…cos stuff is stuff and if stuff wasn’t stuff then I wouldn’t like stuff. Some kid I used to babysit came up with that.
So, I’m nearing the end of the third week of my new job. It’s pretty decent so far. Today was my first legitimate downer of a day at work. None of the people I had become friendly with were working today, so I was a little lonely. My feet hurt more than usual at the end of the day. I worked a six hour shift (I usually work five) and in other places I’ve worked, six hours means you can get a half an hour lunch break. So I asked if that was the policy here. The manager asked if I wanted one, I said yes, and he said he’d work on it. Nobody had scheduled either a half hour or a ten minute break for me on the schedule, so I didn’t know when I was supposed to take mine. When the first manager told me it was ok for me to take the lunch break, a second manager told me that I had to work for at least six hours and ONE MINUTE in order to get a lunch break. So I thought, whatever, I’ll go take a ten and cram as much food into my mouth as I can. Right after I clocked out (because I was told that 10 minute breaks are not paid and require clocking out), the first manager came back and told me I could take a half an hour and that he had worked it out for me. So when I got back from my break, the other manager told me to be careful around other personnel because I could get in trouble for taking a half hour break during my six hour shift. She explained to me that I wasn’t paid for this break (I knew that, and I didn’t care, because I was really hungry), and that ten minute breaks are paid (this is not what I was told when I was hired). Silly work drama.
Also at work, most of the higher ups really seem to like me. They praise me at meeting and compare me to other employees who have worked for the company longer, and say I even do better than some of the more seasoned employees. So yay! It’s nice to have the compliments, but it also makes me worry that if I screw up it’s really going to stand out… which is a lovely thought. And apparently they’re not good at keeping secrets, because some of the other employees were at the meeting or knew about what was said, so now I’m afraid that they’ll be animosity between me and my coworkers.
But at least I get to have my pink hair and piercings. And when I get tattoos, I can show those as well.
I also went bra shopping today. Guys, you are SO LUCKY. Bra shopping is a bitch. Theoretically, if you know your measurements, you should be able to pick a bra of the rack and just bring it home and know it’ll fit. WRONG. Different bra companies give their bra a different fit, so not only are you trying to figure out what your size is according to this manufacturer, you’re also trying to figure out which one of their STYLES fit you best. Because style A that’s made by Bra Company Smith and Sons is going to fit differently than style B made by the same company. Lame. All you guys have to do is go, “Oh, I’m a 30 x 32 jean size and I know that’s my size no matter what brand.” Lucky bastards.
The hard work did pay off, however. I got two bras that fit really, really great and I’m very happy with them. And because the universe hates me, by next month my boobs will have grown or shrank and I’ll have to get new ones. Damn you, universe.