Sunday, December 26, 2010

That Sound Your Stomach Just Made? Yeah.. I heard it.

If you have ever experienced exam week, you will know it is the moment where your world becomes focused; where your entire body reverts back to ancient survival methods and all your brain is trained to do is get you out alive. 
If you are like me, your brain has no such function, and you lumber around in a fog of denial and confusion. Moving farther and farther away from the river of enlightenment and drowning in the sea of procrastination. Having just gotten through the worst week of my life, I have acquired a few pearls of wisdom.
One thing you must know, is you are WRONG about your exam date unless you have had three people including your prof email/text you the information. It is always a good idea to set an alarm on your phone, leave posted notes everywhere and have one of your classmates text you the night before. (trust me that last one is essential)
On the day of my last exam, I woke up late. And I don’t mean the usual “Oh shoot, guess I’m going out without mascara” kind of late, I mean the screaming “HOLY MOTHER! I AM LAAATEE! I DON’T EVEN HAVE TIME TO PUT ON PANTS!” while running high speed down the stairs, kind of late. But of course, when you live in ‘The Peg’ and the normal temperatures are -40 and the streets look like this:
                       It is necessary to take a moment and clothe your bottom in pants.

Now, normally my brisk walk to the bus stop takes me about 8 minutes, give or take a few to account for lost footing and face plants. That day I had to make it in 5. I have never been athletically inclined. Ever. I have a hard enough time walking without tripping over my own feet let alone adding ice into the equation.
Which makes the first minor miracle of that morning that I only bailed once head-on into the snow without breaking any important body parts. And the second, that I was able to scream loud enough and run fast enough to get the bus drivers attention before he left without me.
Once my (fully clothed) bottom was safely seated in the front of the bus* I was able to try and re-teach my lungs how to breathe, while trying to defrost my nostrils from sticking together. 
*See Tips and Tricks to Transit Safety 

Now, not having even been able to properly clothe myself, it is obvious I had no time to eat breakfast either. Missing breakfast, along with the added bonus of waking up at the ungodly hour of 7:00 am makes my stomach hate me, and turns it into the raging fiery acid pits of hell. Leaving me sitting uncomfortably trying to focus on one spot on the wall so I will not be sick and get thrown off the bus and miss my exam. 
It is then, at the very next stop a lady gets on with a stroller. And (being in prime seating) sits next to me. Normally, babies are happy to go about their daily business. Eat, Burp, Sleep, Poop. Repeat. With not much thought in their minds besides: “Why is that person making weird faces at me? I would like that to stop.” and: “Look a bug, can I eat it?”, But no. The Galileo of babies had to sit next to me. 
This baby had an impenetrable gaze. No matter how long I looked away, or looked right at it, it just stared at me. Not blinking. It’s like it was seeing into my soul and judging me harshly. It was like it KNEW I was completely unprepared for my exam, and that instead of finishing my study notes I coped out and watched Inception. Not only was the unwavering glare of the small disdainful child uncomfortable, but it was doing nothing for my bus sickness. 
There is no eloquent way to say “Excuse me miss? But if you can’t get it to stop staring at me, I may vomit on your child. So sorry.” Trust me I tried to find one, nothing came to me. So I kept my mouth shut and stared back. You have never felt worse then when a  baby looks at you and seems to say, “Yes, even I am better then you, Mother pass me that bottle!” 
I was a minute away from losing the battle of don’t barf on the baby, when my stop arrived. 
Now it seemed a clear shot from there, just walk into the school, up two flights of escalators, and then write the exam! Until I got to my classroom and remembered that I was in a different room during the exam. Which lead to panic. This school is big. And my ability to get lost in more familiar areas has astounded many. Including myself. In a small moment of sheer luck, I spotted a familiar face. 
Brain:
That girl?
She.. SHE IS IN YOUR CLASS!
FOLLOW HER!
FEET! QUICKLY NOW! 
Stalking: 
to proceed in a steady, deliberate, or sinister manner 
Famine stalked through the nation.”

I like a villain with a bad moustache, stalked my classmate all the way to the room on the fourth floor. She looked back with insecurity quite a few times, it almost made me think I DID have a bad mustache, so to make her feel comfortable I hid behind a locker once.
I did indeed stalk her like famine through a nation. I am not ashamed.
When finally seated -near the front as to ignore the glare from the stalked- I thought I would be able to silently await my peril in peace. Not so. 
The longest, loudest, angriest sound came from my stomach. Creating a giant disturbance and causing all 18 sets of eyes (including those of the prof) to be focused on me. To the rest of the world it was: BLURRRRPSAISOISBUBBLESNAP, But being well versed in the language of my stomach, I recognized it as FEED ME. 
Slouching in my chair to avoid the ‘what the HECK is trying to eat its way out of your stomach?’ looks, I tried to laugh it off.
Me:“Oops, missed breakfast this morning, good thing the exam hasn't started yet! Ha-ha.” 
Silence
(Sharp intake of breath in the room)
My professor stood up in complete shock and disgust.
Prof: You missed breakfast?
Me: I was running late.
Prof: Breakfast, is the most important meal of the day! You cannot take an exam on an empty stomach! How is your brain to be fueled?! You better hope this doesn’t affect your mark!
Me: No. I am not going to fail my exam because I didn’t have time to choke down a bowl of cheerios this morning. (I’m pretty sure. I hope.)
Quickly the room settled into the silence of exam tension after that. While most people tried to quickly grind that last tiny little bit of information into their brain, I began to fantasize about bowls of cheerios and their many flavors. Starvation was stalking me, just as I had stalked my classmate. It was getting to the point where I worried I might begin to nibble on the exam booklet when it was finally handed out. And then, I remembered. In my jacket, which had been laid for safe keeping on the desk ahead of me, in the pocket was a granola bar. I had been to nauseous to eat on the bus, but it was still in my pocket!
It is of course after resolving the goal of consuming said granola bar that a huge stack of paper THUDs onto my desk. 
Prof: Exam starts now. You have three hours to finish. No talking, texting, food or drinks.
Some days, life just seems out to get you. 
It took me a good twelve minutes to pull my tunnel vision from the pocket of my coat, and finally onto my exam where it belonged. And then another five to realize I could actually start. 
Three hours can pass in the blink of an eye when writing an exam. When it was all finally over, without ending in tears or an embolism, I did what any self respecting woman would do, ordered a plate of fries the size of my head.
One thing I learnt from this whole experience? 
Fries can fix anything.
Oh yes, and set your alarm.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The Till That Destroyed My Chances of Respect And A Raise

There are moments in life where you are thrust upon acting adult like. For instance, when someone hands you a baby. No matter how utterly terrified you are that it will start screaming and spew acid vomit into your eyes, you must smile and nod like it is the most beautiful baby you have ever seen, not a pink space alien. 
Another instance would be when your boss looks at you and thinks, 
“Huh. I’m pretty sure  if we gave her a key she couldn’t find a way to destroy the store.” 
And when they actually hand you such key your reaction shouldn’t be, 
“WOW! I don’t even have a keyring!”
Boss: You don’t have a keyring?
Me: I don’t have any keys..
Boss: Not for your house?
Me: My parents make me use the garage..
Boss: a car?
Me: I don’t have a license ...
Boss: You don’t have a license??
Me: I prefer not to drive...
Boss:......
Me: .... Your re-thinking this aren’t you?
Much to my surprise (and most likely due to desperation and lack of employees on my boss’s part) I was still given a key. A key that would cost me 500 dollars to replace if I lost it. 
Me: What, was it gold inlayed with unicorns horn or something?
Yes, they still gave it to me.
Now, this is a prime example of being thrust into adulthood. I had a quick crash course in closing and then the next day it was show time.
Boss: So do you understand everything?
Me: *Blink*
Me: Yes..
Boss: Because I can stay and help you out for the first time, I’ll just have to cancel my dinner with my family..
Me: No no! Don’t do that! I have made a list! It all seems understandable! I’m good! 
In my defense everything did seem understandable, except for my handwriting.
Something that should have been: 'And then hit send to close till two', In my mad dash spaztic writing ended up looking like: 'And then bite the flea, monkey sex tools'.
And really how is that of any help to me?
Answer: None.
I did everything short of burning down the store. 
Ok, thats exaggerating a bit. But not by much.
After closing one till successfully without any of my crappy instructions, I felt like a champ. A capable, slightly heroic, adult-like champ. And I should have known that this was bad, things always get bad when I think I’m adult-like.
I then proceeded to till number two. I pressed a few buttons, sure that this would be as easy as the first and I would be out on time, with everything counted perfectly and my boss would then stride up to me the next day exclaiming:
“RAISES FOR EVERYBODY! But not really, JUST FOR YOU!”
Alas, a shrill beeping shattered my fantasy.
The till was screaming at me. Whatever button I unknowingly miss-pressed threw the till into a tantrum of hate and demonic possession. To which I panicked and replied 
“STOP DOING THAT!”
I pressed a few more buttons, which lead me to louder beeping and a lockdown of the cash drawer and the keyboard.

“DONT DO THAT! I NEED THAT! PLEASE STOP!!” 


No amount of pleading could get it to reconsider its hasty decision to ruin my reputation as a keyholder, or an capable adult in general.


To ashamed to call in my failure to my boss, I took the cowards way out, and left a note.
(The Boss probably wouldn't have been able to hear me over the tills painfull screeching anyways.)
Dear Boss:
I found out the till hates me.
I tried to be nice to it, I did everything I could,
I couldn’t read my own writing and that was my downfall.
I may have hit it, twice.
I’m sorry I destroyed your morning. I was to ashamed to call you..
I got one till done at least, And look how clean the floor is!
I tried to fix it!
Ps.
Please don’t fire me!
Love Teagan
That note is now pinned to a bulletin board.
And may be the only thing that kept me from being fired.