Archive for April, 2010

Just found out that the other two candidates interviewed during my innovative “group interview” were hired.

Not too surprising, because the guy with the funky name (It’s ZARED, not Jared, with a Z. Zzzzz-Zzzzz-Z) and the Janeane Garofolo funky black plastic rims had the Bux writtin all over him. And the chick had worked for them in New York.

I’m still depressed, mainly because I’m certain that my Bell’s Palsy acting up caused me a few problems (I looked like I had a tic. Horrors).

I’ve sworn off Starbucks altogether.

I’m moving on to stronger beverages. Like those with the word “proof” on the label.

Starbucks makes booze now, right???

UPDATE: Friend who works there just informed me that both of them are gone already. Stupid Starbucks dipshits. I have two damn kids to feed. I can’t AFFORD to go anywhere! Not in this job market! Yousis stoopeed!


… and I still don’t care. This show sucks big hairy ones now.

I am a Christian.

I’m not a very good one, but I’ve got the faith part down (for the most part), and I believe that Jesus Christ is my Saviour.

So while I tend to miss church a little way too much, I have to be there on Easter. That’s a big one.

As I sat there during the service (my husband won’t attend, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog), one of the teenagers who works in the nursery comes looking for me. Finding me, she says the words I dread most in this world.

“Umm, Neve just pooped on herself.”

(Note: Please give mad props that I didn’t drop the f-bomb, s-word, or even a d without a g.)

(Another note: I seriously just said “mad props.” Wow.)

I head back to the nursery like I’m walking the Green Mile. I was expecting a pair of Dora panties with a turd floating in them. I was sooo wrong.

Neve had decided she was going for broke (perhaps since it’s been so long since she’s done this?). The child had a full-on monster bowl movement while standing directly in front of the toilet. Didn’t even pinch one off and then hop on. Then, she stuck the heel of her brand new white satin (of freakin’ course) shoe in the poop. At this point, she started dragging the heel across the floor. But she didn’t stop there.

No, when my little angel had finished with the linoleum, she went out into the actual nursery. With the baby blue CARPET. It looked like the most horrifying skid mark ever. It looked like what (I only imagine) a hardcore gang bang porn star’s thong looks like after a 12-hour workday. Nasty.

So, I spent a half an hour on Easter scrubbing my kid’s crap out of floors. Then I called my mother to come get her (because my ass was. DONE).

As I scrubbed under the watchful eye of my fellow churchgoers, I thought, “Well, if they weren’t judging me before, they sure as hell are now!”

I have typically worked in call centers. Crap jobs but better pay (and bonuses!). But I was good at what I did. Damn good. Even during my brief stint as a debt collector (where I made 6 times my goal my first only month out). I probably sound like every other unwilling SAHM out there, (especially those with those extra degrees), but I think I have something to contribute. I have an excellent customer service history, an ass-busting food-service history, and obviously, I gets my money (even during a repression).

Starbucks doesn’t seem to think so.

I have to say, I thought job-hunting was depressing enough. But to get rejected for a job that will give me less than half the pay and half the hours of the last one I had is depressing. Especially when I’m up against sporadic-availabity, call-out-because-I’m-so-hungover college students. Don’t complain about the stereotype… I was one. If you knew the school these kids were going to, you’d understand why I say that (because I went there too).

I want to get drunk and soak my depression away in a bubble-filled tub, clutching a trashy novel and smoking cigarettes I keep swearing I’ll quit.

But then I’ll have a hangover and need to run to Starbucks in the morning.