excuse my french....i mean spanish

i had a perfectly rotten day at work today. at this very moment i feel like screaming, crying, throwing things and hurting people. especially hurting people. and especially my coworkers. i've never been so violent in my whole life as i am this very moment. please excuse if any of this blog is racist or mean or whatever. don't read it then. i just need to vent.

i should have known what i was getting myself into. i did a shift exchange with another girl who didn't want to work at the location i was at today. her shift was longer than mine originally, and since i'm practically broke i decided what the hay. more hours is more hours, no matter where you work. the last time i had to work in this specific location i had a practically-wretched-in-every-way kind of day. but i thought maybe it was just that one time and perhaps since i've gotten better at dipping apples and making all of that nonsense, the lead would give me a break and actually let me work instead of trying to babysit me.

like i said, i should have known.

i don't remember all the small moments during the day where i wanted to grab something big and fragile and smash it against the wall, but they were many. first of all, my lead, who is about 48 years old, is from Mexico. like, literally from there. as in she was born in a different country and then came to america, and who knows if it was legal. her english is worse than a horse. she might as well not talk at all and just use body language for everything and i could get things done without having to hear that grating accent which pierced my eardrums all day long.

i really don't think she had any ill will against me. but i've come to find out that, unless you've been working in the candy department since you were five, each day you work, they treat as if it was your first. she was trying to teach me how to do everything all over again. i've been there for almost two months and it's not that extensive, believe me. if you are homeless and somehow have access to a laptop and this blog, and you need a job that requires absolutely nothing except for a couple of signatures and maybe some black socks, go to disneyland and ask if you can be a candy maker. they'll hire you on the spot.

anyways...so this woman is driving me insane. literally. in fact i am sure that i almost started talking to myself and rocking back and forth because of her influence. now, see, most people don't understand what it's like to work as a candy maker. it sounds so carefree and jolly. it sounds delicious. i know it did to me when i first started. but the scene quickly changed. the backdrops switched from red and white stripes with yellow ribbons to an ominous and depressing solid black.

so one of the most annoying things about this woman was that she cannot pronounce anything correctly. she doesn't say "caramel" like the rest of the human race does. she says "caramello". and instead of saying "chocolate" she says "choke-a-lott-ay." choke a latte!! choke on a latte for all i care.

and instead of "tigger tails" she says "tiger tulls". AAAGGHHH! it was (and still is, because i'm thinking about it) driving me crazy. she couldn't even remember my name, much less pronounce it. She asked me my name and i said "Janelle" and she said "Yanellay?" whatever.

i should really give her a break since she probably is an illegal alien and this land is foreign and unkind. but it's becoming more and more difficult with each passing moment. it's coming close to the point of impossibility, actually.

so i continue. everything i do, doesn't matter what it is, she has to say something about it. for instance, i'm dipping "fortee fye" strawberries in milk chocolate. okay, done. and then i have to stripe them, which means drizzle (i hate that word) dark chocolate along the top with a spatula. So i'm doing it like i've been doing it for the past two months (i have never had a complaint from a lead before. ever. ever. ever.) and there is a metal bridge in the middle of the dark chocolate bowl-thing. it's where you wipe the excess chocolate from the spatula off. so as i am striping these little red berries, some of the dark chocolate gets on the bridge. it's supposed to - otherwise it would be all over the table. she comes over (after i've completely finished and scolding me would have proven pointless) and tells me (as she waves her hands as though trying to erase time) "No, your nah spose put choke-a-latte on dis. you put choke-a-latte on srawberrees only." DUH. im not putting the chocolate there as entertainment. it's utility. so i said "well i don't want to get the chocolate all over the table." DO I? no. she said ... well who cares what she said. it's not like i could understand any of it.

next scenario. i just get back from my break and i go to get a hairnet. she tells me that i need to empty the trash "But you need do it one by one!" As though i'm going to empty all of the trash at the same time. I'm magical. And then as she is leaving for her break she says to me sternly, "You stay here, in diss kishen," she points to the floor. "Don't go ennwherr else." aye aye. Where am i going to go? and why would i go? my mind's eye rolled around a couple of times in complete defiance.

i'm trying to remember what happened next. oh, i was putting away the fudge. along the sides of the container i was scraping pieces of fudge off into the middle of the bowl with a spatula. i do this a hundred times a day and its never been a problem. she comes over and stands there, watching me, which of course makes me a nervous-irritated combo #3. and she says "You need clean along dee etch." (the edge). so i ... clean along the edge like i was doing before she came and corrupted my morale. and she says "no, no, see...diss is how you do." and she takes the spatula away from me and finishes the job i had every intention of completing the same exact way she just did. AUGH! intense. frustration. building. fast.

i need air.

so i had to endure 8 hours of this torture. EIGHT.

im still extremely irritated and irritable. but hopefully it will ease when tomorrow i give my two weeks notice. i'm really excited to do this. i'm more excited that in two weeks i won't have to ever ever ever work there again. ever.