"Sweety Babboo..."
"What?"
"Take a picture of my bruises."
"No."
"C'mon. Take a picture."
"Forget it."
"Why not?"
"They'll think I beat you."
"Mary Sissy Pants. Take a picture."
"Not gonna happen."
"I've counted 32 today. Look."
"NO."
He's winning the battles, but I'll win the war. I have some Epic bruises. It would be a shame not to document them.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
a buck at a buck fifty, part two
Okay, so pug Frank didn't have anything to do with the cost of going to work vs the wage brought in. I was punch drunk on all that overtime.
He's doing well, by the way, and soaking up the attention. Our best guess is he had an adverse reaction to the 1/2 aspirin dosage our vet recommended as we treated him for Another eye ulcer.
What I meant was, I'll make less slightly less money earning my wage than I did on unemployment. ... Yes, I paid into unemployment all those years, but still, work is ...well, it's dignity. Of course, it's dignity at the price of a buck fifty to my dollar. ... but what the heck.
(Never can say 'dignity' without thinking of 'Singing in the Rain.' Have you seen it lately? Do.)
He's doing well, by the way, and soaking up the attention. Our best guess is he had an adverse reaction to the 1/2 aspirin dosage our vet recommended as we treated him for Another eye ulcer.
What I meant was, I'll make less slightly less money earning my wage than I did on unemployment. ... Yes, I paid into unemployment all those years, but still, work is ...well, it's dignity. Of course, it's dignity at the price of a buck fifty to my dollar. ... but what the heck.
(Never can say 'dignity' without thinking of 'Singing in the Rain.' Have you seen it lately? Do.)
Saturday, September 25, 2010
making a buck, at the cost of a buck fifty
two eleven hour days -- yayyy! overtime. boooo! tired bettybulldog.
home and our pug is vomiting profusely. 8:30pm, and we're off to the emergency vet.
home and our pug is vomiting profusely. 8:30pm, and we're off to the emergency vet.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
(Wo)manhandling
Sooo sleepy after five days on, but not as wiped out as I was week one. Sleep. The reward of good physical and mental labor, although I never slept nearly so well when I was in the purely mental labor business.
I counted 30 distinct bruises, from ankle to hip and wrist to elbow. Begged Sweet Babboo to take a picture but he refused. "They'll think I beat you." Sissy.
Days of climbing into and out of trucks; pushing several hundred pounds of gaylords (those roughly 4x4x4 boxes) around with pallet jacks; rolling hundreds of pounds of wheeled bins around; pushing metal trash bins (5x5x2 or so) up ramps and into trucks, then out of trucks; (wo)manhandling lift gates and ramps and truck hoods and every sort of 'donation.'
Sundays are a particularly goofy day for donations. The dump is closed, so lots of charming folks drop their dump runs right below the signs that say "It's against the law to leave your shtuff here when this donation site is unattended." ... What do they leave? The shtuff no salvage/thrift shop can use, but have to pay bucks to dispose of, I think. (Maybe the trash folks cut us a break? I dunno.) Anyway, I've dragged torn up and broken couches, desks, etc off the trucks. A refrigerator. A stove.
Side note: it's amazingly easy to (wo)manhandle big furniture when you're not trying to protect/preserve it. and fun!
and I've had the easy part of the trash runs -- just pulling misc stuff off the trucks, then consolidating it onto a 'trash run' truck. The other drivers have had to go to the sites and load up. Plus go to the dump to drop all these 'donations' off.
So, I deviated. Really, in the big scheme of the organized chaos that is the thrift business, the dumpers are small in number. Many donations are lovely and given with thought towards the good that they can bring to the organization and the home they can find with new owners. I took in a set of vintage punch glasses that had belonged to a woman's aunt. She couldn't use them, but you could feel her fondness for her family and her wish for good things to come of her gift to us. I like that.
And still, I deviate. I Must be tired. Punch drunk, maybe? ... My point, if I had one, was to say, "I'm all bruised up and dern'd proud of it."
I counted 30 distinct bruises, from ankle to hip and wrist to elbow. Begged Sweet Babboo to take a picture but he refused. "They'll think I beat you." Sissy.
Days of climbing into and out of trucks; pushing several hundred pounds of gaylords (those roughly 4x4x4 boxes) around with pallet jacks; rolling hundreds of pounds of wheeled bins around; pushing metal trash bins (5x5x2 or so) up ramps and into trucks, then out of trucks; (wo)manhandling lift gates and ramps and truck hoods and every sort of 'donation.'
Sundays are a particularly goofy day for donations. The dump is closed, so lots of charming folks drop their dump runs right below the signs that say "It's against the law to leave your shtuff here when this donation site is unattended." ... What do they leave? The shtuff no salvage/thrift shop can use, but have to pay bucks to dispose of, I think. (Maybe the trash folks cut us a break? I dunno.) Anyway, I've dragged torn up and broken couches, desks, etc off the trucks. A refrigerator. A stove.
Side note: it's amazingly easy to (wo)manhandle big furniture when you're not trying to protect/preserve it. and fun!
and I've had the easy part of the trash runs -- just pulling misc stuff off the trucks, then consolidating it onto a 'trash run' truck. The other drivers have had to go to the sites and load up. Plus go to the dump to drop all these 'donations' off.
So, I deviated. Really, in the big scheme of the organized chaos that is the thrift business, the dumpers are small in number. Many donations are lovely and given with thought towards the good that they can bring to the organization and the home they can find with new owners. I took in a set of vintage punch glasses that had belonged to a woman's aunt. She couldn't use them, but you could feel her fondness for her family and her wish for good things to come of her gift to us. I like that.
And still, I deviate. I Must be tired. Punch drunk, maybe? ... My point, if I had one, was to say, "I'm all bruised up and dern'd proud of it."
Monday, September 20, 2010
Chick Driver
I have to say, being a girl driver is a hoot. I mean, if a 40 year old man introduced himself to a coworker as 'the new driver,' would she reply, 'Good for you!' ... love it. Love that women are asking me about it. Love that the men I'm working with are taking it (almost) entirely in stride. I suspect, but maybe I'm wrong, that the guys are helping me out more than they would another guy.
And I really doubt a hetero-lookin' youngster would say "You have pretty eyes" to a male driver. ... but I do have pretty eyes. Nice dimples too. a few gray hairs I'm proud of. Ears of a 40 year old. Nose of a 3 year old. and a bad ass swagger in my boots, cargo pants, t-shirt and day-glow yellow safety vest. The boots make the swagger. Not the vest.
Speaking of being a girl driver, the looks from the street are most excellent, too. Pan in. Pause. Double Take.
I get the feeling I'm the only one who feels I need to prove myself. Everyone else has been welcoming and just plain nice (or indifferent. Both are good.) Me, I feel like I need to prove I can lift it, haul it, cart it. Tough Grrrl.
~BettyBulldog
And I really doubt a hetero-lookin' youngster would say "You have pretty eyes" to a male driver. ... but I do have pretty eyes. Nice dimples too. a few gray hairs I'm proud of. Ears of a 40 year old. Nose of a 3 year old. and a bad ass swagger in my boots, cargo pants, t-shirt and day-glow yellow safety vest. The boots make the swagger. Not the vest.
Speaking of being a girl driver, the looks from the street are most excellent, too. Pan in. Pause. Double Take.
I get the feeling I'm the only one who feels I need to prove myself. Everyone else has been welcoming and just plain nice (or indifferent. Both are good.) Me, I feel like I need to prove I can lift it, haul it, cart it. Tough Grrrl.
~BettyBulldog
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
the hubris of the class a
When I interviewed for this gig, the boss said, "Everybody in the warehouse wants your job," meaning the driver job, most especially the class A driver. So Mack Girl is top dog! lol.
... Okay, so he overstated it a lot ~ a good number want nothing to do with getting out there in a big truck (nor a little truck for that matter). They got their own groove goin' on.
Still, there's something to it. I've already been asked about my license a number of times. How and where I got it. What it cost. etc. And the women have universally cheered me on. As one girl coworker said, "Alright, they hired the chick!"
The other is that I feel like I'm where I want to be, at the level I want to be. No envy for anyone -- not my supervisor, not the CEO. I'm Class A. Driving. Being physical. Being mental. (in the good way )
I've been through the front office a few times. The folks in clean clothes, in climate controlled and carpeted rooms. Just a different kind of assembly line. A different kind of warehouse. More power to 'em, particularly the ones who like their work. For now, my delight is right where I am.
~BettyBulldog
(thanks for the name, bro-in-law!)
... Okay, so he overstated it a lot ~ a good number want nothing to do with getting out there in a big truck (nor a little truck for that matter). They got their own groove goin' on.
Still, there's something to it. I've already been asked about my license a number of times. How and where I got it. What it cost. etc. And the women have universally cheered me on. As one girl coworker said, "Alright, they hired the chick!"
The other is that I feel like I'm where I want to be, at the level I want to be. No envy for anyone -- not my supervisor, not the CEO. I'm Class A. Driving. Being physical. Being mental. (in the good way )
I've been through the front office a few times. The folks in clean clothes, in climate controlled and carpeted rooms. Just a different kind of assembly line. A different kind of warehouse. More power to 'em, particularly the ones who like their work. For now, my delight is right where I am.
~BettyBulldog
(thanks for the name, bro-in-law!)
Monday, September 13, 2010
Employed!
Okay, six months of looking and I got a job ~ no need to dwell on that necessary (and, really, by all accounts, not that long) period. Craigslist, Monster, Careerbuilder, Indeed ... I give you my thanks and my adieu.
Yesterday. ooooh, my First day on the job. I'll be driving for a thrift/recycling/salvage organization, mostly bobtails (those class C, U-Haul style trucks), but then also a gorgeous Mack with a good half-million miles on it -- plenty broke in!
Added some more to my truck-girl lexicon -- pallet jack, lift, and my favorite to-date -- Gaylord. Yes, a 48x40x36 big-a** cardboard box that gets moved by a pallet jack or forklift has a very dignified, British moniker. Gotta wonder how that came about.
So much more to talk about! A day spent loading and unloading trucks and even a run in my Mack (I got to drive day 1 - unheard of!) to switch trailers. The best night's sleep I've had in Ever. My very own yellow vest with reflective stripping. etc. ...But I have to get ready for work.
Cheers!
Mack Girl
Yesterday. ooooh, my First day on the job. I'll be driving for a thrift/recycling/salvage organization, mostly bobtails (those class C, U-Haul style trucks), but then also a gorgeous Mack with a good half-million miles on it -- plenty broke in!
Added some more to my truck-girl lexicon -- pallet jack, lift, and my favorite to-date -- Gaylord. Yes, a 48x40x36 big-a** cardboard box that gets moved by a pallet jack or forklift has a very dignified, British moniker. Gotta wonder how that came about.
So much more to talk about! A day spent loading and unloading trucks and even a run in my Mack (I got to drive day 1 - unheard of!) to switch trailers. The best night's sleep I've had in Ever. My very own yellow vest with reflective stripping. etc. ...But I have to get ready for work.
Cheers!
Mack Girl
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