The Horrible Day, Week 5, Post 3: Make Everything Right with the World

On Wednesday, after that we had stayed late cleaning the kitchen, I told Mr. dataDyne at bible study about my predicament. He said that I need to gird up now my loins like a man. With that pep talk (that's as peppy as his talk gets) and my Ducky Syndrome, I managed to not crash into a light pole on the way home. More on Ducky Syndrome later.



Now we'll focus on Thursday, the 5th of February, for a while, humble fool. Try to keep up.

The walk-in refrigerator purged of all rebellion, the freezers cleared of scourges, the ovens prim and proper, the floor bleached, the ceiling painted, the paint droppings from the painting painstakingly removed with a scraper (that maintenance man is a jerk), the mop bucket cleansed and the mop and broom hung neatly, the cutting board sanded to remove scratches, and with the doors lovingly propped open, my boss told me two things as we awaited our OSA.


First, none of this is my fault. Second, if we fail this OSA, none of what she does to me is her fault. Reassuring, right? Mrs. Merry joined us, and I left; she's the kitchen manager, and I don't really need to be there, just to be available if the inspectors want to meet me. Lemmings (or employees) kept casually walking into the kitchen to see how they were doing. That didn't go over well.

Soon the inspectors arrived. Three of them, all guys. I went and hid myself in my office and frenziedly checked my email; Vixen forwarded me an obvious scam email for fast cash. She's wiggy, but in a colorful kind of way. I emailed her back: "I've already got so much money that I can't spend it fast enough. Maybe I'll buy you some shampoo." I knew that that would eat at her for hours.

Time slowed. But it also sped, so half of the time it was slow, half of the time it was fast. Honestly, I couldn't tell when it was fast or when it was slow. It seemed just like normal time, but man, it was fluctuating, I just couldn't tell. I attempted to call Manny Hitman. She's hard to reach sometimes, and her voice message (welcome to "message boxland") is really weird.

Foiled, I paced; I browsed recipes for peanut butter pie (and contemplated how that could ever be good), I pondered pecan pie (Mrs. Merry loves them), and I felt somber but excited at the same time. Then out of nowhere, I was broadsided by guilt.

I'm not often absent-minded, but sometimes my mind is not on the matter at hand. It was in that moment of clarity that I realized I hadn't played video games for about a month.

And then I realized that I still haven't completed Metroid Prime 2: Echoes. I wimped out; I didn't want to face the end, and the assured death that would follow me; I hate it when Samus dies. It bothers me, and so I stopped playing. Fear of a hard fight is a common problem with gamers.

At this point, I didn't really care whether we passed or failed. I was a sad sailor. My boat had a hole in it, you could say.


Good thing, though, we did pass. It's like this: Saundra (the inspector) is a little long in the tooth, and according to one inspector who trained with her years back, is going kind of nuts. Problem, she's so adored that they don't want to fire her. The OSA was to start us out with a clean slate, and "hopefully we could all put this behind us."

Sweetheart inspections, HERE WE COME! YEEHAW!


Also, more protesters (picketers/ASPCA flyer and phone campaign) showed up, but that's not so important. During the pre-inspection cleanup (we wanted to be sure we passed), I got to rearrange the kitchen to my liking. Now, that's what I call a functional disaster!

I may have left out some details. If I have, I'll post it in a future post and call it "The Lost Post." Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some articles on hair care to forward, and some video games to play. Not necessarily in that order.