All Hail Mr. B.

Well, the penetrating oil didn't do the trick... I suspect the threads on my tee nut were slightly stripped (Bad, bad Flutterby, I won't do that again!!) and I just couldn't get any kind of grip on the round, flat head of the tee nut to even do any brute force stuff. Which is laughable anyway, when you consider the state of my biceps lately!!

Thankfully, I have a Friend in High Places. A cobbler, actually. And while he may not necessarily think of me as a friend, it remains that I am filled with fuzzy warm feelings when I think of the times he has lent a hand and got me out of headaches with removing clinch nails and the like and thusly... I will think of him as a FRIEND. Cause he helps me. And has tools that I don't have!!! I totally realize that pushes the boundaries of CREEPY... but I don't care as he once again came through for me and within a matter of minutes and the judicious use of a bench grinder, had freed my project from it's tee nut standoff.

HUZZAH!

So, my hat's off to you, Mr. B. Now, back to work!

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.

Spank You Very Much.

If I was that kind of blogger, this could be a post about last night... *wink* But instead, it's going to be a post about something else not nearly so interesting. But perhaps easier to stomach, cause really, who actually ever really wants to get all up in the KnowingOfTheFlutterLoveLife? Yeah, didn't think so...

So, today I was working at the hotel, doing my little Front Desk Routine. Normally, I'm working by myself but today I was brought on as Le Assistant a la Manager. (that's Lackey to do General Crap Work for the non-French among us. Wait, that's likely all of us. Sweet. I hate translating.) And as such, was given various and sundry odd jobs around the office. Some phoning, some filing, some bookwork, some more filing. OK, so, really... gobs and gobs of filing. As a former library employee (and I will KILL you if you call me a Librarian... just saying) I rock the alphabetical filing. I also am pretty dang good at numerical filing. This is a talent, people... let no one tell you otherwise.

Is it clear, yet that I'm not sure where I'm going with this? Give it a minute.

Let's just say that it was the filing that almost got my manager sucker-punched.

Cause here we are, two people working in this insanely small and stuffy office. Fan is running and there's barely room to move in the one corner where his desk is and the filing cabinets are mere inches behind his chair. And I'm scooching and trying to generally be inobtrusive while I try to get at this one particular file. Very frustrating. But, I think if I just move over an inch or two, I can get the drawer open far enough and maybe get at it without bumping into his chair. I scooch a bit more and...

SMACK! SMACK!

I jump. The voice in my head screams "Holy Sheepdip!!" and I question for a split second whether or not my manager just spanked my rear and what the appropriate response is to such a freaky occurence.

A moment later my brain reengages and I have the presence of mind to glance behind me and see that I've just managed to back my booty right up into the waiting blades of the room fan. It's sittting there behind me, spinning away happily without. a. front. safety. grill.

Cause that's the kind of classy place I work in, people. Some places charge good money for that kind of excitement. Here? It's all free, baby.

Which sorta makes it a bit like last night. Only without the filing.

Sold to the Highest Bidder.

The past couple months I've been pimping my skills at our paint store. I love helping people design their space and choose colors and I work with some really wonderful people so that's always enjoyable. Tinting paint is just way more fun than I expected, but then I tend to be all silly and "OOOOOHHHH, LOOK AT THAT..." about lots of stuff, so it's no surprise that the swirling and mixing of vibrant colourants into the bases would captivate my little ferret-brain. And, there's always the odd surprise, like when you tint up a green paint, expecting to see a formula with lots of blue and yellow (just like grade five art class, yes???) and find that the only colourants in it are black and yellow. HUH?!?!? Like I said, it's trippy for this little mush head.

We've been working on revamping our store, so there's been a lot of cleaning and sorting to stay on top of. I've crashed the computer system a time or two, switching out components for nicer, newer bits of sleekness. And, in a smashing moment of brilliance, I brought YouTube viewing to all the employees. One small step backwards for productivity but a giant step forward in employee morale, if I do say so, myself.

I had a few other resumes out in the ether of Fluttercity, though... and this weekend I finished up the last in a series of interviews and was offered a position. (Side note: Do you know how difficult it is to be interviewed about past work performance when your last job was EIGHT YEARS AGO??? I seriously would have done just as well to totally Make Stuff Up as to try and remember that crap. Meh.)

Anyhow, as of Wednesday this little Flutter will be working front end at Costco. Part-time. Seasonal.

I know. I KNOW! The career path doesn't get any more long and winding than this. What can I say, I am a slave to the big bucks. No? Errrr... would you believe that I'm a slave to Costco??

Awwww, you guys know me so well.

And if you treat me nice, I just may let you all know whether or not working there is at all like the movie "Employee of the Month". Cause, really, you can't watch that movie and not wonder if there's a poker game going on up in the stacks or forklift races after hours. And you KNOW that I'm on that action like stink on socks. I am your Inside Man. Girl. Whatever.

The next few weeks are going to be a little bit nuts between working two jobs, hitting the gym and keeping the house from falling apart and my kids in clean underwear. But, I think I'm up for the challenge. I mean, it's not often that one gets called upon to make such a significant contribution to society and all. And, when Costco has given so much to me, how can I not give back? That's what I'm talking about.