Thank fuck that's over in Adventures in paradise

  • Dec. 24, 2015, 5:21 a.m.
  • |
  • Public

Fucking BRAVO to anyone else out there who happens to work in retail.
If your shift was anywhere near as shit as mine was today/tonight, then big hugs to you. Phewie am I glad THAT is over!

Of course, every customer coming up to me and asking me questions was a straight male (typically leaving their Christmas shopping until the very last minute - happens every single year ^rolls eyes^). I was at the point where my response to a question from any of them was almost me bursting out laughing in their faces. “OHHHH, you want CHRISTMAS WARPPING on CHRISTMAS EVE??? Well, let me just wave my magical wand here and take you to the gigantic display of it that we happen to..... oh…wait a minute, WE DON’T HAVE ANY YOU MORON!”

That’s what I wanted to say :D But of course working in one of the most fake professions (professions? Can I say that about retail?) I have to put a smile on my face and politely let them know that they are a complete fucking idiot and that only a moron would do all their shopping on Christmas eve. Oh wait, did I tangent off again? I meant that I just had to let them know we were sold out....
.... and that they are an idiot :P

Sorry, I’m in a silly mood. I’ve actually had some Christmas ham for dinner and have had half a glass of white wine, which I’ve only started to get into lately. Andrew and I usually drink Tasmanian white wine together when he’s home, and I’ve taken to drinking it myself on special occasions. Christmas is now only three hours away, so a special occasion it is.

I’ve decided to head out to the parents tomorrow ^groan^
It’s going to be boring as batshit but at least I will be coming back to Brisbane the same day and my nieces will be coming back as well (and they are hilarious.) Easily my favourite relatives by far. I even feel like I have more in common with my 15 and 13 year old nieces than I do my own direct family.

I can see now that dad will be watching the cricket. I’ll be resenting being there because I can’t forgive him for what he said. Not that I ever expect to be getting an apology from him, although I do want to demand one. In an ideal world, I’d punch him in the face, just so I could feel a bit better.
But no, it’ll all be fake pleasantries like bloody usual. I’ll spend the entire time chatting to mum and dad will mention some religious reference somewhere during the day to indicate to me about going to church. Jokes on him that I haven’t gone regularly to church in well over a decade now. Fuck that. I got better things to be doing.
I decided last night when my older brother sent me a facebook message offering me a lift out there. You know, to the countryside in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where I can’t even get phone reception, and I’m with the second-most popular telecommunications company in Australia. Even though in reality, it’s only about 2 hours from Brisbane. Useless. I usually hack into their wifi. But God forbid if I were to breakdown or need help out there. Useless. You’d think in this day and age that technology would be up to date, but nope, not out there. Might as well be back in midland Tasmania.

I figure I can last a day. My grudge toward my father gets the better of me and my instinct is to just avoid seeing him. Then my sensible side decides to step in and remind me that my parents aren’t going to be around forever. I’m nearing my mid-30’s and they are only going to get older. Ideally, they’d both live for at least another 20 to 30 years, but who knows what can happen.

I’m even wondering what could happen to me. In a car for two hours on Christmas Day with my older brother. What if the car crashes? What if I die?
These are the morbid thoughts that cross my mind, during a time of celebration :D

This wine is going down nicely. I’m getting picked up about 9am I believe. Get there before lunchtime, spend the arvy there, then head home by evening, ready to be back at work on Saturday for the Boxing Day sales.

Yay. >Insert sarcasm here<


No comments.

You must be logged in to comment. Please sign in or join Prosebox to leave a comment.