On Judgement of Questions.

To overstate the obvious, whenever somebody asks me a question, I tend to assume the person is assuming an answer about me. Maybe not always, but…

I suppose it doesn’t happen at work. If I’m asked if the fridge is stocked, I’ll answer honestly.

Ah, but I remember times when my dad is trying to be helpful. I guess I assume he assumes I’m infantile and incapable of doing anything by myself. That has nothing to do with questions, but it definitely has something to do with assumptions.

No, this has nothing to do with questions. It’s once again about the metamessages I assume to get from my parents. When I get told to take out the trash, it’s a feeling of, well, being told what to do. In a negative way. As opposed to at work, where I like knowing the right way to do shit.

So I’ve been in fantastic moods. I laughed while I was at register, and one of the customers gave me a (sarcastically) cocky attitude, “What are you laughing at?” As if to imply that I’m laughing at him. I just stared him down. My heartbeat didn’t even flinch. I didn’t feel detached from the situation or even nervous. I was right there, and I told him, “I’m not going to be intimidated.” Some people are so weird.

When you decide that things aren’t going to bother you, confidence seems to come out of nowhere.

Andrew, the third string manager, also gave me an attitude. I stared him down. Ignore the attitude. And suddenly, I notice how nothing really phases me. Sometimes I’m a bit of a ditz about things, but that’s only because I don’t know the right way to do things.

I gave the wrong person the wrong drink. *smiles* So I had to pour it out and make another one. I laughed it off.

I was helping the red girl in the previous entry, and her friend. I forget exactly what it was they were trying to figure out, but well, I was exceedingly patient. It’s just how you have to be. Once they decided, the girl in red said how nice I was. I smiled and thanked her, then commented how the red was working for her.

Hey, it was working for her.

Unlike some people, I actually do my job. I don’t consider myself too Dante about my job, I don’t take it too seriously. I’m working at a restaurant. But I hate the people who are bent on doing as little as possible. The faster we do the shit we have to do, the faster we can go home. If somebody had been not shitting around, we wouldn’t have run out of lemonade. I would have done it myself, but nobody was around to cover register. Granted, not everybody’s like that, but damn. *laughs* God damn it, do your fucking job.

On a side note, the second-string manager, Mike, has an odd resemblence to Dante. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem too Dante-ish. I remember somebody asking him about whether he wanted to be the GM, the other day. He had an adverse reaction to the question, otherwise indicating he didn’t want to be the GM.