Netflix - in my box.

So, seriously, did someone steal my Netflix? It isn’t beyond the realm of reason that one of my neighbors decided I shouldn’t be leaving it where “anyone” could steal it and instead took it and dropped it in a mailbox; or that they thought it was the disc their S.O. had been going to mail, and decided to drop it in a mailbox; or any one of a thousand explanations.

I guess I’ll find out Monday, because if it hasn’t reached Gaitherburg by then, there’s a problem.

I sold my Jeep on July 3rd, two years ago. As it happened, I had renewed my registration for that vehicle on the first of July. I paid $70 for a two-year registration (and was actually refunded $50 of that).

I just got a renewal notification for my Celica. It isn’t $70. It’s not quite twice that. Did registration costs go up? Christ, this plus health insurance being due this month, aaaaiyeeee!

I’ve spoken about the need to clean my apartment (seriously? it’s been like April since it was last cleaned), and my making plans to do so, but I’m sure you’ve heard about the best laid plans of mice and men. Well, I got home from work and spent about twenty minutes on the dining room/living room. I can see the dining room table again, and - and! - the carpet around it.

(You’ll notice Guy is standing guard on the Stratego board game. I’ve found him sleeping on it a lot lately … I think it’s his new favorite bed, replacing the end-table)

I still need to do a detail clean … dust the furniture, shred what I need to shred, put everything back to where it should be (like taking the clean clothes off the couch and putting them in the dresser, or at least on the dresser)… the detail shit is what takes forever.

Maybe tomorrow.

The “Goodbye, Asshole!” had to do with a scheduling dispute regarding Zap’s schedule request. So, no opportunity to gain his hours. Fuck!

***

I was scheduled to work inside today, starting at ten, as the only ten o’clock prep guy. Today being Friday - and a rainy Friday - there was a lot of stuff to get prepped - lettuce, tomato, onions, salads, crutons, meat sandwich preps, tuna, chicken salad, sauce, and a lot more stuff. It’s stuff that one person can’t do in an hour, but the way we work it is that the ten o’clock stuff gets the hard-core neccessities done, and then the rest of the crew helps out when they show up to finish everything.

But Gary sent me to Sam’s Club for ham, turkey, and green peppers. It took me fifteen minutes to drive to Sam’s Club, find what I need (I got the wrong type of ham), and get into the checkout lane. It took another ten minutes to get to the register.

And then it took fifteen minutes to check out.

See, apparently the tag with the barcode that was supposed to be on the turkey so the cashier could ring me up?

Not there.

So she hit the button to flash the light so the floor manager would know she needed assistance. But the floor manager was to busy working on this PDA-lookin’ thing, so the cashier walked over to her. And then the cashier walked back to the meat section. And I was left standing there, feeling stupid as people waaay behind me in line began noticing (”Oh my god, is there no one at the register?!”). Finally the cashier came back with a barcode on the turkey (woo-hoo!), I paid, and was out the door. I wasn’t mad at her - she was nice and professional. But the floor manager gave her no assistance and couldn’t have been bothered. What should have happened is the floor manager should have gone back to take of the missing barcode, and the cashier should have set my things on the side and rang through other customers.

That’s how I would’ve done things, and really a simple “sorry for the hassle” would’ve been more than acceptable. What comes down to is this - Sam’s Club has a huge membership, and their management doesn’t give a hoot if their members have to wait in line due to the incompotence of said management and/or meat department staff, because they know that all of these customers’ll be back the next time they need to stock up on cases of 32-pack water for $4.99.

I really think that’s the only thing I can find to say about this guy:

A tip for would-be gasoline thieves. When stealing gas in the dark, don’t use a lighter to see how you’re doing. Police in Warren County say that’s what Glen Germain Junior did when he was siphoning gas from a dump truck at a business in the Adirondacks last month.

The sheriff’s department says Germain was transferring the fuel from the truck to a gas can when he used a lighter to see how full the container had become.

That sparked a fire that caused minor burns to his face and hands. The fire spread to a nearby forklift, which was destroyed in the blaze.

He’s even stupider than these idiots.

I handed the lady her pizza, and she handed me a twenty dollar bill to pay for the $10.50 total. She told me she wanted “six or seven” back. It’s weird, especially when offered a choice like that, but I always feel like a heel when I choose that which offers me the higher take-home. Sure, just a lousy buck, but that lousy buck adds up at the end of the night.

It’s absolutely ridiculous how being asked to choose my own tip makes me uncomfortable. A fair number of the people I deliver to will tip $5 for a single pie, while some will tip far less for a far more expensive order. Ever deliver seventy bucks of food to a million dollar house with an H2 and a Porshe in the driveway only to walk away with a buck seventy-five for your trouble? Well, probably not, but it sucks — that should be a ten, no questions asked.

But people do have questions! And I hate it when I’m put in the position of, “Oh, even though I ordered from you half an hour ago, I never put any thought into a tip for you … what do you want for a tip?” Because right there, wam-bam, it’s like, what do I say that doesn’t sound greedy, even if it isn’t?

***

I did laundry after work, but sleepiness hit me with a brick, so after sticking everything in the dryer, I went to bed. I woke up about twenty-minutes ago and started writing this post. When I’m done, I’m going to drink a big glass of milk, and go pull that laundry out of the dryer and fold it. Exciting.

***

There was a big arrow drawn across the schedule to Zap’s name with a caption in Gary’s handwriting, “Thanks, Asshole!” On the daily check-out sheet, also in Gary’s handwriting next to Zap’s name, was “Goodbye, Asshole!” Zap’s been talking about leaving for some time now — did he get another job and put in his notice? Did he and Gary finally have a fall-down blow out fight and walk out? It’s probably not all that strange (now that I think about it), but my first thoughts weren’t so much, “Gosh, I hope Zap is okay” but more “Gosh, I hope I get Zap’s shifts.”

Boy do I feel like an asshole.