Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Wait, you don't do that?

So yesterday at work when it was super dead, the Boredom Bear decided to strike. The Boredom Bear is just this thing I made up to entertain my coworkers, but instead it ended up being one of those "Men are from Mars and Cydney is from Alpha Centurion 6" moments - for the last 6 months. See, I've been slowly realizing since about, oh, kindergarten, that my childhood ranged from quirky to "How are you a functional human?" But my family is a different blog post or ten, so for now we'll just leave it at I have an off-kilter personality and what I find hilarious other people tend to find annoying and disturbing.

So the Boredom Bear. I'll just run at a coworker, which totally freaks them out, jump and stop right in front of them, throw my arms up and go "Arr, I'm a bear." The first time I did this, I thought it was hilarious, but everyone just looked at me like I'd skipped my happy pills that morning. Convinced I was actually hilarious, I continued doing it, minus the running and jumping, all night long, just randomly shouting "Arr, I'm a bear!" at my coworkers. Still, no one thinks its funny. So I do it now on dead nights just to piss off/weird out the people around me. See, as already expressed, I'm not a huge fan of my job, so the Boredom Bear has the duel benefits of entertaining me and making everyone else a little less happy to be there. No one really asked, either, the reaction was always "You Would."

ASIDE:
Whenever people tell me "You would" after I do something... I was going to say "me" but we'll just go with "quirky", I get both pissed off and flattered. Flattered they've been paying enough attention to me heretofore to classify certain behaviors as unique to me, but also pissed off because they typically say it like a bad thing. So what if I'm 19 and I still write Star Wars fanfiction? It's good, damn it, LeiaLover1918 told me so!

BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMING:
But last night the new girl, who hasn't known me long enough (so, less than a week) to stereotype me asked what I was doing. I thought that was obvious.

"I'm the Boredom Bear."

She didn't really accept that, but she didn't push it and tried instead a different angle "But why?"

Oh, well... explaining that I'm secretly 8 years old to this person who seemed to like me seemed like a bad idea, and then she might ask why again, and explaining that most of my personality is pirated from a 16 year old kid who can figure out biochemistry by himself but doesn't understand the concept of daily hair brushing seemed also like a bad idea so I lied.

"When I was a kid I'd jump out and pretend I was a bear, and my parents would scream and act all scared and now I still kind of expect the same reaction."

Yeah, that's not childish AT ALL. And even though I could see my parents indulging me in such a way, I don't think that ever actually happened. As a kid I was far more inclined to play Robin Hood with the fly swatters (blue and grey, my mom still keeps them under the kitchen counter) than be something so mundane as a bear

But I must have said it with enough of a smile or freaked her out enough that she bought it or dropped it.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

THINGS as Judged by Cydney

You know what sucks? Homework sucks. In general, I would submit that most of the things I do with my day suck, and since I am, by my very nature, inclined to be judgmental and also overuse commas, I'm going to judge things. Why? BECAUSE I'M JESUS.

Working at a corporate restaurant

Why it sucks: Not that I really know what it's like working at a privately owned, ma and pa restaurant either, since before my stint as an automated food monkey in one of America's major casual dining chains, I was a cocktail waitress in a bowling alley and my job consisted of smiling pretty and bringing mom and dad a beer while the kiddos bounced bowling balls off the bumpers as hard as they could. Extra points for getting it in someone else's lane. Now, though, I actually have to do work and crap. Like, take down orders and bring out food trays that weigh more than I do in saturated fats alone. And if I don't do the whole thing, 4-10 freaking hours a night, smiling like Joan Rivers and sweet enough to give you cavities with a "Heeeeeeeeeeeeey guys, how ya doing?" then I don't make enough money to pay for my ridiculously overpriced education and I get complaints to the managers about being "surly" "distant" and "uncaring." I want a button that says "I only care about your dog/grandchild/hip replacement/episode of Family Feud if you tip 30%."

Why it doesn't suck: Free food. Constantly. From the cooks, from the managers, from people (intentionally) screwing up orders.  I don't even bother eating before the dinner shift because I get a constant diet of chocolate cake, french fries, sandwiches, salads, chocolate cake sandwiches deep fat fried, nachos stacked higher than my face, and more. Oh so much more. I think I probably eat more than I'm worth to the company. As a potential capital investment, I'm a complete loss. Except that for every single item on the menu, I can totally tell my customer "Oh, I had that for dinner. Good choice!" And for some reason they trust me. Like, if the skinny starving college kid who constantly wanders around like she lost a sock and is convinced it's somewhere on the floor and if only she walks past the same spot again, then she'll find it! likes the deep fat fried lard you're about to order, then it's totally worth the 300% mark up you'll pay after your 3rd trip to the bathroom but before the coronary bypass. So actually, free food and the ability to steer people into a slow death of high cholesterol.

Your drunk Facebook photos:

Why they suck: I spent Saturday night researching a 20 minute group presentation while my roommate folded socks, and as if I wasn't aware enough that I'm a poor excuse for an irresponsible young adult, you had to post pictures of you and everyone else I know doing Jagerbombs in floral footie pajamas the next morning WITHOUT CAPTIONS. I can clearly see the progression from clothed and sober to partially clothed and not so sober to absolutely wasted and in footie freaking pajamas, but you don't bother explaining how you thought that was a good idea. And did you all bring your footie pajamas, or did someone just happen to have 12 pairs lying around? Did you have a big footie pajama orgy when you were done? I want to know the story here. I've always wanted a pair of footie pajamas. Not to sleep in, but to answer the door in, because how do you react to someone answering the door in dinosaur footie pajamas when they're also clearly reading Tolstoy? You don't. You put the package down and you walk away and I get to stamp WIN on my forehead for the afternoon.

Why they don't suck: I'm not hung over, and I bet to hell you are. In fact, I feel pretty sprightly right now, and I'm sure you're sucking down Pediasure and praying to the shower nozzle to just die now. Also, I get to watch your life spiral out of control. That slutty Halloween costume? No one's fooled, sugar, we all know you're still spiraling from the break up and this is a desperate attempt to show him "I am so over you, betch."


Being an Economics Major

Why it sucks: Have you ever tried to read an economics text book? No? It's like a slow lobotomy. Here, have a sample of what I just tried to read:
What determines our economy's level of Y = W + P? The amount of spending in the economy, or C+I. Thus any S not spent on I, that is SH - IH + SB - IB, furnishes no demand for output. So, C+I determines Y.
Do you know what that means? Because I don't, and I have the whole freaking thing sitting in front of me. And I get that economics is a math, it's about money and capital and blah blah blah, but when you have 90% of the chapter in those cryptic variables and equations, it takes me twice as long to read. And then I have a test on it where I get a minute per question and just stare at the paper until finally a little part of my brain implodes and I just choose C because I read a statistic once that C is the best guess if on any given multiple choice question.

Why it doesn't suck: The more I learn about Economics, the more I'm convinced that everyone around me is an idiot and only us Elite Educated Economists (We go by EEE for short) should be allowed to make major decisions. And then when I get into a debate with anyone besides my father who minored in Economics and works as a financial analyst (aka Mystical Money Voodoo Man) about The Current State  of Affairs, I can secretly quote my teacher and my textbooks and sound like I know what the hell I'm talking about, which just fuels my hipster arrogance that comes standard in every box of TOMS shoes.