What is it about early mornings that make people want to die? I have only been back at work for three days and already I am sick to death of waking up in the freezing cold and having to get dressed and trudge to work in the snow. (Well, I've only had to walk once so far, but I skidded down my drive and ended up in a heap of snow, so all in all it was quite a traumatic journey). This morning was rather stressful, as mornings go. For some reason, I decided it would be appropriate to set my alarm clock for 8am, quite a ridiculous thing to do given that my shift actually started at 8, so I was already late before I'd even crawled out of bed. It then took me about ten minutes to scour my bedroom for a water bottle, accidentally taking a swig of Malibu and eventually giving up and heading out the door and towards the car. To my annoyance, the entire windscreen had frozen over and I had to go back up the icy drive of death, back into my house, and boil the kettle so I could defrost it. I have since learnt that this apparently could crack the window and so from now on I am going to use actual de-icer. Anyway, once that was done and dusted I tried to open the door and actually get into the car - clearly I was aiming too high as the door was frozen solid shut, cue another trip for the kettle. After ten minutes of pouring boiling water all over the door and the lock, I realised that the reason the door wasn't opening was because I had double-clicked the keys and the door had actually locked again... I stomped back into the house with the kettle and proceeded to drive to work, only hoping the day was going to get better. I hadn't even unbuckled my seatbelt in the carpark when I realised I had left my uniform at home and had to drive all the way back to get it... Miraculously, I made it onto the counter for 8:36am, which I don't think is bad considering all the hiccups. And for the record, the day didn't get particularly better, partly due to an embarrassing incident involving an order for Christmas pies... Every year, we have to take orders for pies as apparently it is some kind of Christmas tradition to have a stand pie on the day itself (never was in my household, but you know, apparently), and it is probably one of the most tedious routines ever. As well as the order, we are required to take everyone's name, number, address, and their decision as to whether or not they would like to be put on the mailing (the fact that we even have a mailing list is question enough for me, but I'm just doing my job). So anyway, this woman who works in the shop, Janet, comes to order her stand pie and I don't ask for her name because, after three years of speaking to her, I know her name is Janet and that she works in the shop. So I take her order, give her the reciept, exchange small talk etc. etc. etc. and move on. Five minutes later, one of my trusty co-workers comes over, 'Did you just do an order for Pauline?' - I know what you're thinking, who the fuck is Pauline? But yes, Janet apparently goes by the name of Pauline to everyone but me. Excellent. I had to rush upstairs and ask for the reciept back telling her I'd spelt her name wrong. She asked how, and I said that instead of P-A-U-L-I-N-E, I had accidentally written J-A-N-E-T. Sometimes I wonder how I get through the day.
Despite work, life is going rather swimmingly. I went to Lauren and Kelly's on Thursday and lazed around watching telly and eating ASDA chicken selections. It was a fun day until I had to leave; by which time the snow had turned into an actual blizzard and we waited at the bus stop for an hour before deciding that the buses had obviously stopped running and we were going to die. I ended up having to pay a tenner for a taxi which was rather annoying, as was the man driving it. There were some tit-head chavs in front of us doing skids and turns on the ice in their stupid car, to which the taxi driver remarked, 'looks like lots of fun, huhh?' It did not, and I was extremely scared that he would take my silence as encouragement, but thankfully he did not. He did, however, conveniently drop me outside the pub, so I went in, got a drink and waited until other people arrived. I also ventured out into the arctic to go to the pictures last night with Paul. We went to see St. Trinian's 2 (I can't be cool all the time) so that was fun, plus he had already bought me a coke and some M&Ms by the time I got there which made life all the more exciting.
Nothing much else is happening, other than I have a new found hate for boy scouts who ask if you would like help with your packing in Morrisons. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't, so why am I obliged to say yes and then put two quid in your stupid little bucket?! The world is quickly heading downhill, and unfortunately I seem to be going with it.