Starting Over?

Ok, I had a blog on another site, but I can do this blog in an offline program so I'm switching over. It seems like a better community, too, and that's something I'd like to have, so let's hope. I've been trying to paste my old entries in but it's not working, so I'll have to do something about that later. But for now, you should know that I have a truly heinous, thankless, useless job that I hate, but I'm sticking around for the money. For as long as I can, which honestly is not going to be that long. There's just no point, I just need a nest egg. Selfish? Maybe. Stupid? Definitely. Crazy? Absolutely. But it makes for some great stories!

So here is my morning so far:
I arrived at work, 15 minutes early, and as soon as I got off the subway she was calling me. Where am I? When will I be here?
Five minutes.
Ok well I have a favor to ask of you, you know that melon in the fridge, you know how she cuts it up for me?
Yes.
Ok well could you cut it up for me when you get here?
Yes of course.
Ok dear.

So I arrive, let myself in, go to cut her melon - and I have to say I did it EXACTLY like her hosuekeeper usually does. I see it every day of course I know what it looks like. I was almost done when the boss comes into the kitchen, tells me I'm taking too long, says the melon is too small, and tells me to open my eyes and look around. Then she takes the rest of the cantaloupe, carves a giant hunk off of it, and throws it on the plate, claiming that's how it should be and it doesn't take that long.

So then she starts yelling at me about a membership number that I never got because she was on the phone with her credit card for "FOUR HOURS" (really, 30 minutes, and it shouldn't have even been that long) and of course I have it, it's in your handwriting (it's her driver's handwriting), and go get the bill that you didn't keep track of (she put it in the desk after I left).

Then I get the lovely task of printing out this woman's schedule. We waste so much paper here it's ridiculous. Four copies of this huge schedule, and all her phone numbers because she can't use a computer. That's fine, that's what I'm here for, but there is simply no need to keep printing out tons of paper. I can use the computer version, but she insists I have the hard copy. And one that sits on her bed, one that she writes on, and one for her purse. I am certain at one point a forest has gone in and out of this room.

I'm so angry right now I can't even remember all the ridiculous things she said or has made me do since I got here!

More later.