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cookiemonkey1004
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Name: cookiemonkey1004
Gender: Female
Interests: Swatch watches, stand up comedy, piano, Stephen Lynch, my mainly-french poetry @ sapfromamapletree.blogspot.com
Expertise: Efficiently wasting time, last minute cramming, Irish Drinking Song making, my Xanga
Occupation: College Student
Industry: Entertainment
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  cookiemonkey1004
Yahoo:  cookiemonkey1004
Member Since:
1/25/2004
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| Actually, the last 30% of this note does entail my stupidity, but the immediate story at hand does not.
The following is a 100% true story.
For those people - especially those who don't go to UChicago - who
aren't familiar with the Drunk Van Service, the Drunk Van Service is an
evening bus that drives you around campus and the neighborhood at night
so you won't get mugged or assaulted or killed or shot or raped or
robbed while you're walking in the dangerous streets of Hyde Park. They
also get very offended if you refer to them as the Drunk Van because
their official name is Safe Ride. Once I accidentally called and asked,
"Hi is this the Drunk Van?" and the operator got really pissed and said
"We are NOT the drunk van. We are called Safe Ride." I got kind of
freaked out and flustered because she sounded super angry, and I was
already not too sober to begin with, so I just hung up. And then I
called again and accidentally called them Drunk Van AGAIN. I realized
my mistake and immediately hung up before the lady had a chance to get
mad at me again. I finally had to get my friend to call the Drunk Van
for me.
Without further ado, here is the 100% true story that happened 2 weeks ago.
Me: Hi, I'm at 48th and South Chicago Beach Drive.
Drunk Van Operator (DVO): Ok, that'll be about 15-20 minutes.
I was considering calling the umbrella service and just walking back to
campus with the police car driving behind me. But I had hurt my ankle
the day before so it was really too painful to walk for 2 minutes, much
less 8 blocks.
[20 minutes later]
Me: I called 15 minutes ago, and the van isn't here yet.
DVO: Someone just asked to be picked up within the campus, so it'll be another 5 minutes or so before the van gets to you.
Me: (thinking) Who the FUCK is the person who demanded to be picked up?
I bet they don't really NEED the drunk van since they're already on
campus anyway whereas I'm fucking 8 blocks away from campus/my dorm.
In case the van arrived in 5 minutes, I didn't bother going back in the
apartment complex to wait. It was a bit chilly outside but I didn't
want to risk missing the van.
[15 minutes later]
Me: I called 15 minutes ago, and the van isn't here yet.
DVO: You know, I'm going to call the driver to see where he's at.
What I overhear between DVO and driver through the phone:
DVO: Yo, where you at?
Driver: I'm at 47th and Lake Shore drive.
DVO: She's on 48th street and South Chicago Beach drive.
Driver: I'm at 47th and I don't see her.
DVO: She's on FORTY-EIGHTH.
Driver: I can't see her and I've been here for a few minutes.
DVO: You're at the WRONG PLACE. How much longer you think it'll take you to get to 48th street?
Driver: I'm still on 47th...
DVO: No, I'm asking how many more MINUTES until you're on 48th!
Driver: I'm at 47th...
At this point, I'm thinking "OMFG are you serious this idiot driver was
at the wrong place the whole time and obviously has no clue what he's
doing."
On a scale of 1-5, with 1 being not at all pissed and 5 being very very
pissed, I was a 3.5 of only mildly pissed off. But then when I realized
I had been waiting for MUCH longer than necessary, the 3.5 cubed itself
and became a 42.875 and I couldn't help but mutter into the phone "Fuck
are you fucking kidding me fucking goddammit fucking shit."
The DVO ended up hearing me and apologized for making me wait for so
long. I told him it's not his fault since he's not the one who's
driving.
It was getting cold, but since he was already on 47th street, I decided
he'd arrive pretty shortly. I mean, how much longer does it take to
drive a block or so?
[10 minutes later]
Me: Hi, I called earlier. I'm on 48th Str-
DVO: He's STILL not there yet? i'm so sorry ma'am.
Me: Oh, it's ok. I've only been waiting for almost an hour. I can
probably wait for another hour or so for the van to get here. It's not
like I've been waiting for a long time anyway.
DVO: I'm so sorry. He's a new driver. I'm so sorry.
Me: I know, it's not your fault. It's really okay. I've only been
waiting outside in the cold for nearly an hour. I'm really cold and
I'll probably catch a cold tomorrow but it's really okay.
DVO: You know, when he finally comes, can you punch him in the face for me?
Me: Ok, I'll be sure to do that. Thanks.
After nearly an hour of waiting for the goddamn van, it finally arrived.
Me: 56th and Ellis please.
Driver: Okay.
5 minutes later, we're going more north.
Me: Um..... this is 44th street. I'm on 56th. We have to go south.
Driver: Sorry, I forgot where you're going.
Me: FIFTY-SIXTH.
Driver: Oh, okay.
We finally go the right direction and he passes Ellis.
Me: You should have gotten on Ellis. Because I'm actually LIVE on Ellis.
Driver: Oh, I'm sorry.
Me: (thinking) How the fuck did you become a driver when you don't even know your way around?
When I was in middle school, I had the hardest time remembering
directions of how to get to my classes. My mom had to stay with me
after school for an hour for about three days to make me practice going
to my classes so I would stop getting lost in the school. The
after-school janitors gave me weird looks as I was frantically going
back and forth around the school with my map in hand.
As an eighth grader, I didn't know how to get to my English classroom
and found myself in the sixth grade hall. I was running late already
because I had wasted so much time trying to find my classroom, so I
just ran across the hall. A sixth grade teacher called me out, telling
me I'm not supposed to run in the halls. She made me go back all the
way to the end of the hall and walk the whole way across, amongst all
the sixth graders. Freaking embarrassing. This was still the same
middle school as the above paragraph.
In high school, our buildings were color coded. And I still continued
to get lost and came to class late for the first week and a half.
Last summer in Paris, I got lost with a map in hand and I couldn't even find where the hugest train station was. (Basically, after being lost with a map, I asked where was the "gare" and no one knew, and they all looked at me funny. Turns out I was pronouncing "gare" as "guerre." Gare is the French word for station. Guerre is the French word for WAR. No wonder.)
And here I was, the most directionally stupidest person ever, and I was the telling the driver how to get to 56th and Ellis.
Either the driver is a COMPLETE idiot, or the world has come to an end
where I am the one who's telling someone directions on how to get to
places. | | |
| This afternoon, 10 minutes before I go off to work, I open the fridge
to eat cereal. And I realize milk is running out. So I make a mental
note to myself to buy milk after finishing work at the bakery. I put my
wallet in my bag and take it with me.
I look at the time and I realize I'm running a few minutes late for
work so I frantically rush out of the apartment. Coincidentally, a lady
who lives across my apartment is exiting her apartment, too. I
frantically push the elevator button and I'm frantically waiting for
the elevator to hurry up when this woman talks to me.
"These magazines, I meant to give them to you last night but I didn't want to knock and bother you."
And she hands me a plastic bag full of Forbes magazines. Ah, I'm late
for work and she's giving me some random magazines and the elevator
isn't freaking coming and I'm freaking out because I hate being late to
things. Without thinking, I take them and put them in my bag.
She continues, "These magazines. They're for Jerry. For the guys. They live in your apartment."
Wait. What? I just calmly tell her, "Sorry but there is no one named
Jerry in my apartment. There are no guys living there. You must have
the wrong person." And I return her the magazines.
She keep insisting that Jerry DOES live in my apartment. "We met him last time! Remember?"
Why isn't the goddamn elevator coming? And what in Dante's Inferno is this lady babbling about?
The elevator finally comes and I rush inside. I really can't tell if
she's just mistaken, or if she's just crazy. But hey, it's not the
first time I've met some crazy people in this apartment complex (see http://www.new.facebook.com/inbox/#/note.php?note_id=65130425067 or http://www.new.facebook.com/inbox/#/note.php?note_id=65132875067).
I'm in such a frenzy that I don't even remember if she gets on the
elevator with me or not. I don't think she did. Now to think of it, I
think she just went back to her apartment. Weird.
But I don't have time to think of that right now. Time is ticking, and I don't want to be late for work.
I zoom out of the elevator as soon as it hits the first floor, and I
nearly push another man aside as I run out the door. He stares at me in
a sort of disbelief/surprise but I'm too busy running.
A minute later, I'm panting and running out of breath but I'm inside
the bakery. I'm late to work by 3 minutes. Damn it! As today's word of
the day is "frantically," I frantically put my bag in the closet and
start work.
Surprisingly, work at the bakery today isn't as hectic as yesterday (see Stupidity Charging... 50%... 75%... 100% Full! Part I: http://www.new.facebook.com/note.php?saved&&suggest¬e_id=78855225067) and I make it out without as much internal cussing as the day before.
The only thing that pisses me off today is the fact that it's 5 PM i.e.
closing time and suddenly a flood of customers come in, demanding
things that are already sold out and then getting all upset about it.
A customer asks if we have more croissants. I respond, "Sorry we ran out."
"You ran out of croissants?!"
"Well, maybe you should come in earlier when we have more pastries
INSTEAD OF COMING IN WHEN WE'RE ABOUT TO CLOSE. OF COURSE WE WON'T HAVE
EVERYTHING YOU NEED IF YOU COME WHEN WE'RE CLOSING. STOP COMPLAINING
AND BEING UPSET!"
is what I want to say. But I don't.
I finally leave and go to Treasure Island to buy milk. I'm so shocked
that I remembered to buy milk. Wow I guess I'm not that stupidly
forgetful after all!
.....
.....
....
WRONG.
I spend the money I earned in tips today all on milk. Actually, that's not the stupid part.
I walk back home.
And I realize, I don't have my keys.
What. The. Fuck. ?!?!?!!??!?
The first thing I remember is the maintenance guy telling me almost 2
months ago, as he unlocked my apartment door, that I would NEVER forget
my keys again after I incur the "Forgetting Key/Stupidity Charge" of 25
freaking dollars and me agreeing to what he was saying (see http://www.new.facebook.com/home.php#/note.php?note_id=62531580067&id=1529730137&index=10).
I am so pissed that I forgot my keys. If only I wasn't running late, I
wouldn't have been so frantic and I would have remembered my keys!
I realize my roommate isn't going to be home since her friend was
coming to visit. Why did I have to go and buy milk today? Now it's
going to spoil while I wait for her to come back. Because there is no
way in HELL I'm going to pay another $25 for my stupidity.
But I call my roommate anyway to ask when she's coming home, and
thankfully she's on her way home now. Which means it'll probably be an
hour of waiting. An hour of waiting with my MILK which won't be in a
FRIDGE.
It gets colder and windier as I wait outside on the steps, but the
bench inside the front desk area of the apartment complex is hogged by
a lady and her 29051 bags. Finally she leaves, and I quickly enter the
apartment complex and sit on the bench.
I kill time by listening to all the ringtones of my cell phone and
using the internet feature on my phone, which costs 1 cent per
kilobyte. As I'm listening to the same ringtone for the 26th time, I
see the bakery's baker leaving the apartment. He lives in the same
apartment complex and he asks what I'm doing. I tell him I forgot my
keys and if it were physically possible, I would have added the -_-
face at the end of my sentence as well. Something like, "I forgot my
keys. -_-"
People pass by, and every time they open the door, it's hard to hear my
ringtones. One lady passes by and tells the front desk man that someone
lost their key. I wish I had dropped mine. But I KNOW I forgot them at
home so I don't even bother checking to see if it's mine.
My stomach starts to feel uneasy, as does my bladder. I have to use the
restroom. Bad. I curse myself for drinking so much water at the bakery
today. But there isn't a bathroom around here. EXCEPT MY ROOM THAT I
CAN'T ACCESS. And it's not like I can barge into some random person's
apartment to use their bathroom, although I did contemplate about doing
that at one point in my life. I hold and hold and hope my bladder
doesn't pop.
I finally see my roommate and I realize, she bought milk. Are you kidding me?!
She lets me in and I happily go up to our apartment and expect to find
my keys hanging NEXT TO THE DOOR, WHICH IS WHERE I ALWAYS PUT THEM SO I
WON'T FORGET AS I'M LEAVING.
But the key's not there.
I start to freak out. This isn't MY key. I'm subletting, so this is my friend's key that I've lost. What the heck?!
I frantically (again, frantically) rush back to the front desk to ask
if the lost key was mine. Of course, it's not. But I could have SWORN I
had left the key at home.
At this point, I don't know what to do. I've searched my room and the
key's not there. How can I find a lost key if I don't even remember
where I put it?
Suddenly, I get a flashback.
This afternoon. Going to work. Woman with magazines. Me putting them in my bag.
My bag. MY BAG that I so frantically put inside the closet at work today.
But the bakery closed an hour ago!
I thought of just dropping by tomorrow morning to get it.
And I realized, tomorrow is Monday. And I have work downtown on Monday.
And My Metra ticket is IN MY BAG. And the bakery is CLOSED EVERY
MONDAY.
Then I remember seeing the baker leave the apartment. Why else would he leave the apartment, besides to go to the bakery?!
I frantically run to the bakery and the doors are locked and curtains
are drawn everywhere. But I'm so desperate, and I find an open space
between the curtains, where I can look inside. I see a figure moving.
SOMEONE WAS INSIDE!
I knock, hoping they'll hear me. It's the cleaning lady! She recognizes
me and lets me in. I frantically run to the closet and I am never so
happier to find my bag sitting there on the shelf.
I go back home. It's 7 PM. And I realize I finished work at 5:15. It
took me nearly 2 hours to regain my memory. And I realize I forgot to
use the bathroom once I entered the room.
If I'm this forgetful at this age, what will become of me 5 years from
now? 10 years? By the time I'm 30, I'll probably even forget that I
have to use the bathroom.
Oh wait, I already forgot about that today. | | |
| Oh boy oh boy, was this weekend FULL of adventures. I don't even know where to start.
Saturday I'm working at the bakery and there's a huge garden sale
outside the bakery. So the bakery is brimming full of people and the
lines are growing non-stop.
I excitedly start work and I face my first customer. She orders two Chai lattes.
LET THE STUPIDITY BEGIN!!!!!
I make the lattes and serve them to the customer. The woman takes a sip and says, "Why is there coffee in it? I taste coffee."
FUCK. I had accidentally mixed the Chai and Milk with espresso.
I feel terrible but I pour out the two cups down the sink. I'd normally
drink the screwed-up drinks, but I hate the taste of Chai so I can't
play the role of human food-drink disposal this time.
I continue to overcharge, or forget to charge, customers for drinks and
sandwiches and pastries. I want to take a break and gather myself but
the customers just keep on coming. DAMN that stupid garden sale! I'm
personally pissed at myself for screwing up so many times in such
little time, but I can't be pouty and rude to the customers so I
internally get pissed at myself and internally think all words of
profanity.
A few hours later (and several more screw ups later), a couple orders
iced green tea. I put the tea bag in hot water, and then add ice. I've
been serving iced teas like that in the past and no one has complained.
Until today. Of course.
The husband says it's not hot.
I respond, "Didn't you want it iced?"
Husband retorts, "Well yeah, but you need the water to be hot for the tea to brew."
I kind of lose my mind. "I've made iced teas like that to all of the past customers, and no one has said anything about it."
Husband keeps retorting. "But the tea can't brew if the water's cold."
He takes a sip. "Ok, well never mind."
And inside my head, I'm thinking "YEAH serves you right to question my iced tea."
But he still argues back, "Well, the water should be hot."
I superficially give an insincere apology that is only apologetic in its words, but not in its tone.
I'm personally fed up with myself because the husband WAS right,
although I hate to admit it. And I'm in disbelief that I actually
argued with a customer. What the HELL was wrong with me?!
Another woman orders a sandwich and a soup. I ask if it's for here or
to go. I circle "For here" on the order form. The order comes out. She
scoffs and sneers, "It's to go." I could have sworn she said "For
here." But today I've been screwing up all day, so it's highly possible
that I just screwed up this person's order, too. I send the order back
to be wrapped up, and she stands there rolling her eyes and giving some
haughty guffaw. I kind of want to punch her in the face. So I punch
her. Except the punch is visualized in my head.
I'm really hungry but there's no time for a break with all these flood
of customers. But I keep in the back of my mind that I want to try the
spinach quiche for the first time for my break today.
A few customers later, a man asks for a croissant. I take it out of the
pastry case and reach for a plate. And I drop the croissant. On the
floor. I can't serve that! So I place it on the counter behind the cash
register.
After I finish his order, I realize that it's too much of a waste to
throw away the dropped croissant. So I decide to eat it. There goes my
hopes of having the spinach quiche for the first time.
Later, I'm giving change to another customer and accidentally give him
an extra $10 in change. I quickly catch myself before it's too late.
Even later, I FORGET to give another customer his change. When will
this day even end?
A man comes and orders a sandwich and two Americanos. I ring him up and
go help the next customer. Then the man asks where his Americanos are.
And I realize I forgot about them.
The next customer orders a sandwich, and I turn in the order form to
the back. A few seconds later, the sandwich guy calls me about the
order I just turned in. It turns out that I only circled "For here" and
didn't even circle what the customer had ordered. Wow, now I know that
I'm REALLY fucking out of it.
A sandwich order comes out, and I serve it. The man happily takes a
bite off the sandwich. Then he returns it, saying it's missing cheese.
And I realize I gave the wrong sandwich to the wrong customer.
OH MY FUCK. I just totally left my brain at home today.
After six hours of mistakes and screw ups and internal cussing, I
finally finish work and go back home, relieved that the manager wasn't
here to see my every mistake, relieved that I'm not fired. I realize
I've made more mistakes than I did during the first week of working
here.
The only thing good about super busy days is super big tips. So I go home feeling happy about money.
Too bad my stupidity battery is charged to an eternal maximum and will never die.
Stupidity Charging... 50%... 75%... 100% Full! Part II is next! | | |
| For my Irish Drinking Song fans, SURPRISE!!!!! There's a SPECIAL IRISH
DRINKING SONG at the end. A brand new IDS written over a year later
since my last one.
Basically it sums up this unnecessarily long note into a 16-line song.
Forgot or don't know what my Irish Drinking Songs sound like? Then
check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jg0Sl3inQw&feature=related
As always, a great big thank you to all my fans who read, love, and
support my Facebook notes, Xanga, and Irish Drinking Songs! I really appreciate
all the comments and support I get!
----
Every time the cash register runs out of paper at the bakery, I never
know how to refill the roll of receipt paper. I've seen my co-workers
do it at least 4 times already, but I just never know how to do it
myself. Maybe the 17th time will be the charm.
The manager once had to refill the paper herself, saying "This is my first time, and I just did it correctly. It's just logic."
Guess I don't have any logic.
Because I tried to refill the paper today and caused a huge jam in the cash register.
No matter how much I pressed "PAPER FEED," the only that that happened was the dying buzzes of the jammed-up machine.
The manager had left, and her husband Driss was still here, so I got
him to help fix the mistake. And he's always smiling and nice, but as
soon as he found out that this jam was huge, he looked really
frustrated, and I felt just terrible. My heart just lurched down to my
stomach and I could feel it churning with my stomach acids, and I felt
like if I were to speak, I'd regurgitate my heart.
"I have to go to Walgreens to get tweezers now. A mistake that takes
one second to make, and I have to spend 30 minutes trying to fix it.
Ask for help if you don't know how to do it!"
I thought I knew how to do it. Which is why I didn't ask for help.
Obviously I didn't know how.
How ridiculous of me. I can't even do things right when directions are
in front of me..... and to think that I could figure out something just
based on common sense logic? Preposterous.
I knew that if this paper jam wasn't fixable, I was in deep shit. SIX FEET DEEP shit.
I was willing to do anything, but it wasn't like I could try to help
fix the machine because it seemed like everything I touched got broken
in some way or another. I was seriously willing to pay for a new cash
register. Or pay for the service people to come and fix it. Anything to
keep my job, in case I got fired.
Suddenly, all sorts of thoughts ran through my head.
It'd be okay if I were fired. I'd have more time to study during the
school year. I don't really NEED extra money. I can just get money from
the DRL and psych studies. How would I have time to fit in bakery work
during the school year anyway? Maybe this is the best for me.....
Driss then said, "Tomorrow is Sunday..."
"But don't worry about coming in tomorrow... because you will not be coming in for work anymore..."
...was what I thought he'd continue to say.
Actually, he said "And if this register can't be fixed by then, then we
will have only one register to use for the whole day. And the service
people won't be able to come in on Sunday. They're closed."
All I could do was say I was sorry while internally beating myself up.
I felt so useless and so helpless. A failure. A miserable case of F, F, F, F, F, F-, F- F-, F- for Failure failure FAILURE.
I looked over at him, and i could hear the cash register come to life,
and I was never happier in my LIFE to hear the loud buzzing of the
paper running through the register. IT WAS FIXED!
And he showed me how to refill the paper. Fifth time seeing this happen
now. "See? Simple. Very simple," he said, as he repeated it again.
Sixth time. "Next time, just ask for help!"
Suddenly, my hopes rose up.
Did he just say NEXT TIME?
As in, next time WORKING in the bakery?!
He handed me my tip for the day and I felt terrible taking it.
As I left, he said "See you tomorrow," and I knew for sure now that I wasn't fired.
Too bad I already forgot how he refilled the paper.
----
Oh aidee aidee aidee aidee aidee aidee oh,
Today at the bakery,
Receipts stopped coming out of the cash register,
It had run out of paper,
And refilling it, I thought it'd be easy,
I took a new receipt paper roll,
And put it in the wrong way,
And caused the machine to jam all the way,
God I felt like such a troll.
Oh aidee aidee aidee aidee aidee aidee oh,
The manager's husband tried fixing it,
And struggled for half an hour,
I felt my heart was running low on power
Cuz I thought he'd fire me in a fit,
But he finally fixed the cash register,
And showed me how to refill.
Knowing I wasn't fired was such a thrill,
But I still feel like a walking disaster.
Oh aidee aidee aidee aidee aidee aidee oh~ | | |
|
For two of my jobs this summer, I don't get paid. In fact, for one
of them, I PAY to go to my job - as in, I take the Metra train, which
is totally not a free ride.
I got on the train today and placed my 10-ride train ticket in the
ticket hook in front of me. The person in charge of taking up tickets
happened to skip my ticket, and I bathed in the self-glory of having
saved $2 on my train ride to work today.
As a train is a form of public transportation (i.e. where I fall asleep and where people take pictures of me sleeping like there is no tomorrow, and partially because I stayed up til 4:50 AM watching 5 episodes of
Hell's Kitchen when I had a dentist appointment at 9 AM on that same
day), I immediately fell asleep on the train with my head totally tilted
back and my mouth opened widely for all sorts of things to enter it.
The train finally arrived at my stop and in my half-wakened fuzziness,
I got up off my seat and bumped my head on the train ceiling.
I got off the train and within 5 minutes, I was on my way to work.
Then I realized I forgot my train ticket in the train.
I had four extra spaces on my ticket. Four extra rides. EIGHT DOLLARS WORTH OF TRAIN RIDES.
This is almost as frustrating as when I almost forgot to pack my gym
clothes in my gym bag when I was about to go off to the gym last week.
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