I'm taking my first "vacation" in a very long time this weekend. A good friend came out here from southern California, my parents are out of town visiting the sister in... southern California, and the boyfriend is in Chicago for two weeks.
Honestly, WTF kind of vacation is this?! My friend from Cali is out with other friends for the majority of her stay, so I'm sure I won't get to see her anytime soon, I'm alone in the house with the dog and a bottle of cheap wine...
I thought vacations were for losing inhibitions and letting your hair down. All I've done is dive into a tub of ice cream and watch movies. It's like being recently single, except for the crying. I'm sure there are better things to do on a Friday night. Especially in Vegas. I should put on my best and hit the clubs, except I'm not the club type. I could wander to the nearest bar and have a few, but I don't want to party alone...
Honestly, all I can focus my energy into is worrying about work, on watching movies. I'm good with watching movies, except I'm laughing alone, and the dog doesn't get the humor. So...
I've been thinking up a story from work that would top my previous posts, and last I said I would do so. Only thing is, I don't care enough about the junkies I spend my days with enough to recite their tales to you. I can offer only tid bits.
One kid said he was grounded. He's doing community service for a crime I didn't bother to ask. He said he was grounded, which led me to believe he was under 18. When I asked him his age I was shocked. He told me he was 26! 26 and still living at home? I get that. No biggie. 26 and in trouble seems reasonable too, especially in Las Vegas. But 26 and GROUNDED? Um... Huh?!
The other kid was in for hazing on campus. He was 21 and was told by his mom that every dime he made for the next 5 years was hers. I don't know the situation fully, but seriously?
After 18 I moved out, made my own life, did my own thing, paid my own way. Also, if I got into trouble it was my own fault. I didn't ask for help, and when I did, I didn't accept this kind of contract. Hello, new generation? Ya... Grow some balls!! Move out, be your own person and don't ask for anything you aren't willing to give back. It's one thing to enter into a less than ideal contract with another person, let alone your parents. It is an entirely different matter if you do this then complain about it. You got yourself into the mess you're in. Get yourself out! For FSM sake! You're an ADULT.
I just don't get the mentality of these people... I guess I'm better off with my wine, ice cream, and movies.
I'm trying to forget about work so I can enjoy my stay-cation. I'll post more later. Good night, all!
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
This is what happens...
Mop bucket. Evil mop bucket.
It was a daring feat. A grueling battle, if you will. And I lost. I ended up spraining my wrist while wringing the water out of a mop I was using to clean the bathroom floor.
Getting hurt? No biggie.
Breaking the bucket? No biggie.
Spilling piss water all over a newly cleaned hallway? Biggie.
Sometimes I think about all the horrid things I come into contact with in my job. Some are way worse than others. The dirty water off the bathroom floor isn't among the worst I've handled. Recently I've pondered exactly how I managed to hurt myself on a mop bucket. I'm still confused as to how I managed to cut open boxes, scrape gum off the floor with a razor blade, and even cut threads with my safety scissors without hurting myself. Then the mop pulls out it's ninja skills and takes me down.
Seriously? Of all the things I could have and actually have hurt myself on in the past...
So after cleaning up the best I could with one useless hand and my injured, right, dominant hand, I called my boss and went to the urgent care center. Six full hours later, I was back at work in time to clock out. They put me in a huge and ill-fitting immobilizer and a sling. No full duty for me for a while. I'm on my fifth week of light duty, working at the recycling center with other classified staff who have hurt themselves at work, several welfare cases and even more community service "volunteers"... I have never been surrounded by more stupidity in my entire life. But that's for another day.
It was a daring feat. A grueling battle, if you will. And I lost. I ended up spraining my wrist while wringing the water out of a mop I was using to clean the bathroom floor.
Getting hurt? No biggie.
Breaking the bucket? No biggie.
Spilling piss water all over a newly cleaned hallway? Biggie.
Sometimes I think about all the horrid things I come into contact with in my job. Some are way worse than others. The dirty water off the bathroom floor isn't among the worst I've handled. Recently I've pondered exactly how I managed to hurt myself on a mop bucket. I'm still confused as to how I managed to cut open boxes, scrape gum off the floor with a razor blade, and even cut threads with my safety scissors without hurting myself. Then the mop pulls out it's ninja skills and takes me down.
Seriously? Of all the things I could have and actually have hurt myself on in the past...
So after cleaning up the best I could with one useless hand and my injured, right, dominant hand, I called my boss and went to the urgent care center. Six full hours later, I was back at work in time to clock out. They put me in a huge and ill-fitting immobilizer and a sling. No full duty for me for a while. I'm on my fifth week of light duty, working at the recycling center with other classified staff who have hurt themselves at work, several welfare cases and even more community service "volunteers"... I have never been surrounded by more stupidity in my entire life. But that's for another day.
Friday, July 8, 2011
"Lunch box"
Custodians are twisted. We have to be a little off to deal with what we see every day.
Take for instance, the little boxes next to the toilet in every stall in every ladies room in America. We all know what they are for, right? Right. I've heard many names for them, including "fun box", "snack pack", and "Edward Cullen brand tea". My absolute favorite has to be "lunch box". Only because on my first day of work, a very religious, prudish, grandmother-type lady was showing me the ropes and giggled relentlessly over the name.
We notice all sorts of things in these boxes that one would think shouldn't go in there. Underpants, tags off of $150 jeans, battery operated companions. But the one that takes the cake: beer. I was cleaning out a bathroom and found in both stalls, under both boxes was a puddle. Thinking someone had used it to pee in instead of the toilet (which I guess was too inconvenient), I approached with caution. I opened the lid of the first one and saw the entire thing filled with ice and unopened bottles of Bud Light. That was odd. I opened the next one and saw an iced down flask.
OK.....? I will never understand what goes on in the minds of college kids. Never.
Take for instance, the little boxes next to the toilet in every stall in every ladies room in America. We all know what they are for, right? Right. I've heard many names for them, including "fun box", "snack pack", and "Edward Cullen brand tea". My absolute favorite has to be "lunch box". Only because on my first day of work, a very religious, prudish, grandmother-type lady was showing me the ropes and giggled relentlessly over the name.
We notice all sorts of things in these boxes that one would think shouldn't go in there. Underpants, tags off of $150 jeans, battery operated companions. But the one that takes the cake: beer. I was cleaning out a bathroom and found in both stalls, under both boxes was a puddle. Thinking someone had used it to pee in instead of the toilet (which I guess was too inconvenient), I approached with caution. I opened the lid of the first one and saw the entire thing filled with ice and unopened bottles of Bud Light. That was odd. I opened the next one and saw an iced down flask.
OK.....? I will never understand what goes on in the minds of college kids. Never.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
For the love of... Privacy
As previously discussed, I'm a custodian at a university. I see some very strange things. There are wine tastings on campus. The most recent one was held in my building.
I was going through the hallways to asses the damage, as I'm often surprised by the "gifts" the students and faculty leave behind for me. The party was still going on in the basement. I'm glad I had started my walkthrough here. Several intoxicated professors were dancing in the hall, shoes off, hair down, ties nowhere to be seen.
They seemed to be having fun, and since I can't clean around people, I went back up to the front of the building. Tables full of half-emptied wine bottles and plastic cups smeared with lipstick were everywhere. I cleaned up only the obvious trash, and went to clean the bathrooms farthest from the party. Less chance of an interruption, I guess.
I had just soaked the urinals and toilets down in disinfectant. This stuff is mean. It burns your nose, and if you sit on a still wet seat it'll burn your ass twice as bad. And they call it "green, eco-friendly" Part of me thinks the "eco" part isn't referring to ecologically, but economically friendly, but it's what I have to use. As I was drying the urinals off, so some poor sap doesn't burn his manliness attempting some weird piss stunt (I'm sure all you guys do that. How else could there be that much piss everywhere?) an obviously drunk guy walks in, sees me, and before I can tell him I'll leave so he can pee in private, he turns and lets loose in the drain. On the floor. Right next to me.
When he was done, he stumbled out WITHOUT WASHING HIS HANDS! At that point I didn't know what was worse: him potentially pissing all over his hands and spreading the urinous filth everywhere, or the fact that I had been forced to witness him wee on the floor.
After I dealt with that situation, I went back and checked the basement. It sounded empty, so I got my trash cart and a bucket of disinfectant. Just in case anyone left me another wonderful gift. Clothes were strewn down the hallway. I mean EVERYWHERE! Shoes thrown several feet apart from their mate, overshirts, socks, ties... then the underwear started. Women's stockings, then a bra. the closer I got to the end of the hallway the more scared/shocked/grossed out I became at the thought of what I might find. The evidence suggested at least four people had lost their clothes. The last door had a thong hanging from the handle.
I decided that night was a perfectly good night to feign deadly illness. I went home. I'm sure I can live with having the rest of my crew pick up my slack. I'm not sure I could live with whatever horrors were behind that door.
I was going through the hallways to asses the damage, as I'm often surprised by the "gifts" the students and faculty leave behind for me. The party was still going on in the basement. I'm glad I had started my walkthrough here. Several intoxicated professors were dancing in the hall, shoes off, hair down, ties nowhere to be seen.
They seemed to be having fun, and since I can't clean around people, I went back up to the front of the building. Tables full of half-emptied wine bottles and plastic cups smeared with lipstick were everywhere. I cleaned up only the obvious trash, and went to clean the bathrooms farthest from the party. Less chance of an interruption, I guess.
I had just soaked the urinals and toilets down in disinfectant. This stuff is mean. It burns your nose, and if you sit on a still wet seat it'll burn your ass twice as bad. And they call it "green, eco-friendly" Part of me thinks the "eco" part isn't referring to ecologically, but economically friendly, but it's what I have to use. As I was drying the urinals off, so some poor sap doesn't burn his manliness attempting some weird piss stunt (I'm sure all you guys do that. How else could there be that much piss everywhere?) an obviously drunk guy walks in, sees me, and before I can tell him I'll leave so he can pee in private, he turns and lets loose in the drain. On the floor. Right next to me.
When he was done, he stumbled out WITHOUT WASHING HIS HANDS! At that point I didn't know what was worse: him potentially pissing all over his hands and spreading the urinous filth everywhere, or the fact that I had been forced to witness him wee on the floor.
After I dealt with that situation, I went back and checked the basement. It sounded empty, so I got my trash cart and a bucket of disinfectant. Just in case anyone left me another wonderful gift. Clothes were strewn down the hallway. I mean EVERYWHERE! Shoes thrown several feet apart from their mate, overshirts, socks, ties... then the underwear started. Women's stockings, then a bra. the closer I got to the end of the hallway the more scared/shocked/grossed out I became at the thought of what I might find. The evidence suggested at least four people had lost their clothes. The last door had a thong hanging from the handle.
I decided that night was a perfectly good night to feign deadly illness. I went home. I'm sure I can live with having the rest of my crew pick up my slack. I'm not sure I could live with whatever horrors were behind that door.
Monday, July 4, 2011
For all the "Today, I" websites...
Today, I blah, blah blah blah, blah blabitty blab blah blah. FML
We've all seen the sites. FML, MLIA, etc. We've all thought to ourselves, "Well, I can top that!"
You may be right about some of those posts, but I can tell you right now, my daily life is one giant shitstorm. Literally. From the time I wake up every day and ready myself for work, all I deal with is crap. Drama from family about their jobs and how much they hate their bosses or their duties at work. Complaints from friends and co-workers of how little they get paid, or how much they just don't want to be at work that particular day. Not that I'm complaining about their complaining. Just trying to share with you all how my day usually starts. Before I've even clocked in for work.
I hold the fabulous title of Custodian for the local university. State job, government wages and pretty good health care. The hours suck, but we can't really expect banker's hours. The job is actually pretty deep. We aren't "just janitors". We have to keep this god awful, ugly-ass campus sparkling. Easy enough, right?
Wrong!
One would think that because we are dealing with professors, professionals, and adult students that our job would be relatively easy. You know, since adults tend to keep up after themselves. That could not possibly be more incorrect. College students are simply high school kids who have no supervision for the first time in their miserable lives. The college party scenes you see in movies? Yeah, they're really close to what really happens on this campus. Lucky for me, I don't have to deal with the dorms. Not that that really makes it any easier.
So with all the crap I have had to deal with before even getting to work, I'm usually happy to actually start working, just to tune out the complaints. Until I walk through the doors of the building I clean and see the wonderful "gifts" these supposed adults have left for me to take care of.
Just last week, for instance, the very first thing I see is a perfectly preserved print on the glass door entrance of my building. Not a finger print. Not even a hand print. Those I would expect to find on a glass door. Only because the metal bar on which one pushes to open said door must be too hard to find. Or something. No. This was a perfect ass print. On the outside of the door. At eye level, complete with what I can only assume to be a sack print just below. A couple thoughts came to me as I saw this. First I was perturbed at having more to do in my already busy schedule. Then I wondered how this ass-ball print got five feet in the air. The fact that I was not shocked should speak volumes.
"Okay", you think. "Some body grease on the door. That's all you've got?" Not even close, bud. Later the same night I came across some more "art", in the form of strawberry daiquiri swirled in rather creative stipes and loops on the marble floor. No big deal. Or at least it wouldn't have been a big deal had it not been consumed first.
Typical Wednesday night in the life of a university custodian. Strawberry regurgitate and some butt art. The rest of the week pretty much went down hill.
We've all seen the sites. FML, MLIA, etc. We've all thought to ourselves, "Well, I can top that!"
You may be right about some of those posts, but I can tell you right now, my daily life is one giant shitstorm. Literally. From the time I wake up every day and ready myself for work, all I deal with is crap. Drama from family about their jobs and how much they hate their bosses or their duties at work. Complaints from friends and co-workers of how little they get paid, or how much they just don't want to be at work that particular day. Not that I'm complaining about their complaining. Just trying to share with you all how my day usually starts. Before I've even clocked in for work.
I hold the fabulous title of Custodian for the local university. State job, government wages and pretty good health care. The hours suck, but we can't really expect banker's hours. The job is actually pretty deep. We aren't "just janitors". We have to keep this god awful, ugly-ass campus sparkling. Easy enough, right?
Wrong!
One would think that because we are dealing with professors, professionals, and adult students that our job would be relatively easy. You know, since adults tend to keep up after themselves. That could not possibly be more incorrect. College students are simply high school kids who have no supervision for the first time in their miserable lives. The college party scenes you see in movies? Yeah, they're really close to what really happens on this campus. Lucky for me, I don't have to deal with the dorms. Not that that really makes it any easier.
So with all the crap I have had to deal with before even getting to work, I'm usually happy to actually start working, just to tune out the complaints. Until I walk through the doors of the building I clean and see the wonderful "gifts" these supposed adults have left for me to take care of.
Just last week, for instance, the very first thing I see is a perfectly preserved print on the glass door entrance of my building. Not a finger print. Not even a hand print. Those I would expect to find on a glass door. Only because the metal bar on which one pushes to open said door must be too hard to find. Or something. No. This was a perfect ass print. On the outside of the door. At eye level, complete with what I can only assume to be a sack print just below. A couple thoughts came to me as I saw this. First I was perturbed at having more to do in my already busy schedule. Then I wondered how this ass-ball print got five feet in the air. The fact that I was not shocked should speak volumes.
"Okay", you think. "Some body grease on the door. That's all you've got?" Not even close, bud. Later the same night I came across some more "art", in the form of strawberry daiquiri swirled in rather creative stipes and loops on the marble floor. No big deal. Or at least it wouldn't have been a big deal had it not been consumed first.
Typical Wednesday night in the life of a university custodian. Strawberry regurgitate and some butt art. The rest of the week pretty much went down hill.
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