Elaboration, Life Tilt, No Poker

My small comment concerning time yesterday: So far I have been late four times. Two significant, two by a couple of minutes. The problem is that I've been busted on all four, and in big ways. My very first opening shift I was four minutes late. Because God hates me, my direct manager's calls to my cell phone went straight to my voice mail. So she called our branch manager. Weak. Time two was actually quite comical. I thought I worked at ten, so I woke up around 7:30 and took my sweet time getting ready. I jumped in the shower around 9ish and when I got out, I had missed a call. Yep, I was supposed to be at work at 9. My branch manager laughed but said don't make it a habit. Time three I was again four minutes late, but yet again my branch manager decided she needed to get some work done before her conference call, so I was busted again. Time four I was seven minutes late. On the day that we were getting audited. By a regional manager. Awesome. I was ten minutes early today because I got reamed by it, but I have a sense of bitterness. An explanation is to follow.

Tilt is a poker term. It refers to anger forcing bad decisions. In poker, when somebody even when they have a high percentage chance to win, they sometimes go on tilt. Tilt is a downward spiral. Anger causes a bad decision, which causes more anger, which causes more and worse decisions. I went on life tilt today. I was ten minutes early, as I mentioned above, and the morning went well. I was supposed to clock at noon, take my forty-five minute lunch, and then head to a training across town. My direct manager had forgotten that I had a training, so she only scheduled myself and one other teller. Not a big deal. Another guy came in at 12:15 and she should be back before noon. She was, and we were slow. At 11:50, I started counting my drawer so I could leave. Then four people came in. Then two in the drive-thru. We should've peeled these off quick, except my manager didn't want to pull her drawer because she wanted to be where I was. Long, angry rant later, it was 12:35 as I huffed my way out the door. My branch manager apologized that I would have to eat in my car. I told her that wouldn't happen because the drive takes twenty minutes and I wouldn't want to be late. I did pretty well at hiding the snideness in my voice. My problem with punctual people: they're only half punctual. Of all the people I've met that hammer on punctuality in the workplace, not one of them has given a shit when I clock off. I'm expected to be at work on time because that is when I'm scheduled, however, I also have a definite end time. This one they're willing to be flexible with. This is where my internal angry steam whistle goes off. I prefer allowing people to be a couple of minutes late, because then I have no qualms about asking them to stay a few extra minutes. If you're going to hammer on me for being seven minutes late, you should throw a shit fit that I had to stay an additional thirty-five minutes, causing me to miss a lunch. But what do I know. Obviously, I was in a foul mood as I headed to the training site. To say that there were driving mishaps is an understatement. Initially, poor planning forced me to get off of I-80W and take I-680N. Semis do not buckle to lane crowding. Minor detour, still lunch potential. I took Pacific west and managed to hit EVERY red light on the street. Not exaggerating, literally every one. I almost made one. I was behind two people playing "let's go ten under the speed limit side by side," but when I finally got around them it was yellow city and I had to stop. Trying to avoid lights, I took 139th street. This seemed logical as I should've pooped out two blocks from where I needed to go at 137th. By its designation, 139th should've been a through street. It is not. After my house tour, I finally made it back to major streets and reached my training center with three minutes to spare. Awesome. I went home and my roommate and I went to grab food. Everything else went fairly smoothly except for driving. We also had an incident in Best Buy which turned out to be quite humorous. Warning: insensitive content to follow. We were looking for movies for Jeff to buy (he has a movie fetish and I abuse it for my own personal benefit). I came upon American History X, which I love. Jeff said he can't watch it because of the curb-stomp scene (if you've seen it, you know what I'm talking about). A mentally challenged lady near us started spouting off questions. She couldn't grasp the idea of the curb-stomp. "He flipped him upside down and hit his head on the curb?" "Who hits their head on the curb?" "Does that guy hit his head on the curb?" "Why would he bite the curb?" I could tell that we were locked in something similar to the "Why?" game that four year olds play. There was no end in sight, and drastic measures had to be taken. I made a last ditch effort to free us from our short bus bondage by laying out an explanation in clear, simple language. As I explained the premise of the movie while staring at her mustache (to avoid the mysterious, unscabbed hole in the side of her face), I knew that the porch light was never going to flick on, and that I was in a new danger because I had used several long sentences, showing my willingness to talk. At the end of my explanation, Jeff added his two cents. She turned her face and shoulders towards Jeff to ask him to clarify and I took the opportunity to walk determinedly down the aisle. I did not look back. I know that I am a heartless asshole. If I didn't, I would have figured it out because Jeff reminded me several times when he freed himself nearly ten minutes later. He kept reminding me until a few minutes ago when he went to bed. After the day I had, stranding Jeff with the mustachioed, inquisitive retarded lady was something I owed myself. I'm sure it will come back to me because I believe in karma, but sometimes it's worth it. Good night.