Angry White Woman

Some people are born bad . I woke up "bad" today. Though I awoke from my sleep in plenty of time , I started loosing ground right off the bat. While I was in the shower, the weekend manager texted me to say that he wouldn't be in because he was working a convention. I was already late, that wasn't going to light a fire under my feet. Plus , he had to have known he was going to be working a convention for the last 2 weeks. He could have sent me an email earlier in the week or called me at the booth. He didn't. He texted me so he wouldn't have to talk with me. Well. . . . talk wasn't going to matter today. . . I was already behind the gun.
I figured somebody else would be there before me. . . . . .No. I didn't really believe anybody else would show on time. I got to the booth just as the church bells were chiming 9 o'clock. There actually was another co-worker there waiting. She didn't have a key , but she was on time. I felt bad that she had to wait for me. I really didn't expect anyone else to be there.
We got in and started getting stuff going . Another co-worker showed up 5 minutes later and we finally opened at 9:15. Usually , I have a little more concern about these types of things. Not today. There were already 30 people clamoring to get into the booth. The first couple of questions were about some event that was happening on the Common. None of us knew what thay were talking about. It was that kind of day . Lots of questions that we didn't have the answers to. Lot of slow people. People who ask a question and don't listen to the answer and then you have to answer the same question again. I try to change the pitch of my voice , raise or lower it a couple of octaves, in case it's the sound of my voice that they can't comprehend.
I wasn't mean or rude, I just wasn't enjoying the parade so much today. Someone dropped , what appeared to be, a carton of chocolate milk all over the floor in front of the ladies Room. The culprit didn't bother to own up to it. Oh, and the cleaning lady was nowhere to be found. No one else behind the counter got up to clean it. So, I had to clean it. I was swearing under my breath. Some lady in line said, trying to be helpful, "Sometimes the job's hard" and I shot back "This is not my job ! ". It wasn't my job. Someone else is paid to make sure chocolate milk on the floor , or shit in the urinal or puke on the counter gets cleaned up. However, if that "someone" cannot be found then "someone else" has to clean it up . Today , I was that "someone else" and I was none too happy about it.
This job is not brain surgery. No one is going to die if I tell them to take a left when they really should have gone right. All I have to do is be pleasant and give directions. How hard can that be ? Well .. . . .today it was pretty hard for me.