I Know, I Know... Enough With The Change Thing.

Here we go again...

So far, my foray into the workaday world has been rather splashy and, frankly, ridiculous. I am a person who enjoys change, but I am finding that this is one area that I'd rather remain a constant.

Regardless of what I would wish or like, it was becoming clear that my Front Desk Gig was not going to work with my other Makes Me No Money At the Moment (But Nevertheless Could Really Pay Off Sometime Soon) Gig.

*aside: it's really silly to use the word "gig" isn't it? Kinda reminds me of the old Archie comics for some reason.* Carry on.

The end result being that conflicting hours (and not enough of them, for that matter) and a shady manager was enough to lay the ax to that tree. Bye, bye, front desk and ever-vacillating-double-talking-crappy-scheduling boss.

I handed in my notice the same day that I was hired at my other job. Which was totally a fluke as I certainly didn't expect to get hired the moment I passed my resume across the desk. But, thankfully things seem to have worked out. I am now occupying my position as *ahem* Front Lead (thank you very much...) at a spiffy car detailing joint here in Fluttercity.

Which means that I spend a lot of time outside greeting customers as they pull up, schmooze them and arrange their cleaning packages, and kind of oversee the front bay stations. I already have a head start on a tan thanks to the warm sun today (OK, so it's just a bit of pink on my cheeks and nose, but... after an endlessly long winter? I'm exercising my right to call it a head start!) and am really enjoying the people I work with. The owners are a very tight family and the place has a great feel to it, it's nice to spend the day laughing with people and endearing yourself to elderly customers and generally making people feel glad to be spending horrendous amounts of money to not have to clean their own car.

I lied -- Our packages are actually very reasonable and your car will pretty much roll over; panting and doing that involuntary dog-leg thing while it's being worked over. Cause that is some sweet, sweet car lovin' that goes on in there. Rocket got a complimentary exterior job this morning and my heart may have skipped a beat or two when I saw him, all dressed out with the tire and rim shine, freshly waxed and glistening in the morning sun.

And that put a smile on his face cause I think he may have been a bit worried. See, I also get to drive each and every car that comes through the shop. I slide behind the wheel of most of them without even a sliver of temptation... but there are some, I tell you, that have made me a little bit weak in the knees after hearing their high-performance engines growl throaty, nasty things in my ear. And the occasional over-the-top beefy monster Hummer or Escalade has been known to rev my motor a little bit in appreciation. Especially when said monster slicky folds down a sweet rivetted steel running board for my dainty sneaker-clad foot upon opening the driver's door and automatically adjusts the driver's seat. That, my friends, is treating a lady like a lady. It is also a bit freakishly futuristic and I would be lying if I didn't say I was about to freak the crap OUT if the vehicle started to talk to me (a la KITT) next.

I've also driven some cars that ought not to be set foot in by any person with even half an intact nasal passage. And I've found that people are a bit weird about their icky spilly stuff. It's not enough to just acknowledge it. To say that, Yes, I Smell That, Too. No, they want you to get your nose right in there... right THERE where it's the worst so that you can be familiar with the Source of the Stench. Some even want you to touch it and then smell your fingers -- I presume to establish the fact that there is Residual Grossness. Ohhh, people, please do not do this to your smiley, happy Front Lead. She is more than willing to just take your word for it and would rather her fingers not smell like rancid Butter for the rest of the afternoon.

But the number one truth that I will now, with authority and vehemency, proclaim as the greatest crime against your vehicle and the lovely Front Lead who will regrettably have to pilot it through the shop.... is chewing tobacco. Particularly the watery, spitty, stinky bits that mindless, heartless degenerates actually spit into the floor carpets of their vehicles and then expect you to clean that STANK ARSE CRAP out for a paltry price. Some things are beyond my understanding.

But it's enough to send me running over to my squeaky clean and lovely smelling Rocket with a smile on my face.