More of the Same

My feet are really killing me tonight. I think it's partly because the Thursday Festival of Plain Croissants involves a fair amount of standing in one place--more than the other croissant-making Festivals--and partly because I worked nearly 12 hours today. I thought I was done around 5:15 or so, but Phil still needed a hand, so I lent one. He's as tired of Woody as Lole and I are, I think. It's kind of unfortunate (and tiresome), but every workplace has its issues. Today, for example, Lole asked Phil what time he'd be using the ovens tomorrow, and Woody answered, explosively, all fucking day! because it's Friday! and we have to bake all day! Why, yes, Woody, we all KNEW that, except that Phil is exceptional at managing the ovens, and if you tell him what you need, he'll find a way to accommodate you. Lole kind of politely told Woody to fuck off, and then got the answer he needed, about what time he could use the oven to bake some palmiers. And as I was helping Phil bag some bread (some of which Woody had screwed up, by not slashing it before baking, which forced us to send it to the markets and call it "rustic," rather than send it to the wholesale customers for whom it was intended), I said, "Hey Phil--where's Woody?" To which Phil replied, "Ah, shit, Woody; I want to go home, too." Or something along those lines. And that's kind of the other thing: for all of his prancing around, trying to be Mr. Big, he sure doesn't work many extra hours. The up side is that Lole cracks me up; he's really quite funny. We have to be a little careful around Woody, in that Lole can slide the knife in up under Woody's ribs so Woody doesn't even notice it, and i don't dare look at Lole when he does that, or we'd both lose it.

The worst part about the long day and sore feet is that I really should have done some editing tonight, but I just couldn't bring myself to do any more than the minimum (a sample chapter to send off tomorrow morning, to make sure I'm doing it correctly). I ate some fresh mozzarella and not-so-fresh-but-still-tasty semolina sesame sourdough bread, and some Ben and Jerry's Lite! ice cream--yes, I had wanted to include a vegetable in there, but got too lazy in the end. Of course, I'd also wanted to include a fermented beverage, but decided I'd sleep better without it. I suppose I could make the effort to do some editing tomorrow, and I'll try, but I need to talk to Friend tomorrow night (he made a mad dash to a nearby-but-still-90-miles-away-city tonight to see a concert), because he's heading to the neighboring state Saturday, or possibly Friday, to hang with friends, go to a wine-tasting, etc., and then dash back here early Sunday morning, fetch me, and haul us off to see the Indy cars in their final race of the season. Saturday I am supposed to be emptying and defrosting the reach-in freezer, which is having serious problems lately; I am so not looking forward to that task. (Would you want to shlep 60 pans of assorted crap down to the walk-in freezer, then clean the crap and ice and crud out of the reach-in, and then shlep everything back upstairs again? No; i didn't think so.) Saturday night I'm heading clear to the south end of the city (I'm a few blocks from the northern border) to go to a handball party; it will be nice to see the guys, but i dread the commute in both directions, and the cleaning-the-freezer task means I'll have to go home and shower rather than just head to the party from work.

This is an incredibly tedious and long-winded way of saying that I'm not going to get much editing done before Monday--and I have to send it out on Tuesday. And what was that i was saying about working at the crunchy-granola place on top of all of this?

Fuck, I don't know what to do. On one hand, an office job does sound tempting--but I have no reason to believe that I can actually get one. I have looked for jobs, off and on, for 15 years, and, in that time, I've gotten exactly two interviews--the substance abuse treatment agency, back in '94, and the film production company, a couple of months ago--and one job--the substance abuse treatment agency. Every other job I've gotten (and that hasn't been very many) has been with connections of one kind or another. It's also worth pointing out that I have failed to get even an interview, in at least two situations when (a) my qualifications lined up perfectly with the job being advertised AND (b) I had at least a second-degree connection who made a phone call or recommendation for me. The definition of insanity, you may remember, is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Why should I expect that suddenly some HR person is going to see my resume and think I might be worth inviting in for a chat? Given that reality, it seems like a better idea to cobble together what I can, from the work i seem to be getting now, and hope for the best. And play the lottery.