Brainwashing class today was an illuminating and enlightening experiece in group-therapy dynamics that left me informed, motivated, and excited about my future.
Today, we "checked in", the usual Wednesday ritual, in which one person (You Know Who You Are, hereafter YKWYA) monopolized the entire discussion by whining about how much her back hurt. If this person would drop the extra HUNDRED pounds YKWYA is toting around, that might alleviate YKWYA's back trouble, IMHO. I hadn't had my morning coffee, and I was nodding for most of the session. Fortunately, S-word sat beside me and elbowed me when the snoring became audible. I doodled on the topic paper, which was on Why You Want To Quit Doing Stuff You Like To Do, and actually applied my answers toward tobacco, the demon weed I am currently trying to excise from my life and lungs.
(Yes, I did smoke just seven cigs today! Rock! Six tomorrow, and so on.)
The Care Bear Inquisitor arched an eyebrow when I informed him, in the slice of time I had to check in before YKWYA returned to why YKWYA needs pills for YKWYA's hurt back, that I had attended all the quasi-Christian cult meetings I was obligated to go to and I had jumped through all the flaming hoops and therefore expected to graduate pronto. I hope to hear tomorrow that I'm done with this shit and can pay off the last $165 of my $1700 fine and be through through through with this Orwellian nightmare. (Later, I'm going to google "Orwellian nightmare" and see how close to the top my blog is.) Orwellian nightmare! Orwellian nightmare! Orwellian nightmare!
Of course, what I expect will happen is they'll tell me that I haven't done enough "personal growth" to merit "graduation" and therefore I am "fucked".
But then I always expect the worst, while hoping for the best.
It's interesting that many of the people in the class are restaurant people. I've mentioned it before, and I'm working on a socio-political exegesis of this very issue. No, I'm not. I just think it's interesting, and I'll have more to say about it later.
Work tonight was wading through molasses. I had a trainee, Iman (I think that's how he spells it), who was entirely too eager to be helpful, so I punished his naive ass by making him clean all the stuff I usually neglect to clean and detail that which I had already cleaned. Then he refused my offer of tip out, which I found highly suspicious. Fucking narc. Orwellian nightmare! Orwellian nightmare! Orwellian nightmare!
He's a young man of probably Arab descent who says he hails from Vancouver and came down here with his parents. Narc, narc, narc. He seemed to be a nice guy and asked good questions, and at the end of the night he opened up a bit about why he left his previous job, using appropriate profanity. Narc, narc, narc.
I shouldn't post that to my blog, should I? Orwellian nightmare! Orwellian nightmare! Orwellian nightmare!
Review: The Inpatient
14 hours ago