Things That Happened At Work

Things That Happened At Work

I'm at work. I was realizing just exactly why I am undecided as far as having children goes. This man came in, which is son, named Alex. Alex, the hyper-active boy of 13, was talking non-stop, running all over the place. He was basically bouncing off the walls, and his dad said, "Shut up, Alex" about every 2 minutes, alternated with "Sit down, Alex" and "Be quiet, Alex." I had to clench my fist and try my best to think happy thoughts while this ADD kid was all over the place. Then, they bought their stuff and left.

Afterwards, this lady and her daughter came in. Her daughter looked about 10, and seemed to be one of those timid kids who nudge the sides of their parents like a little chick, trying to bury her head under her mom's wings. She was making incomprehensible phrases -- one of those incoherent speaking that only the biological parent can understand, which I thought it was a bit immature for a gal her age. By the tone of her voice, she was nagging at her mom for something, and it continued for about 10-15 minutes. I was appalled at the girl's brattiness, as her mom was still trying to conduct her business matters. Then it happened. The mom finally had it, and started to yell. Loud. She told her daughter to sit in the corner and say nothing, and said rather mean things (in my opinion). "Connie, you're not a baby anymore! You cannot continue to behave this way!" She said, with the utmost sternness. She bitched at her kid for about a good 5 minutes, and the tone of her voice was unyielding to the echoing of her voice. Everyone else was quiet, and the phone didn't even dare to ring while she was verbally K.O.-ing her daughter.

Even I, who's not very keen on children, thought that she was over-doing it. Of course, she wasn't bitch-slapping her daughter or anything, and who am I to interfere on parenting, when I'm obviously not even capable of disciplining my cat. (Nabee snides at me.) But even so, I still thought the girl is a bit spoiled, and she needs to learn how to speak politely and coherently and grow up from her baby-talk. Then something happened that would make me feel ashamed for the next hour (at least).

After the mother was done hollering at the poor girl, she explained to us that she is handicapped. After years of feeling bad for the kid, the mother gave into every whim that she had, and the doctor suggested that she takes a more stern approach and let her know each and every time, in a very clear and authoritative manner, what she is doing wrong. Geez. And in my mind, all this time, I was just kudo-ing my decision to never have kids, because obviously, they're annoying brats who will destroy all sense of well-being.

It's a busy day. Phone calls left and right. I sold a phone this morning, and the customer is calling just about ever half an hour to ask a question. Working here has made me an increasingly violent person -- sometimes, imagining myself, beating the crap out of some of my customers makes me smile, just slightly, in a mystical and a rather sinister way. It may be about time that I go home and do something therapeutic -- like seeing if some of my old computer games work, like Heretic (a classic), Doom (which I don't like but everyone else does) and so on. You just can't understand the release it gives to annihilate all things living in your path with a bazooka or some fantastical weapon.

For those of you who don't know, Heretic is one of my favorite games, although it's quite ancient. If you saw the game and its goriness, you'd think I was evil, or at least quite unlike the demure, polite girl that I appear to be. I'm not quite apt at playing the new playstation or xbox thingamagis, because I'm just not coordinated enough to utilize, like, 29 buttons, and pressing combinations of 17 to do one kick or shoot one bullet. But the old games, are pretty simple. And I love that when the bad guys die, they make gawd-aweful noises, wrought with pain and torment, and spew blood everywhere. Sometimes you don't hit them quite right and their arm falls off or something, and they're still walking at you while spewing blood, and that's even cooler. That's like killing them twice! C o o l...

Another thing that ticked me off a bit was when a customer, out of sheer gratitude, bought us (myself, coworker, boss) iced-coffee bobas, from the cafe downstairs. Which was nice. However, I cannot drink the iced-coffee from downstairs (although I absolutely love its taste), because it already comes pre-mixed with syrup and very very dairy cream/milk. I love the sweetened coffee, but not wanting to puke my guts out wins over every time. Apparently, the ill-feeling brought on by my lactose intolerance, triggers some sort of auto-somatic response (trying to be technical and use words that I have no authority to use, so just pretend that it makes sense please) and just looking at milk, milk products, and other milky things makes me feel extremely queasy, and upon consumption, I am likely to have a bonding experience with the toilet of closest proximity, as I puke. Ok. I know. Too much information.

So I had this cup of lovely iced coffee boba, tantalizing me. I chucked it in the freezer for now, but I may be tempted to try just a little bit later -- just to see if it still tastes good. I think I will go home and make some of my own iced coffee, without the white stuff. It's going to be a looooong day, I just know it.