Bus thoughs, my old job, and real life

You�d be surprised by how many insightful thoughts I have while riding the bus to work in the morning. This morning, I thought about how I have always been very friendly to male humans. I�ve always liked hugging guys, and this has bothered the living tar out of my boyfriend. He�s a sweet guy, but he really could write a long book about jealousy. Perhaps one of my male friends has, now Glenn refuses to write the book. Okay, enough lame attempts at subtle humor.

I�m a female, and I enjoy being female. This may come as a surprise to certain individuals who may be acquainted with me in real life. Not that the Internet isn�t real life or anything. It�s my life. Hey, it pays my bills. Well, I don�t really pay my bills, so I guess it doesn�t pay my bills. In an indirect way it does, though. I digress. I have always enjoyed flirting. Even before I could correctly define the word, I liked to flirt. When I was 13 I didn�t really know what �Flirting� was. It was in a lot of the pre-teen books that I had read, such as the Baby Sitters Club. (A fine read for any kid under 14)

I saw the cute lifeguard leaning against the chain link fence and instantly starting flirting with him

I now realize that as an attractive young woman, I have the upper hand in every situation. Well, every situation that involves a heterosexual man, anyway. Women are evil, evil creatures. Yes we are, and if you�re a female, and deny this, I have one statement for you:

you are lying.

It�s sentences like that last one that usually pull me through. I�m a very nice person, and often try my best to sugar coat things while speaking to an individual directly. I have a ton of mean things to say about people when they aren�t around, like the other day when I told Glenn some of the choice words I had to say about Jay. He gave me this look that just said, �Damn, Pam, you just hurt Jay�s feelings!� But Jay isn�t around!! Jay ought to know how I feel about him. I like Jay a lot, just in a sporadic sort of way.

I feel bad that he�s going through a really tough time with all the crazy stuff going on in his life, but I�m a masculine sign all around (Aquarius, Sag moon. Yeah, unfeeling and just plain scatterbrained) and sometimes my masculinity gets a hold of me and I don�t care anymore. That combined with natural bitchyness makes for a very interesting Pam.

I am usually fairly confrontational. I say what I feel like saying, and if you don�t like it, then that�s just too bad. So long as I didn�t hurt your feelings, I don�t give a damn. I�ve gotten fired from jobs (that I sorta needed) for standing up for what I believe in.

You know, like getting paid on time? My one manager (manager was the 666th word of this entry, he really is the devil) was this greasy rude Italian guy. 110% South Jersey, low class, �Babe� and �Grab em� by the Bawls!� sayin� kinda guy. His boss was this stuttering Irish guy who didn�t know the meaning of Human Resources. There is a human in that phrase. At least there was the last time I checked. Anyway, he never paid us on time. Glenn and I were working together at this point, and he encouraged me to talk to him about it. Me and my concretive nature decided that I�d storm into his office, demand Glenn�s and my pay and be out with a paycheck. No. This fight went on for months of me saying �Tommy, where�s my pay?� and him saying �P-p-p-p-am� it�s in Springfield.�

Springfield was the site of the other ballroom site that they run. Actually it�s a Golf course. Go get married at a country club. Sheeya, right! Feh. Anyway, he refused to pay me on Fridays. The kitchen staff got paid on Fridays. My oily Italian manager got paid on Fridays. The ballroom staff, however, was not paid on Fridays. I began to despise Springfield. I spoke to one of the other ballroom staff who had been there for a long time regarding pay, and if this had just come about, because I thought this was kind of illegal (which I now know it is, and I�m sorry I didn�t sue the entire establishment.) She told me that it had always been that way, and not to say anything. I thought to myself, �What? We don�t have a real payday and they have the nerve to take taxes out of my check? That is not legit.�

I finally got tired of it. Tommy would give me the ruh-ruh-runaround, and I would complain more. I felt like saying, �Then take your scrawny arise to Springfield, and bring me my paycheck, you cheap, lazy stuh-stuh-stuh- stuttering bastard.� Then, one fateful day, I found out what the number was to Springfield. You see, Tommy didn�t own the company. His brother, Steve, owned the company. Steve was actually pretty cool, and very wealthy. I mean, the man owns a country club. So I decided that I was going to call Steve and let him know what was going down at The Ballroom At the Ben. Un-just pay schedules! Crazy work hours! Sexist and very greasy managers! Nuh-nuh-nuh-nervous employers! Steve was going to get an earful. It turned out that I only told Steve about the pay situation. I didn�t have the heart, courage, or brain or home� um, yeah� to complain about the work conditions, because I had worked for Jeffery Miller Inc, the college slave corporation of the University of Pennsylvania. Steve was very thankful for the information that I gave him about how his little brother was running his other operation. I knew that something was going to get done!

Two hours later that day my phone rang. It was a highly irate Tommy. �Pam!� woa, he spoke without stuttering, �I duh-duh-don�t ap-puh-puh-reciate you talking to my brother!� I was like; hold up a second here, Porky. You�re not paying me on time, or enough to be doing this job, and you have the nerve to question my tactics? I told him �Well, apparently the only way to get your attention, and to do your job is to tell someone more important than you. If you had just given me my pay in a timely fashion before, I never would have called him.� That pissed him off. He st-st-stuttered on about how I wasn�t a good employee, and that I was replaceable. For an entire day I was afraid that I was going to lose my job. Then I didn�t care. I stood up for a whole crowd of people who hadn�t been stood up for before. I put my neck on the chopping block for tons of people. I got my paycheck on Friday from that point until they found a legitimate reason to fire me. I never went back. If I were to see Tom Finley on the street, I wouldn�t give him the time of da-da-day.

Love and adoration,

P-chan