They all threw me a party! They got cake and party hats and sparklers!
Actually, they made me sweep, mop, get burnt, and generally have a normal day.
Let's go through this bit by bit, which will lead up to why I am furious at my mother.
It doesn't take long to start it going, as at 20 minutes before my shift, I called her (because she drives me there) at her office and she was still there.
"What are you doing?!?"
"I was leaving now, it only takes 10 minutes to get there."
"From the house! Please hurry."
13 minutes later, she gingerly parks in the driveway singing to some shitty 70s song they haven't scraped from the radio yet. I swear that if I ever meet the guys in CCR or Blood Sweat and Tears...
I just asked her to hurry again, but in a more incredulous way. She keeps a contented unremorseful look throughout the ride.
As I pull in five minutes late (which she didn't think would be a big deal) I get a call from them asking where I was.
Then I work my ass off for four hours. I beg to go home early because of my 6am flight tomorrow, and the nice manager says if I sweep and mop and get the meats caught up, I can go at 9.
I eventually escaped at 9 and called my mother. She gets there 15 minutes later.
"I did something stupid," she says.
Imagine that, I think.
"I left my cash card in the machine this morning, and the bank won't be open tomorrow morning. We're going to use your father's card, though."
"Okay, so what's the problem?"
"Well, if you had picked up the phone today, we wouldn't be in this situation."
Here are two things about me: 1. I only answer my cell phone. 2. I never swear or get angry at my mother because she will go apeshit, and I mean that in the most sincere way. She goes postal when you get in a fight with her. She's called the cops on my dad for asking her to calm down.
"Damnit! I work all day, first at home, then at this shitty place, you lose the damn card, and try to blame it on me!?"
"I'm not blaming it on you..."
So she didn't go insane, as I expected, because she knew she was completely and unequivically wrong. That only works about half the time, though, as you'll see next.
We both calmed down and we were just driving home. I occasionally try to have a conversation with her, but it invariably ends up like it did tonight.
"They made me kill myself to get out early."
"You asked to go early?"
"Yeah, I haven't packed yet."
She sits there in silence for a minute.
"You should have worked there for the extra hour when you had the chance," she says in her dissapointed voice.
I just let it go. When we pull in the garage, I leave the car angrily and go upstairs to change.
She comes in a few minutes later, probably after checking the mail, and she walks up to her room and slams the door so loud that I, always the peacemaker, felt obligated to go up and work things out.
"You slammed the door when I was just trying to give you some criticism. You can never admit you're wrong!"
"Uhh, you slammed the door. I didn't slam any doors."
"You slammed the car door when you got out!"
"I didn't mean to."
"Don't lie to me!"
For the record, as it doesn't matter to me if I tell you the truth, I didn't slam the door.
"Mom, you slammed your door when you came up here and I didn't do anything."
"I didn't slam the door. I shut it!"
"Are you serious? Where's the camera? Where's Ashton Kutcher? Am I on candid camera?"
"You can never admit when you're wrong," she said again.
"I'd really like to not have a fight with you."
"I'm not going to have this argument with you."
"Then why are you still angry?"
"You know you're wrong but you won't admit it."
"Okay, well, I hope you start acting better by the morning. Your blood suger is probably low right now."
So I start walking away with that, but then the memories of all the things she did today came back at once, and I yelled, "Oh, and thanks for dinner tonight!" and I punched the fridge so hard it made a really strange sound. Maybe that was my fist.
Then I walk down and slam my door so loud the Russians at the Internation Space Station would spill their Sprite (as I've seen that's what astronauts drink like in that commercial).
Now that's a slam. That's the sort of slam all other slams should be measured by.
Okay, so I figure this is the last post in this blog, and I spent the entire thing talking about my mother. It's hard to focus on anything else when you're so angry. I've threatened her before that when I go to Scotland, I'm never going to call her or accept her calls. I've secretly decided to go through with that for a while now.
Okay, so everybody, if you've gotten this far, please switch over to fulmine,
my new blog that has nothing to do with this horrible job that I wish to never remember. Update your favorites or news readers or whatever.
For those scimmers amongst us:fulmine
That's about it. Thanks for stopping by.