My alarm was set for 5:05 a.m., which means it was 4:52 a.m. when it blared whatever song happened to be on the radio at that moment. (I have a habit of setting clocks ahead, "so I will be on time". Anyone who has ever asked me to be anywhere at a certain time knows what a hilarious statement that is.)
Having fallen asleep merely four hours earlier, I was not prepared to be awake. I flung my legs over the side of the tall bed, hoping to miss one of the many piles I have strewn about the room (in an pre-cleaning attempt.) After stumbling across the room, I slammed my hand down on the snooze button and threw myself back into the warm embrace of my twelve pillows.
This dance was repeated several times until the clock glowed 5:29 and I had finally come to terms with the need to put on clothing. Because my legs are silky smooth (thanks to hot wax being poured over my flesh and every hair savagely ripped from its sheath) I chose to wear black capris today, accompanied by a thin turquoise shirt that gets that stretched out look if I mess with it too much (which I always end up doing.) I ran my fingers through my hair, hoisting it up into a high, albeit lumpy, ponytail. Makeup is and always will be too much of an effort in the 5 o'clock hour.
I arrived in the parking lot at 5:44, which, by a happy coincidence, was the very moment I decided I would not make it through 7.5 hours of work today without a very large, very cold Diet Coke. I sent George into a U-turn and pulled into the Del Taco drive-thru line. I saw one white truck ahead of me with construction equipment in the bed, and was relieved there were not more people. However, when I realized this guy was taking years with his order I glanced in my mirror only to watch myself get trapped in the drive-thru by another large equiptment-filled truck. Blast. So I clocked into work 4 minutes late with my 44 oz cup in hand.
My hilarious little Mexican coworker is named Virginia. She is widow, a mother of two, and a grandmother of six. She constantly yells out empty threats and "Ooo, I want to kill somebody!" when she finds errors. (Which is a whole heckuva lot funnier coming out of her mouth than I could ever type it. Something along the lines of "I cchhhhwant to KEEEEL tsome BODY!")
Today Virginia and I had the task of retagging every single shoebox, pair of socks, handbag, pair of sunglasses, etc because of a new sale. We have little handheld scanners that are really fun to use (I'm horribly easily amused, but come on...its got a little red laserbeam and everything!) but they need to be synched with the corporate database before we can use them.
I updated the scanners yesterday, and both stated "reflects tomorrows pricing" when starting up.
I popped in my earbuds and started my stand up comedy playlist on my iPod. It made time go a lot quicker and soon three hours had passed. I had started on one end of the store and scanned and tagged every single mens shoe and then I did womens sizes 8 1/2 through 12. Virginia started on the other end and we met up in the middle. As I finished with my very last box I glanced over my shoulder at Virgina's racks. EVERY SINGLE PRICE WAS DIFFERENT THAN MINE. Ah, crap! My scanner hadn't synched!!!
The morning wasted, I placed my scanner back in its cradle and took to opening the store. Near 12:30 p.m. I finished retagging everything I had incorrectly retagged earlier.
(Be kind to your salesperson. They are tired and you say stupid things like, "Now this just isn't fair! This same shoe is in another size at only $8 while here it is marked $12.99." and they have to refrain from SLAPPING YOU UPSIDE THE HEAD and yelling "WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS LOUD BEEPING SCANNER AND THIS CART FULL OF PRICE TAGS IS FOR?! YOU SAT AND WATCHED ME RETAG AN ENTIRE SIZE AND YET YOU ARE BRAINDEAD ENOUGH TO SAY THIS?! GET OUT OF MY STORE!")
Thankfully my
older big (ahem, little) sister Elizabeth came by the store with Luke in tow, just as it was time for me to leave. We headed to Target where Liz had to get some flashlights for Girls Camp (haha, Elizabeth camping, hahaha. [she is the ward yw camp director this year, tee hee!])
After Elizabeth dropped me off where I'd parked George I headed toward the library. As I neared that part of town I realized I was near one of my very favorite places ever. Oh yes, I was driving past an Office Max. I immediately pulled in and found myself in a Sharpie Mecca.
Although you can never do enough office supply perusing, I had to get to school! So I left there begrudgingly and pulled in the parking lot just in time to clock in. (Thweeeeet.)
After a freakishly long (216 questions!) study guide for a tricology test I'm taking next week, I asked permission to get a facial. I have the most rocking instructor ever, and she obliged.
My aesthetician introduced herself with, "Hi, I'm Suzie." I replied, "Hi, me too." but I really think that one flew past her. She handed me the Velcroed-Towel-For-Someone-Way-Smaller-Than-Me and showed me to a room where I could "change into it." However, as I can not really change into something that is being held together by possibly three barbs of the Velcro, I chose to merely wrap it about me.
After climbing onto what is essentially a padded table, wrapping myself in blankets, and propping the included pillow under my knees (following directions as to lay flat more comfortably), Suzie wrapped my hair in a terry cloth cap and unclasped my bra straps for me. (Haha.) Then began the most relaxy (hehe) hour of my life.
I have gotten facials before. Many of them. It comes with the territory of hanging around with aestheticians all week. But this was the most rockingest facial ever. Perhaps it is because I am now used to the hot steam, and no longer painfully gasp after trying to hold my breath as much as possible? Perhaps it is because I have been dead tired all dang day and any chance to lay down was welcome? (Eh, that may play a part.) Or just because it was truly the most rockingest sllllllooooooowwww facial ever. As much as I love all the face massagey stuff, my favorite parts are the high frequency therapy, the two hand massages, the heat mittens, and the décolletage massage. Dude, she used her fists in this weird way along my collarbone. It hurt at the time, but the second she moved away it was like Ahhhhhhh. Suzie suggested we get together for a weekly facial, or every other week if I don't have time. Thweeeeet.
I know it is professional courtesy (or whatnot) for the aesthies to do the skin of the cosmos and the cosmos to do the hair of the aesthies without question or pay, but I loved everything Suzie did and she was super nice so I tipped her all the cash I had on me--a big $3. She took it with a broad smile and an "Oh, you're so sweet!" ...Which is how I accept my measley $3 tips as well. Come on, I just did four hours of work on your hair and we had a great rapport and what would have normally cost you $120 [at least] only cost you $35 and you throw three of them my way? :'( I'm not bitter, I'm just sayin'.
Although not much beats being slathered and rubbed for over an hour, I'm going to try to continue my trend of relaxy by curling up with my twelve pillows now. I have the day off tomorrow (finally!) and have planned a date to see Kung Fu Panda with Luke in the morning. Woot.
