  I have no theme, no direction, no boundaries. I'm probably going to quit my job at the market. The problem is that if I quit now it'll be as if I'm running away from my own irresponsibility.
My boss gave me the "you've got to come to work when you're scheduled" talk. He didn't tell me a thing I didn't already know -- didn't help me out with the rest of the week I can't come in -- and had someone else tell me he's looked at the schedule and I've called out the past three Sundays. This is not true. I don't know whether he's exaggerating or whether the messenger got confused, but I don't like him sending other people after me for stuff I didn't do.
The deal is that I like working there, but when I look at my check, I think that this is not worth it. So not worth it. I sold pork tails the other day. Yes, pork tails. I've sold pig ears and chicken feet and various livers, gizzards, and whatnot, but the pork tails really tapped out my toleration. Yesterday I had to hold up a line of people for a woman quibbling over 50 cents and a principle, when I was already doing her a favor. Her tortillas rang up 2.99 when she thought they were market 1.99. There are all kinds of flavors -- she chose Carb Control -- whoever eats that junk should know it's never cheap!
Anyway, I tried to fix this for her since hers weren't marked, and she threw a fit. Then the following customers say nasty things to me. For instance, I say, "Thank you for being patient. Do you have a supercard? " The reply: "I am not patient. " Maybe I had something else to write. Anybody see the Cardinals out homer the Cubs? Fantastic! And Kara is coming this weekend. 
