So I was trying to think of the next thing to blog about and nothing was really standing out. I'm currently "between jobs" for two days and went to the gym in the middle of the day. It's like whole new world when you go to the gym mid-day. You don't have to hoover over someone like you do when you're in line at a salad bar and they've been in front of the bacon bits building a salad with a lettuce to BB ratio akin to 1:89043 and then they walk away and all that's left are some crumbs and that stupid plastic packet that comes in things to hold out moisture, but thanks to the miracle of the interwebs we all save those in case water get's into our watches or we need to freshen up before going out so we dab a little behind the ear.... wait... oh, right. The gym. So I was on a machine that was acting a little wonky and went to report it. This leads us to the purpose of this post. Stupid, awkward and/or inappropriate things happen to me constantly. Maybe it's so I "learn life lessons" or maybe it's so "I'll stop stalking certain blond petite entertainers" or maybe it's so "I can write this blog for your entertainment... so that I can be discovered and meet certain petite blond entertainers"... whatever, you get the point. Stupid stuff happens to me.

Let me begin with a story some of you already know, but bares repeating to support my previous statements. I've had A LOT of jobs. Current employer that I begin working for tomorrow, this is in reference to Kate ages 13-21. So we're still cool. My first real job was at a McDonald's. I was not thrilled about it, but I needed a job. I should have realized how wrong this situation was by my interview. I was 16 (albeit the daughter of a high school guidance conselor so I was slightly more prepared than most) and walked into the store with a business suit and resume... we didn't interview. He made sure I had the power of speech and told me to start tomorrow. I showed up and had my 2 days of training... pictures on a cash register can be hard to decipher... you tell me the difference between a 5 ct and a 7 ct mcnugget meal in a time of haste. The third day they put me on drive through. I remember it well. It was a Saturday in late May. I was to work 9-5. 2pm rolled around and I was getting the hang of it. You had to wear a headset attached to a communication pack that hooked to your hip. When someone would pull up to the drive thru it would ding in your ear. You had to press a button to speak and release to listen... anyone who has ever buzzed an apartment door or stage managed a show has got me right now. So a car pulls up and her total to be paid is $5.93. I open the window and she begins to pull money from her purse. I stick my hand out to get it when the ding goes off in my ear that another call has pulled up. I instinctively try to grab the monies that she is giving me while trying to be a fast food worker rock star and press the button to talk. In slow motion I see the woman pouring her payment in pennies, nickles and dimes that then go streaming all over the ground and her car. In fear and frustration at what my life had already become at the ripe age of 16 I say aloud a phrase that I'm not sure can be repeated here as I want to keep these readings PGish, but it involved a goat and some level of copulation. I then see out of the corner of my eye my boss (wearing a similar headset) running at me like she's in a Die Hard film and the building behind her is about to blow. She speaks into the mic for the patron who had just heard the exclamatory statement I had just uttered through the speaker to pull around. I peered through the glass hot box of hell I had worked in all day at the car coming around the corner. I then felt my face go hot and that feeling in your stomach as if you ate chili cheese fries and you're lactose intolerant and you have no gallbladder as I started to recognize the car... it was some of the nuns from my old catholic school. I then took off the headset, stepped over the pile of change still in the hot box, walked out of McDonald's and never returned... except a week late to ask if I was going to be paid for those 2.5 days I worked. I've got class.

Another example. I was 17 and working for a bagel shop. I loved that job. Surrounded by bagels and 7 different types of cheeses all day. HEAVEN. My ass still talks about it like it was boarding school and how muenster had made her the big ass she is today. I was working on a Sunday (as some of you probably know, I should not work on Sundays- it brings out the Jersey Shore in me and I'm not even from there) and in the South it is big to go to church and then breakfast so it was extremely busy on Sundays. I was at the prep area when I took orders and made sandwiches. I saw this heinous punta come in and knew nothing was going to go well. She walked up and hand to God said she wanted a bacon, egg and cheese bagel. Now let me set the scene for you. This place is already like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange with people yelling things and making number gestures that I still have no clue what they were trying to convey. I can only assume it meant something related to some underground lox & schmear mafia. My station's only barrier from the motley crew of customers was something akin to a sneeze guard and I say that to prove this point... everything I do and touch you can see. I begin to swiftly make her sandwich and cut it and put it on a plate for her. She has watched my every move with the diligence of a waspy woman around hired help. She looks me up and down and says in a shrilled voice like Gilbert Gottfried and Rosanne procreated, "WHAT IS THIS?! THERE'S BACON ON THAT!!! I'm a vegetarian! I can't eat that". I replied, "Ma'am, you order a bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel...". With that statement made she saw that I was not even close to her level of bitchydome and I would be an easy target. She continued to scream at me and although, filled with rage much like the kind I have only felt in similar moments of public embarrassment or when West Wing went off the air, I grabbed the plate with the sandwich, ripped the bacon off, slammed it back onto the counter and said, "YOU WILL EAT IT AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!". I then turned smoothly to make a grand exit as in my mind I had won (how naive) and felt my left foot as I put it down in my leave of triumph step into pea soup that someone had spilled. I can only describe my fall as one that the physical complexities achieved can only matched by a member of Cirque du Soleil or Goofy.

There are many more of these instances in my life and I take some responsibility for the outcome as usually my mouth gets me in trouble, but someone has to be held accountable for these situations... you can't make up this stuff. And I'll end it on where I began. I went to tell one of the attendants at the gym that a machine was malfunctioning. She asked me to find out which machine section and the number of it so she could have it looked at. I went back up to report to her and she said, "Can you just tell me briefly what number machine and what's wrong?" and I replied (obviously without thinking), "Yeah, 69 is jerking on and off"... I slowly put my sunglasses on and walked out... I will no longer be attending this gym mid-day.