Monthly Archives: January 2013

When it comes to writing essays…

Clearly, we are writing to completely different goals. What’s brought on this rather abrupt topic? How about having to work beside people who seem more worried about the length of their essays than their contents? I’m not sure if it’s because I write a lot as it is and don’t really bother keeping the word count in mind or if it’s due to being trained to write directly to the point, but this sort of mindset, one that values quantity over quality, just bugs me. Hell, it’s probably both combined with a general dislike for the frat boy-ish behavior of this bloke beside me. Having written absolutely nothing is not something to brag about, sir. Now pipe down and let me work in peace.

Or I can just put on my iPod. Freakin’ love my little device.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I see this sort of mentality everywhere except in the sciences. Maybe it’s because we don’t really have much to write about and, when we do, it had better be short, sweet, and to the point. I remember my first formal lab report a few years back; it was a struggle to cut out much of that florid writing. I’m assuming it’s because that’s how I was taught to write in high school, in those literature courses that emphasized imagery and metaphors so long as they added to your work. Writing like a scientist seemed a bit brusque, so abrupt and to the point that there was no room to express oneself properly. Fast forward about three years  and I find myself scratching my head over why some essays are required to be twenty pages long. Why the length? It’ll inevitably be filled with bullshit just to get the word count up.

Even now, with the required liberal arts-ish seminar and all of the writing that comes with it, some of my friends are still struggling, still typing furiously and then clicking on Word Count, praying that, this time, there will be more than enough words for them to be able to stop. Maybe it’s because I tend to write a lot for this blog, but 1,200 words? A pittance, especially when I’m just getting warmed up. I just like words! It makes me wonder why I became a Biochemistry major in the first place…

Oh, right. I like to be in the lab more than I like to write. Go figure.

So, the seminar requires a lot of writing and, what’s really nice, a lot of introspection. The homework is essentially “read something and then respond to it using these questions to guide your thinking”. I’ve had friends spend two, three hours on their prep sheets easily. Me? An hour, tops, and that’s without me wandering off to manage my kingdom online. Currently playing War of Legends, which is another game published by Jagex (of RuneScape fame), because I can just set things to go and do themselves and not have to actively click much. So, between ordering troops to ransack various wildlands and wondering just what exactly Aristotle meant when he said that monarchies are the most ideal forms of government, I can finish off a prep sheet in an hour and a half. I’m not bragging (well, okay, maybe a little), but it’s a damn handy skill to have when you procrastinate and the questions are due at 12:05 pm exactly.

Now back to the irritant. I’m still not sure what bothers me more, writing to an arbitrary word goal or being utterly obnoxious about it in a public space. Again, it’s probably both, but until I can find a way to isolate said noxious persons in some kind of bubble, I think I’ll complain about having to write to X amount of words. Or pages. Especially pages.

I have a few friends in the liberal arts and other departments outside of my own, which is truly a marvelous thing. Seriously, I totally recommend that you make friends outside of your major; if you’re anything like me, you tend to feel suffocated after a while and need someone on the outside to give you an opportunity to actually freakin’ breathe once in a while. But yeah, I love my friends to bits until they happen to say something to the tune of “I have to write a 15 page essay for class! Isn’t that the worst?”

…No. Not at all. I’d love to be able to write that much about something; ideally, it should serve as proof that, at the very least, I can come up with 15 pages of stuff about something that I am at least conscious of if not passionate about. Of course, I’m not going to say that because then it’ll turn into a pissing contest of who has more work to do than the other, whose major “totally sucks” because of the workload. I dunno, I’m not into that.

I’ve heard tell that my major is apparently one of the more difficult ones and, you know what? It totally is. Is it the hardest? Well, no. I’m one of those people that believe that, should you have a genuine interest in something, it’s not going to be as difficult as attempting to tackle something that is boring. That doesn’t mean that my courses have been a breeze. I like Biochemistry well enough, but Organic Chemistry was the death of me the first time around and the math component was a bit of a killer too. I got through them because I took my student advisor’s advice and made it fun. Just don’t ask me to depict a Claisen condensation; odds are that I’ve forgotten what goes where.

Where was I going with this? If you’re complaining about the homework now, wait ’til you get to do that shit for real. It’s not gonna be pretty. So find something you like and are reasonably good at or at least shut the fuck up and let other people work in peace. Okay?

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Midweek drabbles, or obvious self-insert is dreadfully obvious…

I was standing in line at the convenience store, “convenient” being an operative term, when she suddenly came in. Her fat face was flushed, her frame clothed in what appeared to be formal wear, and her hair… Ugh, I shuddered internally. And Anne claims that I look like her? Perhaps in the hair, but nowhere else.

“Hey,” she waved at me, almost desperate for my attentions. I could do naught but wave in kind, though the feeling wasn’t mutual. See, for all of her form and flaws and lack of dress sense, Maxim was someone that I socialized with. Part of it was out of a sick sense of curiosity out as to how someone could stand to be tactless and boorish, part of it (most of it, really) was due to running about in overlapping social circles. Unfortunately for me, she happened to run with, and be much more intimate with, my fair lady Oriana. Maxim was part and parcel for the two were nigh indistinguishable. Well, except for the obvious.

She blundered about, thankfully out of my sight, as I hurriedly, mentally pleaded with the person ahead of me. It was going to be awhile; that basket full of cleaning supplies and horrendous amounts of junk food told me that I was pretty much stranded in line. I looked down at the things in my hands, three boxes of cookies and two pints of milk that I was intent on consuming. I had only wandered over to the little store in the first place because I had to check on something in the center nearby. My duty done, I came within this establishment only to find myself seized by this unexplainable urge to eat something, though I had supped only hours before.

I spotted myself in the glass behind the register, twisting my mouth this way and that as I weighed my choices, only to shrug. Screw it, I’m good for it, I can work this off later.

The cashier finished putting all of the groceries in the plastic bags before handing them off to their customer, a big, plastic smile on their face. “Have a nice day!” The hollowness of that phrase struck at me keenly; here I was, in a hell of a hurry to get out of here, away from Maxim Maximus (as I liked to call her, for she was indeed colossal) when I had had the audacity to put on a friendly face and return her desperate little wave. Why not simply be forward, say something to the tune of “I really, really don’t like it when you hug me out of turn, thanks” and be done with this anguish?

Oh, right. Oriana. That impossibly beautiful angel. Beautiful…and taken, of course. I’d be mildly surprised (though pointedly pleased) if she weren’t. But who in the devil had the pleasure? Oriana didn’t say; I didn’t dare press for more information as I had already played my own trump card and revealed one of my deep, dark secrets in return. Could I have revealed another? Sure, I’ve plenty of darker ones in reserve. Besides, it’s her own business. I know that, I’m not stupid. Yet just the knowledge that there was someone else gnawed on me, still gnaws on me. It’s irritating to say the least.

I’m in the middle of my thoughts when I sense someone behind me. Maxim, holding two cups of tea, one a White Cucumber, the other a robust Awake. Rather than strike up a conversation, as I am wont to do, I pretend she doesn’t exist. It’s easy enough to do, once you dislike someone enough, and I find that it’s much easier than actively hating them. Because what is hate but love’s reciprocal? They both have equal magnitudes, only their directions are completely opposite in relation to one another. You’re just as obsessed with them, only in “hate”, you find yourself wishing for their complete annihilation instead of the best. And I must stress that, while Maxim is indeed annoying, she is hardly worth any of my hatred. That would be giving her too much attention.

As I set my things down on the counter, I find myself replying automatically. My mind is circling around the question of just why I find Maxim so irksome, abuzz and persistent. Why? Because she’s completely rancid, the smell of something oily hanging about her like miasma. Why? Because she doesn’t take care of herself, doesn’t have any sense of color-coordination, and seems to be under the impression that green felt is an acceptable material for a suit. Why? Because I had tasked her with finding out whether or not the lovely Oriana was in a relationship but she took too long so I ended up doing it myself anyway, despite being a miserable coward. And, to add to her crimes against humanity, Maxim is the biggest thing that stands in the way of at least advancing my relationship with Oriana. I may have given up on the prospect of us becoming lovers, but at least let me have a scrap of her friendship! Don’t hog it all, you great big brute!

I’m seething on the inside now. I know I am; I can feel a hot knot forming in the pit of my stomach. But I’m pleased to see that my face is completely still. It’s an art, hiding what you feel from the world, from the person you’re fond of but don’t want to ruin their lives by unloading your feelings onto them so carelessly. That, more than the fear of rejection, had held back my tongue that night. Perhaps it was my penchant for watching far too many Asian dramas; that sense of social subtleties and the anguish inherent to them seems to have seeped into my manner long ago.

All too soon, the transaction is over and I find myself walking out of the door automatically, a plastic bag in my hand. I’m not really hungry anymore, though I’m sure I’ll still eat them. I wonder if the resurgence of my craving for sweets coincides with the night I found out that Oriana was already in a relationship. But then I shake my head. Well, of course it does, stupid. It was like that for Amelia, wasn’t it? And Tristan before her. And Claude, lovely, sweet Claude, before him. But before I can mentally chastise myself further, I spot a pair of pale blue eyes and a bright smile that seems to pierce through my very being.

Oriana. My entire being is at ease whenever she’s around. Do I have anything in my teeth? Is my brow furrowed in any way? No? Good. I couldn’t bear to share my troubles with her, not with that gorgeous, kind person. No doubt she’s already got her own things to worry about already.

She says “Hi” brightly and all I can do is wave, lest my mouth betray me. I’m getting better at controlling myself, suppressing the urge to invade her space; it was at its worst when the pain had still been fresh, when I had thought that it was all a lie she told to gently let me down. But I don’t think she ever realized my true intent that night; she hasn’t said as much, at least. I stop in my tracks, more than happy to stop and chat. Oriana seems to have none of that, however, as her eyes scan the store behind me. She brightens up considerable, stopping mid-sentence, and I feel that odious presence behind me once more. Maxim.

The bigger of the two girls trots to the smaller, more slender girl’s side, looking a bit like a Saint Bernard pup. The two exchange greetings before realizing that I’m still here, smiling and looking on like an idiot. Oriana smiles at me. “There’s a concert tonight. Would you like to join us?” And then she takes the taller girl’s hand.

It hits me like the incoming surf, loud and sudden. I feel my face straining as I smother my emotions as best as possible. How was it that I missed this most obvious of things? They’re more than best friends, that much is clear here. They’re dating. Maxim is not only her best friend but her girlfriend to boot, her significant other! Oh, irony of ironies, just how cruel can life be! There’s really no other option now, is there? “No, thanks,” I feel my mouth twist into a smile.

“You sure? I heard them earlier during rehearsal; they’re really, really good.”

“Yeah. I’ve got homework and stuff.” The lies coat my tongue as easily as honey. Thankfully it’s all figurative, otherwise my mouth would be dribbling with the stuff. “I’ll see you two later, okay?” I turn on my heel and walk away, trying to keep it together until I reach my apartment, my inner sanctum.

Just don’t let them see you cry. Just…don’t.

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Midweek drabbles, or drabbles, indeed!

But not really. I’ve gotta tell ya, it’s only halfway past the second week of the new semester and everything’s already picking up. Not that I mind it in the least; being busy is almost always better than being idle for me. It’s not like I didn’t have anything to do during Winter Break, but I certainly missed hanging out with everyone.

Anyway, there’s not much to say other than I’ve already decided on someone for my biography project for PACS 3, I’m still doing research (though it’s admittedly taken a bit of a backseat so far), and having two classes that are basically the same thing has not yet proven to be utterly detrimental. Again, the key word is “yet”. I do love my Biochem Lab course because it’s pretty much research only with way more handholding and less freedom of movement. Seriously, there are about twenty-four people in there and only six micropipettes.

Crowded conditions aside, everything’s been going well. Already finished one pay period, which is weird. You know when you first go to college and the upperclassmen all tell you something to the tune of “Treasure your time here! It’s gonna go by fast!” but you just laugh at them because they’re old(er) and must be joking? They’re not. They’re not and it’s very, very unnerving. Three and a half months left, y’all. That’s no joke.

I’m trying to keep myself writing. I’m not writing poetry, but this is really a “drabble” in the sense that I’m actually timing myself and just writing whatever comes to mind. It’s nice, relaxing, but it usually ends up with me writing about writing as opposed to writing something substantial. It’s actually been awhile since I’ve written anything like a haiku or even a quartet. Doesn’t mean that I haven’t been thinking about it; I’m just moving too fast to take a minute and write it down. But oh well.

So what else has been going on? Not much. Clubs have, of course, started back in in earnest now, with Matsuri-Japan having their usual meeting at night. At least it’s not as bad as last semester, where I had a class at 8 am the next day, so I can stay up relatively late and just wake up at 7 or so in the morning. Any later and I tend to feel a bit groggy. 

What else? I started playing a new game called Elsword. I had my initial misgivings but they were quickly dispelled once I started actually playing. Sometimes the servers are too busy, but at least I can make use of my gamepad, something I haven’t encountered too often in free MMOs so far. While I can create multiple characters (and, really, I most likely will), I’m focusing everything I’ve got into Raven, the broody swordsman with a mechanical arm. So, each character has two paths they can travel down in terms of skills once you reach a certain level and complete the quests to unlock one or the other. Raven being Raven, you can either focus on a build that makes use of your Nasod arm as an Over Taker or you can choose to emphasize your swordplay combos and become a Sword Taker. I had no idea what either of these classes did and, frankly, I’m not interested in making the “best” build. I went down the path of the Sword Taker mainly because I liked Raven’s hair in that character design, sleek with a spiked fringe. From what I’ve read on forums online, Raven’s Reckless Fist (the master class after Over Taker) is more powerful in terms of skills while Blade Master (which would be the master class for Sword Taker) is okay, but you need to know your combos cold. While button-mashing does seem to work, you won’t be able to unleash hell on your foes if you can’t execute combo chains effectively. I’m usually not one for playing fighting games strategically, but I find that Elsword makes it really easy to learn what works and what doesn’t. Now I’m just wondering if it’s enough to actually beat other people in the PvP Arenas. Might as well try it, right?

I’ve been on a bit of a gaming kick as of late, something that I had not realized the extent of until I scoured my computer and rediscovered the HP Game Console. Now, WildTangent doesn’t have many games that I actually like but it does have Fate: Undiscovered Realms, a dungeon-crawling RPG that I find myself comparing to Diablo. I had forgotten that I still had a free trial of that and I had played Fate before, made a character and everything but just forgot it because I had the Internet. So, I was playing for a bit and found myself getting sad as the time for me to stop playing because you know what? I got some pretty good gear while fishing! Screw going into the dungeon; I died twice while taking on some mobs with super-powered mini-bosses and didn’t really get much in the way of gold and gear for my trouble. Maybe that’s because I was a textbook good guy and returned it to the people who had asked me to go down there and retrieve it for them as a quest. But yeah, fishing. Those fish sold for a lot; all of my catch plus the two artifacts that I chose not to keep (I was playing a Sword and Shield-based character and I had found a light crossbow and a shield that was slightly shittier than the one I had equipped) got me enough gold to not only enchant my equipment but to buy six Healing Charms (equivalent to 48 large Health Potions). But it doesn’t even matter, as I’ve used up my free trial already and I’m not looking to buy the full version at the moment. I’ve got more than enough games that I’ve yet to finish, thank you!

Crap, it’s already Thursday. This should be enough ’til Sunday, right? Right. See ya!

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Midweek drabbles, or here! Have some fiction!

    “Damn,” Alice swore under her breath. She then mentally chastised herself; she was back in the apartment, after all, and Karen didn’t like it when she used curse words. So Alice was more than careful when using them, at least back home; she made sure to swear all she liked when she was in her laboratory and in the lecture hall, much to her students’ amusement. “Honey, I got the groceries you wanted!”
    “Oh, yay!” A crystalline voice came from the bedroom, followed soon after by the appearance of a blonde woman, all smiles as she beheld her lover. Karen rushed over to where Alice was shedding her coat and picked up a few of the bags that were on the floor. She then, rather than make for the kitchen to put away the perishables, cocked an eyebrow at the tall brunette. “You alright there?”
    “What?” Alice stopped rolling her shoulders, a motion that had become a sort of habit more so these days. The aches were probably due to her increased lab work; Alice had a deadline to meet soon and, rather than do the sensible thing and delegate the work to one of her various underlings, she had decided to run the experiment herself. She had figured that it would be good for her to actually do something in the lab for once, to get in there and tinker around with the chemicals and the instruments much like she used to back in her undergraduate days. Unfortunately for the thirty-five year old, she wasn’t as spry as she used to be. Sure, Alice was still the spitting image of fitness; much of that was due to her better half. But the delicate actions of her work, along with the usual stresses of giving lectures, grading papers, and writing grant proposals, was certainly taking it’s toll. But she couldn’t tell that to Karen, now could she? “I’m fine, love.”
    Karen looked unconvinced, but said nothing. She leaned in to give Alice a quick peck on the cheek. Lifting the bags, she headed towards the kitchen. “Just bring them over to the kitchen, hun. I’ll put everything away so you can get comfortable.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yeah!” The voice in the steel-encrusted kitchen rang out, “And I don’t want to see you on the desk grading papers! There’s plenty of time for that later!”
    Alice chuckled. “Never crossed my mind.” She took off her shoes and hung her coat on the rack near the door. The wooden rack was Karen’s idea; at first, Alice had wrinkled her nose at it, seeing it as just a bit old fashioned in this tastefully modern house, but she just couldn’t deny Karen. Ever. Her impossibly blue eyes, her intoxicating smile…Alice couldn’t help but sigh happily.
    “Hm?” Karen, catching the sigh escaping her lover, raised an eyebrow again. Alice snapped back to reality, smiling and shaking her head. She then crossed to where Karen was standing with the loaf of bread in her hands and, taking her by the hips, gave her a slow, sweet kiss. Karen returned it with more than enough sweetness of her own before cutting Alice off gently. “Change first. Get nice and comfy. Then we’ll see what to do with you…”
    “Oh, you tease, milady. But how I love it so!” They both laughed. Alice deposited the last of the groceries onto the table and finally made her way to the bedroom they shared. It was fairly spacious for an apartment; their salaries combined were more than enough to afford the rent in this almost-palace of a place. It was a two bedroom, one bath set-up with the second, smaller bedroom converted into a study that they both shared. Alice’s tastes could be seen everywhere in the study, the obligatory professorial mahogany present in spades. But Karen dominated just how the bedroom would look; she had insisted on the big bed, the cherrywood with an ebony finish for the furniture. Thankfully, the two had very similar tastes to begin with, so the decor was hardly a point for contention. It just meant that, should the worst come to worse and storm clouds were on the horizon on a particular day, Karen would head into the bedroom while Alice would set up camp in the den. It happens to the best of married couples.
    Alice headed into the bedroom and shut the door before gratefully shedding her shirt and pants. She padded over to the dresser on stockinged feet and pulled out her usual pajamas, an old, oversized T-shirt and a pair of black basketball shorts. She then stepped back out (after putting her dirty clothes in the hamper, of course, as she was the stickler in that arena) and went to the bathroom to rid herself of her contact lenses. While Karen had raised the point about just getting Lasik and being done with the little pieces of plastic, Alice had made noncomittal noises and promises to look into it. There was a note about getting that done sometime within the year somewhere in her planner maybe. Alice wasn’t quite sure.
    Just as Alice finished washing up, she caught a whiff of meatloaf. “Ohhh,” Alice strode into the kitchen just in time to see Karen bent over, checking on the source of that wonderful aroma. Her face was just a bit flushed, most likely from the dry heat coming from the innards of the oven, but Alice couldn’t help sidling up beside the shorter woman and kissing her again. “All that for me?” She loved how her murmurring into Karen’s ears sent a shiver up her spine and made her arch back into her embrace.
    “Not all of it,” Karen teased the brunette. “Gotta save room for dessert.” She motioned towards the refrigerator, which couldn’t help but pique Alice’s curiousity. When she strode over and opened the door, she was greeted with the sight of a cherry-topped cheesecake that looked just like the ones her mom used to make. Karen added, “Finally got the recipe from your mom. I think she’s finally cool with it.”
    “You think?” Alice turned back to the blonde, who was smiling serenely. “Wow…well. Now we definitely have to have her over one of these days.” They both laughed and then headed to the table.

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‘Cause everyone loves a good power play…

Oh, wait a minute. No!

But before I start in on this most egregious of things to happen yesterday at work, Happy New Year everyone! Here’s hoping that 2013 will be filled with less of the crap that 2012 brought along with it. Or we can do what people with rational minds do and try to make things better regardless of whatever year we happen to find ourselves in. But yeah, back to the power play thing…

So, I was working at the campus grocery store, as I am wont to do in order to get some of that work-study money. I sometimes think to myself that it would be much more helpful if the feds just paid me the allotted amount upfront but then I take a look at my bank statements and my spending habits and quickly go “Never mind, then. Carry on.” Again, it’s an alright job; lots of movement back and forth so I can at least be somewhat active, lots of putting things from Room A onto Shelf B, it’s repetitive, it’s relatively stress-free as I don’t have to think too hard, and it’s basically a very, very blue collar job, one that someone with a high school diploma could easily expect to do for the rest of their lives. Or at least until the manager shoves off, but that requires a bit of something that is not really “taught” so much as “acquired through other means”. The point is that my job is fairly basic. I know all too well where I stand in the world and that’s alright. It’s not like I’m planning on being a cashier/stocker (or “merchandiser”, as my boss put it) for the rest of my life.

But, of course, what would a Sunday Post be without me bitching about someone who happened to waltz into the store while I was working and then proceed to do something stupid? It’s almost as though I can’t go a weekend without someone being so brain-numbingly idiotic that I don’t feel compelled to parse it out here the next day. I’ve come to expect it, actually, as I have nothing else to write about otherwise. But that’s neither here nor there. Let me just lay out this little gem for you, the first moron of the year.

As is the custom of many convenience stores nowadays, we accept major credit cards and cash in addition to the oft used option of the university meal plan. Be it from a credit union or from a national bank of some sort, as long as it’s either Master Card or Visa, you’re good. Not sure why you’d want to spend almost six bucks for a sandwich that was most likely put out a couple days ago, the paper now soggy with condensation, but you can if you’d like. However, if there is any one thing you need to understand about the campus convenience store, it’s simply that we’re geared to provide for students. Students with meal plans…and nothing else, certainly nothing as fancy and outdated as checks.

Well, maybe that’s not entirely correct. We more likely than not do accept checks as a form of payment because they are a legitimate form of payment. We just don’t cash them. I’m sure my manager can give a clearer and more official answer to that question and resolve it more thoroughly but, really, who the hell still uses checks?

The lady that came in yesterday clearly does. Now, she wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination an “old” lady, graying hair and flaccid skin betraying her age despite the nouveau-chic clothes and powdered face. No, she was simply “older”, probably in her early forties and relatively in good health. She came up to me (the only employee in the store at the time) and asked me, straight face and all, if I could cash her a check. She must have registered the look of bewilderment that certainly crossed my face because she repeated herself, “Can I cash a check here?”

“I’m sorry, we don’t cash checks.” A perfectly worded response. Perfect because it’s, y’know, the truth. In my three years of working at the same place under the same boss, we’ve never been trained in the Art of Cashing A Check. Shoot, I’ve just only rediscovered the now Lost Art of Partial Payment; it was damn handy for when people with a little bit of meal plan money left wanted to polish it off and then pay the rest using credit cards or cash, whatever was most convenient for them. Nobody teaches you that and nobody’s bothered telling anyone (or, at the very least, me) what to do if confronted by someone holding a checkbook.

The lady looked put out, shoulders slumping a bit, mouth in a bit of a frown. Here I thought was the end of it, as my word was honest and firm. But that wouldn’t make for a good tale, now would it? Just as I turned to try and diminish the pile of candies obstructing the middle of the floor, the good woman lifts her head once more and utters the most irrelevant thing in this particular situation: “I work in [insert name of very important and obviously administrative building on campus].” I was a bit flabbergasted for a second but then told her no again, in the most PR way as I could manage, pointed her to the nearest ATM, and bid her good day. She left, not without grumbling about missing the film she most wanted to see and quite possibly angered by the very notion that a cheeky cashier had denied her the expediency someone of her “position” so clearly deserves.

Or not. See, there are stupid customers, who are more like jesters to the bored employee, relatively harmless in their stupidity, and then there are people like this lady, who I’m sure is a very upstanding citizen in nearly all respects but just so happens to be a bit full of herself. I spent a good bit of time turning that conversation over and over in my head; it’s something that I tend to do when I’m not thinking of much else. It’s a bit of a problem, actually, over-thinking, but I engage in it anyway because, really, what else am I supposed to do while I’m moving boxes to and fro? So I’m replaying the encounter again and again and I find what exactly bothers me: Why did she mention her position? More to the point, why did she mention her management of the univeristy and then expect me, as a student of said managed university, to magically submit to her command despite the fact that I had denied her previously? Because, if anything, one “no” should’ve been enough. More than enough; I know more about the capabilities of my position, the things that I’m allowed and not allowed to do at the till, than she does. Why? Because it’s my job and I’m a good employee. It was then that two words popped into my head: “power play”.

There is little that irritates me more than when someone uses their relatively higher position to get something that they want, everything else be damned. Truth be told, I would have been more amenable to finding out what the protocol for such a situation actually was had this fine madam wielded her title more like a rapier and less like a hammer. What can I say? I admire finesse and am disgusted by crude and tactless plays in turn, however “efficient” they may be. Again, this lady might as well have been swinging a hammer upside my head, not that it did her much good, but to what purpose, madam? Don’t people who know they’re going to a film festival carry cash with them, or are the so-called elite who actually have time to kill on a Saturday just beyond paper money? I have no sympathy for the unprepared.

Let me just make this abundantly clear: I don’t care who you are or what you do in life, I’m pretty damn aware that I’m like a cockroach compared to you in terms of current occupation because I work a minimum wage job while you have an office and a salary as well as everything else that comes with that. You can use that all you want and try to prod me into falling in line and doing what you say. Go for it, make me fetch stuff from the back, look for something I already know we don’t have, even double-bag your one item just because it comes in a glass container. But if I say we don’t cash checks, we don’t cash fucking checks. Have a nice day.

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