Yes, I know it's Friday. I have the same internal debate every week.

ME: Oh, come on. It's the weekend. Live a little.

ME: What are you talking about? You work in food service. The traditional "weekend," spanning Friday evening to Monday morning, is something that happens to other people. When you get a "week-end" it happens on Tuesdays or something.

ME: You can't start a week on Friday, though. That's just crazy-talk.

ME: Look. We've been over this. The original decision to quit smoking happened on a Friday. Therefore, the "week" always starts on a Friday.

ME: I just think you're trying to scam me out of cigarettes that are rightfully mine, is all.

ME: Oh, stop it. You know that by Tuesday, or the latest Weds, you're usually smoking one less than allowed anyway. The ceremonial counting out of one less cigarette is a mere formality. Why shouldn't it happen on a Friday?

ME: Wow. Could we, like, have an actual ceremony each week? With fanfares and speeches and balloons and maybe small children performing native dances?

ME: No.

ME: Bitch.

And that's about where things are. Sometimes on Fridays, I curse myself for not smoking that extra cigarette when I had the chance, but then each following day is a little easier. Then, it's Monday again, and I'll try to do one below the limit. If I can't, it's not a big deal. If I can, hooray.
***
I think it is now time to actually put in here the news I was going to put last week.

I have been offered a salaried Restaurant Manager position in Janesville. I'll be earning more, but with a 30-minute commute. Right now, I've got a 20-minute commute, so that doesn't even really phase me. I keep remembering my Hell Month of the TWO HOUR commute, and suddenly, a mere 30 minutes doesn't seem so bad.

There is not going to be a west side store anytime soon. Apparently, the multinational conglomerate that was going to buy us out changed its mind. The new multinational conglomerate wants to focus on renovations before thinking about expansion.

So, yeah. Mr. J-ville will be calling me sometime soon to discuss my salary. I figured it out, and according to the internet, my current hourly pay equals about $21,000/year. If I were working 45 hours a week instead of 35-38, that would be $26,000. However, since I'll also have increased responsibilities and stuff, I'm going to ask for $28,000.

It's weird. For Madison, that's probably still below the poverty line. It seems like SO MUCH though. The cats will eat nothing but gold-plated breadsticks. Perhaps I'll buy a yacht or two.

This is of course more complicated than it seems. Head Boss Lady already told Mr. J that she can't let me go until November. That kind of sucks. OR DOES IT??

See, I first found out about this possibility last week Tuesdayish. Over the weekend, I happened to be paging through the Isthmus, and I saw that Barnes and Noble is looking for managers. Honestly, I wasn't even looking. I glanced at the classifieds, on my way to somewhere else, and the ad leapt off the page, all rubbing up against me and murmuring sweet nothings in my ear.

"I am your destiny," the ad whispered, while seductively massaging my shoulders. "I am everything you ever wanted. If you do not apply for this job RIGHT NOW you will never ever forgive yourself."

What could I do? I sent off a r�sum� that afternoon.

I really hope they call. I'm trying to convince myself that the alternative is a job I've been telling myself I wanted more than anything since February and won't that be grand, but I'm not really buying it. Secretly, I know that the only reason I wanted an RM slot was to make myself more hireable at a place I'd actually enjoy. If I can get to point B without undergoing two or more years of Breadstick Hell, that's even better.

I'll feel shitty for telling Fazuul thanks but no thanks. But not quite shitty enough to not do this, if I get the opportunity. Besides, if J-ville wasn't expecting me for two months anyway, maybe not getting me at all won't be so bad? Hmm.

previous--next