thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A case of work. Dear Master, Product: Vaseline Failed Tagline of the Day: For silky-smooth nostrils, almost overnight! Yeah, that was me. I was hitting the hay a little before sunrise, as usual, and determined to combat the nosebleeds that have greeted me upon waking ever since I got back from California, which I've been blaming on the cutaneous trauma of jumping right back into an arid climate. Oddly enough, it's been raining lately. I have proof undeniable that living in a desert warps sensory perception of the weather: I heard it coming down outside my window last night and was looking all over the place trying to find the fizzing can of pop responsible for the hissing noise. Discovering there was actually a shower taking place outside, I smiled, and proceeded to jam large globules of white petrolatum up my nose like a badly confused junkie. Today, to my delight, my inner nasal tissues were moist and supple to a near-pornographic extent, but because of this, the blood in my nose had never had the opportunity to coagulate, and thus clotting had never taken place; ergo, I still had a nosebleed when I woke up this afternoon. I cannot win. ~~ Pioneer Theatre Company University of Utah Salt Lake City, UT Pay to the order of [Me] $diddly squat and change ~~ Hamilton was temperamental this evening, making me ten minutes late for work -- and orchestrating, take note, my third tardy ever in my history at PTC. I was still the first person on my staff to arrive. I wasn't even scheduled to supervise. ~~ Gimp is a mess. We're still stuffing programs for the patrons every night during what used to be our break. HM introduced to us a very efficient system in which one person opens each program to the correct page and the other slips the inserts into the programs and stacks them. Very division-of-labour. Very assembly-line. Gets the job done much faster than sitting there trying to do the whole process by oneself. Why won't Gimp do it? Because it's HM's idea and she's more stubborn than she is rational. ~~ For this reason, and also to mitigate the guilt of having arrived late when, apparently, I'm the only person on staff who isn't expected to, I stayed overtime to finish the program-stuffing. So I'd be out of the exiting patrons' way, HM allowed me to set up shop in the Box Office Manager's tiny office just adjacent to the concession stand. I sat cross-legged on the floor and made my way, neither expediently nor sluggishly, through the easy 33 per cent remaining from those two boxes it should only have taken us an hour to finish. In the home stretch of my work, I raised my head, sensing a presence. Last year's entire Cage staff stared back at me, dressed in regal Arthurian costume. I recognised the photo in part from the birthday wallpaper last spring, but here it was in its entirety, and it was scaring the piss out of me: all the women, wearing jewel-tone velvet and gold cord, circled two makeshift thrones occupied by HM on the right and Four Eyes on the left, both of them in gaudy crowns. Olly stood in the back being dull as usual. "I hate you," I hissed at the king on the left. I finished my stack of programs and boxed them up. I ran the burden out to HM, who was bidding farewell a few straggling ticketholders. As soon as it was in his hands, I bolted through the doors chanting "washroom washroom washroom!" and bounded downstairs to pee before I got too nostalgic about the other things. I came back up to clock out. HM and I stopped at the employee exit and wound up chatting for about half an hour. It definitely helped. ~~ Happy birthday, Chris and Joni! (Right?) ~ETK 23:24 - 07 November, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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