Thursday, May 23, 2002
Currently listening to: "Talking In Your Sleep" by The Romantics
So much to blog about. Oh, so much.
In response to an inquiry about The 4.0 Countdown: No, I don't really care all that much about whether I do or don't have a 4.0 average all through college. It's just nice, you know? Just a bonus. It's not going to kill me if I don't have it a 4.0 every semester.
Anyway. So, now that I'm home from school, I have almost zero free time. Since I'm working, I am the proud owner of a Real Life. Good lord, what have I got myself into?
It's not that I dislike working; quite the contrary. I love my job. I get to make jokes and make conversation, but best of all, I get to make coffee! Mm, hazelnut lattes. Iced, with whipped cream... yum...
Ahem. Yeah, point being, it's not that I dislike my job, it's that I dislike the people that I'm forced to work with. I'm supposed to be managing this place -- which is all well and good, since I'm one of the few people who REALLY knows what they are doing -- but problems never cease to arise, especially where slightly older folk are concerned. I seem to have big clashes with people of the ages 20-25.
Now, many people have commented to me before about how my mental age and my chronological age are not equal. I am not your typical 19-year-old. I have way more sense of responsibility, and all that good stuff. But these certain young individuals -- who don't really know me at all, except for the fact that I'm the owner's teenaged daughter and the manager, and who are really only a few chronological years older than me -- these people seem to think that they are automatically better than me, wiser than me, more experienced than me, and that I am not worthy of their... what, camaraderie? respect? underling loyalty? Whatever. But it makes me want to scream. The treatment I get from these people ranges from patronizing me to ignoring me. It drives me insane. I despise not being taken seriously in these situations. What do I have to do? Give them written warnings for insubordination or something? Or just grin, and bear it, and mop those floors myself -- which is what I do now.
I suppose, in a way, I could look at the entire thing as proof that I truly AM as mature, responsible and all that, as I think I am -- otherwise, I wouldn't be taking this kind of treatment the way I am. Either that, or I can look at the entire thing as proof that I am a pushover.
On another note, I saw Saving Private Ryan for the first time tonight. It was one of those movies that my best friend INSISTED that I watch. In truth, I have been avoiding this movie ever since it came into the theatres -- I'm not one for all the gore. Realistic-looking gore. Eurgh. But it really was a good movie. Although... well, as is typical of me, I found several spots that were good for wisecracking, and of course, I couldn't let such jokes just pass me by. And the ending was just SAPPY. I mean, really. But other than that, a real tear-jerker. Well, a tear-jerker for normal people. I laughed at the dead cows and the dorky little German-speaking corporal.
Now, real life tear-jerker moments are a different story for me -- I'll cry in real life. My mother brought me back a book from Chicago, entitled, "Thoughts to Share With a Wonderful Daughter", which I assumed would be pure, sugary sap -- and it was. But she also wrote all these little notes of her own into it -- little comments and things. Instant tears. It was so sweet... totally made my week, to be sure.
| 12:53 AM |
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Who am I? I'm a twenty-two-
