I've consciously decided to look at the bright side - yes, I do have terrible weekend hours (Fridays and Saturdays 6-midnight), but I am going to squeeze every thing I can out of those terrible lemons. Around 11:15 everyone usually trickles away. Well, there's always that lonely runner that trucks on until I give them the subtle "get out" by turning off the TV's in the gym. If it's just me, the good tunes get cranked up and I sing and dance through the closing procedures. Also, I steal a wheeley chair from the office down the hall so I can scoot around during work and then glide at super speeds down the ramp when it's time to go home. Anticipation of that exhilarating trip alone makes the long hours whiz by. Now the rush: laundry. I carry the many, wash the many, dry the many, fold the many, then distribute the many many towels. The scary part comes in the middle of this routine after they are dry: I have this thing where I love clothes right when they come out of the dryer - all warm and cozy, so as soon as the buzzer buzzes, I'm in that thing, grabbing the still moving clothes. Now, imagine this dryer: it's huge... industrial strength; a giant spinning orb of terror. When I reach my hands in, my head comes too. So now I'm inside this spinning orb, trying to grab warm towels as fast as I can so as not to die. It's a little terrifying, but hugging those clean warm towels makes the adventure satisfying. Every time I am inside, I feel like I'm in one of those rides, like on Grease; trying to keep my cool and my balance, while holding in vomitous feelings, and the terror of being sucked in.
Saturday
#43 - sour lemons
I've consciously decided to look at the bright side - yes, I do have terrible weekend hours (Fridays and Saturdays 6-midnight), but I am going to squeeze every thing I can out of those terrible lemons. Around 11:15 everyone usually trickles away. Well, there's always that lonely runner that trucks on until I give them the subtle "get out" by turning off the TV's in the gym. If it's just me, the good tunes get cranked up and I sing and dance through the closing procedures. Also, I steal a wheeley chair from the office down the hall so I can scoot around during work and then glide at super speeds down the ramp when it's time to go home. Anticipation of that exhilarating trip alone makes the long hours whiz by. Now the rush: laundry. I carry the many, wash the many, dry the many, fold the many, then distribute the many many towels. The scary part comes in the middle of this routine after they are dry: I have this thing where I love clothes right when they come out of the dryer - all warm and cozy, so as soon as the buzzer buzzes, I'm in that thing, grabbing the still moving clothes. Now, imagine this dryer: it's huge... industrial strength; a giant spinning orb of terror. When I reach my hands in, my head comes too. So now I'm inside this spinning orb, trying to grab warm towels as fast as I can so as not to die. It's a little terrifying, but hugging those clean warm towels makes the adventure satisfying. Every time I am inside, I feel like I'm in one of those rides, like on Grease; trying to keep my cool and my balance, while holding in vomitous feelings, and the terror of being sucked in.
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