Connie, I totally understand where you're coming from but I guess I'm having difficulty understanding why pulling his manager into it was necessary. If the clerk was a teenager, maybe I'd go over his head but I'd think cluesticking directly to the clerk is where I'd start.
It was not a teenager but someone in his late '30s. Actually, having the manager there protected him, because it kept me from laying him out with all the non-profane insults at my command. The she-wolf was well and truly riled, and only by keeping it scrupulously professional did I keep blood off the floor. I also figured that a bit of consciousness raising on the managerial level wasn't a bad thing.
At the time, I didn't give a damn about the clerk's income, he was lucky to keep his spleen.
bt, you COULD be my date for the wedding... just think, 60 or 70 Booths...
Or, y'know, one of the other kings who is hotter.
Lots of stuff got typed by Bitches today, I have no real meara, except to comment on the sentence from the actually meara, and say that this seems utterly unpossible, but she's the only king I know personally, so my opinion in uninformed, technically.
Still.... unpossible.
Bah. I just went and Googled and yellow page'd around looking for the housing/sublet/roommate referral service I used a few years ago to find my completely awesome (except for the deadbeat landlords) affordable 1BR apt in Berkeley, and I'm coming up completely blank. I know exactly where it is, too (downtown Berkeley BART, the intersection with the toy and game shop on the corner, walk up that street toward campus, and it's about halfway up the block); I just can't find the damn name.
JZ, you're talking about Berkeley Homefinders, which I used to find off-campus housing in my undergrad days at Cal, and it's gone out of business, according to the Chronicle.
(Edited because my typing is even worse than usual tonight.)
I am locking myself in somewhere and NEVER COMING OUT.
What do you do if you've managed to lose a check? I took it out of the checkbook yesterday, brought it into the daycare and... have no idea what I did with it after that. It didn't make it into the payment box. It's not in the sign-in sheet folder. It's not in the car.
Paul will make our weekly payment tonight via the online method, so that's not the problem, but what the hell did I do with the check???
Lillian didn't nap at daycare. Then we had to take a long-ish bus ride to the U District to meet up with Paul, who had to work late. I had to read
The Nose Book
until my throat hurt, because bus rides lead to bored, flailing toddlers.
Service at the B&N Cafe sucked. So did the product.
The lines at Whole Foods (the only place other than the co-op where I can find organic prune juice for a stopped-up kidlet) were insane.
My morning started out with Lillian puking all over me (tender stomach still, so it's hair-trigger). I was up half the night because she was Being Fussy.
Work is, as usual, work.
I want to join the circus.
Whimper.
Sympathetic murmers for you, Plei.
[insert snarky Passion of the Christ joke here]
Dude, the Christ imagery in TPotC jumped the shark....
Yeah, especially Johnny Depp's whole performance...
..wait, that's TPotC, not TPotC.
That still makes me giggle sometimes, Daniel.
