summer chronicles: last night i came home soggy

truly. and i worked an hour and a half longer than usual, which means i came home at 3:45ish. suffice it to say, i was not . . . thrilled. i confess more four-letter words flitted through my head than they have in a while, or ever maybe. (this could be the "adolescent idiosyncrasies" from 10 things i hate bout you.) let me set it up.

Last night/this morning was the time when i was to learn "the machine" that cleans the floors. Ordinarily I just sweep + dry mop + wet mop (have you noticed that i've lost all semblance of pride and dignity, which i suppose i could count as a bonus of this job . . . bleh.) But on "the machine" you get to sit and wheel around. Easy n'est-ce pas? NON! Pas facil. Pas du tout!

Well, actually, that part was easy (except for being watched, which was simply awkward) but it was afterwards, oh was it afterwards.

I'm not even sure how to proceed . . . I guess chronologically. So after all was done using the machine (and by the way the training beforehand was also very painful, but that would put me out of chronological order, hence the parentheses - bah.) So I backed up - quite quite deftly I might add, considering my uh, less than squeaky (?) driving record - into the trash . . . place. The smell alone set the tone for the next oh - 2ish hours - I would spend there.

Because I know the 3 readers of my blog care, let me break down how (don't ask why, i don't know, nor do i care) one would wrap up the use of the terrazzo floor/ballroom machine and the tile machine, distinct differences rest assured. First the gallons and gallons of water that I spent a significant amount of time putting into the blasted machine, has to be emptied out, and it pretty much goes everywhere. Thus commenced the sogginess. It has to be rinsed, the pluggy things have to be taken off, and rinsed, and then put back on, and then taken off blah blah blah. Then you have to drive around in circles to make sure the water's clean and put down the squeegee in the back, then bring it back up to avoid damage with driving over incriminating surfaces. Oh and to get out to engage in this ritual, I had to back out the other machine that hadn't gotten backed out, while someone else pulled right away in my deftly-backed machine. boo.

Then the spinner things had to be taken off and rinsed. By this time it's about 1:45 am. Rinse rinse rinse. Then I had to pop the dumb things back in, a little difficult. Actually the first few times I knew they weren't in, but I didn't care, though I kinda had to pay later, by putting them back in a total of about five times. Then the other machine. I'm still steaming over having to do the harder one second. I'm the type who likes to get done the most difficult task first, then you're cruising downhill. But no, I was trudging up hill at this point. The cylindrical brushes of the tile machine had to come out, not too bad. Then rinsed, again, just soggy, and not terribly shabby. Then put back in. Okay, let me just throw out key words here as opposed dictating the pure stream of drudgery frustration and maybe a little loathing.

hurt wrist-repetition-pain-aches-fourletterword-nope, not in-nope-nope-nope-gah-nope-fourletterword-foreign gesture-spin-nope-wrong-gah-face against the sopping concrete-forearms covered in grime-fourletterword-quick prayer-guilt over fourletterwords-push-heave-ho-lift-stubborn determination to NOT ask for help-finally-sweat.

repeat.

I clocked out at about 3:15. Which means . . . I get to clock out an hour and fifteen minutes early tomorrow. AND, I have to be there twenty minutes early today, which means, I get out twenty minutes early. Yup.

But I was thinking that it will never be worse than that. It had better not be at least. Downhill. The worst part was that I knew I couldn't be that mad for being expected to do it right, by myself, no matter how many tries it takes. I can respect that. There are lots of things that I can respect, but often mannerisms and puffed up airs get to me. If you have some high standard, either be perfect yourself, or don't pretend like you are, especially when you're not. Please.

I confess that I really wanted to cry, I just wanted to open the floodgates and let that take care of things. It didn't work that way. But I ran home and slept, about two hours before getting up again to go to work . . . again.

Stay tuned for the next step in my summer chronicles. Even though my life's not that exciting, I don't care, I'll write about it anyway.