JJ Abrams sure knows how to mix up a franchise.

I saw a matinee of the film this afternoon at the Regal in Gallery Place. The theater was not sold out, but it was quite packed. I was a bit ticked off at the guy in front of me who kept fiddling on his blackberry throughout the movie — seriously, what is with people who can’t put down their phones during a movie? A movie they paid money for? Even matinee pricing was still nearly ten bucks.

I know, I know – you don’t care. You want to know one thing: was it good? Was it worth leaving work early and getting in trouble with the boss for? Is it something you’re going to want to see over and over again? Or is going to be like Indiana Jones? A lot of excitement and build-up, and then misery and disappointment?

Well, here’s my verdict: it was awesome. No, it was fucking awesome. Y’know what? Words don’t describe it. So I’ll let me money talk for me: I will most likely go catch another screening of it first thing tomorrow before I go to work.

The production design is fantastic, and beautiful, but I’m not to talk about the special effects, or the set designs, or the nicely updated uniforms, because, honestly? You could build sets out of cardboard and re-dressed Marriott hotel halls, and as long as you had the characters right, you had Trek. And y’know what?

The story is decent, and well thought out. Fan worries about messing with the canon are assuaged by old Spock’s reveal that Nero’s return to the past has created a reality alternate to the established time-line. Meanwhile, although Scotty seems a bit more exuberant than I would have thought, the characters are well-treated, and of the secondaries (Uhura, Scott, Sulu, Chekov), everyone gets a moment to shine.

Some of the development is really expounded upon: Nyota Uhura (finally, a canon name for her!) has more development in a C-plot than she did in 80 episodes and six movies. Kirk is an aggressive go-getter, just like we know from classic Trek: of course, here he is not the captain. Well, not yet, anyway.

Now, if you don’t want to be spoiled, I would highly recommend you not continue reading. (more…)

I hate calling out from work. At the Office, I hate doing it because I don’t like using my PTO. At the Bookstore, I hate doing it because it usually means that the store will be short-handed.

I have missed, maybe, four shifts since I started working at the Bookstore. When you figure that I work five shifts a week there, that works out to missing one out of every seventy-five shifts. It’s not a bad ratio, I guess — how many sick days do you use over the course of fifteen weeks? However, I still feel I called out too much this year.

Of course, given some of my colleagues at the Bookstore, I’m an angel by comparison. I really have a hard time understanding how some of them are even still employed, especially given that they call out so frequently that it’s really no surprise when they don’t show up. My philosophy on calling out is pretty simple: unless I’m in severe pain, or I need to stay within a quick dash of a toilet, I’m going to go to work. Someone calls with exciting plans and I can’t find someone to cover my shift? I’ve got to go to work. Someone told me about plans but I forgot to request off? Work.

Really, the whole point is just responsibility. I wanted a part-time job, and I’ve worked in retail environments enough to know that it does, in fact, take a commitment. Yeah, in a lot of ways, I’m just a minimum wage slave (actually, the Bookstore starts everyone out well above minimum wage), but I still take the gig seriously.

I’ve been thinking about this in regards to the Office. I don’t know how yours works, but at my Office, my work, and most of colleagues’ work, is largely independent. If they miss a day, it doesn’t affect my output. If I miss a day, it doesn’t affect theirs. People are largely free to set their own hours.

It isn’t that way at the Bookstore — there are weekly schedules which show who is working what days and when, and daily schedules which break down hour-by-hour where employees are expected to be: I look at the daily schedule and know if I’ve got a night on the register, or a night at Info. Last night, I was running between the register, information, and media information.

It’s weird, because when you talk about “employment” and “responsibility”, in a lot of ways, the Bookstore requires more responsibility. Any retail operation is like a finely oiled machine — one cog disappears, and stuff starts to break down. And when I say “disappear”, I mean “call out.”

It’s not that I don’t sympathize with people who call-out: there are emergencies, I can’t fault someone whose kid injures themselves, or who is sick, or who is stuck in traffic or on a broken down Metro, even those who suddenly find themselves facing a last-minute deadline at their other job. That happened to me, once. But I really can’t — like, really can’t — stand those who decide they’d rather go to a bar and drink then go to work. Want to know something? I’d rather go to a bar and drink, too, but at some point, we all decided we wanted to work at the Bookstore, because we needed health coverage, or we needed some extra money, or because we needed books, or whatthefuckever. We’re all adults. We all knew what we were getting into. I don’t think any of us started working there because our parents wanted us to learn responsibility.

Like me, a lot of my coworkers at the Bookstore have other jobs, most full-time. A few, I think, look at the Bookstore as simply a paycheck — if they have something more fun on the horizon, they have no problem calling out because they feel that the extra $24 bucks they’d put away for a three-hour shift is something they can afford to do without.

That’s a pretty disgusting attitude, especially last night: the store was busy, all day, and all night. A lot of people from the day shift called out. The recovery cart was still mostly full when we finally called it quits at 9:30. To make matters worse, one of our evening shift didn’t both to call to warn us that she wasn’t coming in. To be fair, she might not have known she was scheduled. On the other hand, the weekly schedule had been posted for two weeks. And I have not a lot of sympathy for people who don’t keep track of when they’re supposed to be working.

Her brother works at the Bookstore, he tried calling her — repeatedly. He was worried about her.

Got home a little after ten, the rain had cleared out and I wanted to walk. Logged into Facebook. Where had she been? She went to a 7:00 Star Trek showing. A movie that I’d wanted to go to. A movie that I’d tried to find someone to fill my shift so I could attend. A movie that I’d literally rearranged my weekly schedule for so that I’d be able to see it opening day, today, before I knew it would be playing at 7pm at some theaters yesterday. But when everyone I called yesterday either already had plans, or was already working, I didn’t fake a cough, I manned up and I went to work.

Because, me? I keep to my responsibilities.

And that’s why when other people are grumbling about how their hours aren’t what they used to be, I get more hours than I can shake a stick at.

And now? I put in a dozen hours at the Office Tuesday, and I got here at 7am. That means it’s 11, and it’s quitting time. I’m off to see Trek. And I’ll enjoy it a lot more than if I’d been watching it, while knowing I’d left my coworkers — my compadres — in the lurch without me.