Good Job

I think there is nothing more undervalued in the workplace than telling an employee they've done a good job. I'm not happy with the number of jobs I've had in the last two years or so. And while my reasoning for leaving each job is VASTLY different (co-worker stealing from other co-workers,temp-position, moving to a new house)... I can't remember the last time someone really truly came up to me and thanked me for a job well done. The temp position I held for a summer was in manufacturing. It was the most monotonous job on earth, but the people were fantastic and they CONSTANTLY rewarded you with a smile and "Great Job!" if your work was quick and quality (which mine ALWAYS was...obviously). And really...nothing motivated me more as an employee than hearing someone tell me they appreciated my work. I don't need a bonus or incentives every time I do a good job...really...I just want someone to APPRECIATE my hard work on occasion.

And what's better, oftentimes not only will employers NOT give you a pat on the back when deserved but when you do mess up or get slower or whatever the issue may be they NAG THE SHIT OUT OF YOU. So let me get this straight...you want to keep me as an employee right? So why the hell are you only making a point to tell me when I've done something WRONG as opposed to the many times I do something well or RIGHT.

Also,in order to DO a good job one must know wtf they're doing, am I right? In order to know what to do, and how to do said job best, one must be trained. Even if you are a freaking professional at what you do, different places may have different policies and rules...whatever it may be. Regardless of how much you know walking into a job, you NEED to be trained. And what happens when you aren't? Well...you look like an asshole of course. That, my friends, is the other thing that seriously grinds my gears. I am MORE than eager to learn. At any position, really. Because I always strive to make people happy, to get that "good job" at the end of the day. And I can't do that if people won't take the time to help me. Long story short, today's post is a Debbie Downer Monday post. It doesn't help that today started out with a skunk....more on THAT later I promise. But for now, I may be sensing a change in the VERY near future....and one that could very well change my perspective on things, for the way WAY better.

Nikon Day

Welp, it's Saturday...and as fantastic as that fact is, boyfriend is at work, and the best friends are either 500+ miles away or busy. Even bug is too busy for mama today. She's fast asleep on the couch next me, in a position I'm pretty sure would cause scoliosis in a normal human being. So the majority of my day has been spent with the dogs, my Nikon, and the TV. I know, borderline hermit. Oh, well. The best part of today has been the fact that I have zero responsibility and can sit on my ass if I so choose, that, my friends, is why Saturday's are awesome. I've been doing a little experimenting with the camera now that I've had a couple months with it and I hope to start to fine tune my abilities. And while I still don't have half decent editing software, I must say, they didn't turn out so bad.











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Why is Your Shovel Sticky?

There are no shitty stories that start with "this one time in college..." Screw band camp. All good stories start with binge drinking and college. So gather round and I'll tell you the tale of the sticky shovel.

So this one time in college my two best friends and I were preparing for a typical night out. We started at their sorority with what I have to imagine was the world's cheapest vodka and pre-gamed our little hearts out until it was time to leave.

After some time had passed we decided it would be a good time to go, and off we went to the car. Now if you remember from posts past I live in New England. And no good story is also complete without a good New England snowstorm. We had had a decent amount of snow on the ground which meant that it needed to be moved somehow because behind the tires of a little ford focus was a giganta-huge pile of snow. Andddd not only that the car itself was covered in the fluffy white stuff.

Luckily for us we happened to have a couple of shovels in the trunk. So we each took our instrument of choice to help unbury this little car. In order to maintain my balance in the snow I held onto the car quickly, just to get my footing. Well this happened to be at the exact same time my friend decided to close the trunk. And yes, in case you were wondering, the trunk did close right on finger.

Thankfully, due partially to the fact that I had consumed a fairly decent quantity of alcohol and also in part to the angle at which my finger was wedged in there I really didn't feel much of anything but pressure. And I'm not saying that to sound like some big asshole tough guy.. My friends can attest to the fact that I wasn't swearing or screaming or anything of the sort. But I looked up and said "oh my god.. My fingers shut in the trunk". Lindsay (my friend that slammed the trunk on finger) FREAKS out shouting "oh my god, oh my god! I'm so sorry! Oh my god! What do I do?! Oh my god!" In a straight up panic and here I am with my finger in the trunk, cool as a cucumber, while the poor girl thinks she's dismembered me. I look at her ... Tell her to relax and just open the trunk.

After a few more "oh my gods" and "I'm sorrys" the trunk was open. I looked at my middle finger... Examined it closely and... Nothing... Honestly.. It started to sting a bit but it looked completely fine.

Surprised, I just continued to shovel while Lindsay continued to apologize. A couple minutes go by and I noticed the shovel started to feel sticky, I disregarded it at first, assuming my hands must have been sweating but after another minute the stickiness didn't seem to feel like what I'd imagine stickiness from sweat would be like so I looked up and said "why is your shovel sticky?". Being that there was no light in the parking lot I couldn't see what was on the shovel until I managed to bring it into the little light that was available and discovered the stickiness was in fact, my blood. And not just a little blood...like a-scene-from-jaws amount of blood.

My hand, the shovel, and the ground was COVERED in my blood...it had even started pooling at my feet. And yet still... Zero pain.

So the girls insisted I go inside and let one of the girls who was a nursing major take a look at it. A large amount of paper towels, a bathroom sink, and a bandaid later we were off and running.

We finally get to the party, which was a rugby party and we were schmoozing and finally enjoying ourselves. A little later on we decided to take part in a stupid college game called zoomy. If you don't know the game or how it works its fairly irrelevant all you need to know us it involves banging your fists on a table.

The giant rugby guy next to me stops me mid game grabs my arms and proceeds to tell me i'm bleeding everywhere....yep. He was right ....I had bled through the bandaid and it was still dripping out of me...I ended up spending the majority of the night in the bathroom running water in the cut and making a feeble attempt to clot the blood with the giant rugby guy as my medic.

These things...these heinous, outrageous, stupid ass things...I swear they only happen to me.