Do not tell me NOT to tell you when we don’t have what you’re looking for. THATS CALLED LYING. And it helps neither of us.
If I look busy but you need something DON’T JUST STARE AT ME IN SILENCE. It’s creepy.
You didn’t just buy it here. We don’t carry it we never have. I THINK I WOULD KNOW.
If that’s your indoor voice I probably need you to use your outdoor voice to understand what you need. SPEAK UP.
I apologize for not being able to understand your heavy foreign accent. I can barely understand some locals. CALM DOWN.
Your small children and babies can talk. It’s not a library. Just don’t expect me to babysit. And for bob’s sake DON’T LET THEM REPAINT THE STORE WITH GREEN NAIL POLISH. (But if you ignore your free range child and they get lost I will offer my assistance).
Yes. I will shout “bless you” from two isles over if I hear you sneeze. But I am hoping you covered your mouth and didn’t sneeze all over the merchandise.
Just because it’s on my work cart doesn’t mean it’s on a sale of some sort. DON’T PAW THROUGH MY STUFF. I have it how I like it.
Nope. You can’t have 25% off that. I told you it was damaged and you agreed to buy it anyway. STOP ASKING.
Yes. That $7 item is locked up. People steal. EVERYTHING.
Because for such a very very long time Black people were so poorly treated, treated like property, like lower life forms, like they were dirty or less than white people, and people still believe they are less than, not equal.
Because despite the times changing, black people are still being treated poorly in this country. Because of the color of their skin.
All lives DO matter. But when not all lives are treated equally, then more attention needs to be paid to those unequal to the rest.
“Hot Take?“
The title of this post is “Hot Take?” “Black Lives Matter is a “hot take” to some. “All Lives Matter” is as well. But the question mark means I am (or was once) confused. Honestly I’m still a little confused sometimes, but that is 100% just my faulty brain pan.
I became slightly less confused when I watched a video in my Facebook Watch feed. It was a tiktok duet(still generally annoyed by tiktok but I’m old so). Basically one person was explaining BLM and another person was watching/reacting (why tho). The video explained that Black Lives Matter because of the way they have been persecuted, mistreated, and judged. White people (that’s me!) do not, have not, and will not face the same injustices they have.
I wish I could find the video but alas… nope.
Listen this was months ago and we are relying on my poorly functioning old lady brain here. But my eyes were opened slightly wider to the idea of BLM.
When BLM became a thing, my first thought was, “Well, yeah. But doesn’t everyone?” Because I was raised to believe that we are all equal, despite our differences, so we’re all important.
Vidja
When your neighbors house is burning down you’re not gonna stop the fire department and tell them to spray your house with water too, just because another house is on fire.
BUT if a forest fire (California I’m worried for you) is threatening the entire block, the fire department is gonna try and keep it at bay to save everyone’s homes and lives.
Right now, the fire is burning a group of people. A fire of hate. That fire isn’t burning anyone else the way it’s been burning these people for many years. (Again, California. She’s crispy.)
They matter, they are important. They are human too and they do not deserve burn. (Neither does California).
In Conclusion (finally).
I promiseIwon’t talk about California anymore.
All Lives Matter. But when the climate of a nation is volatile to a specific group of lives, for whatever reason, then attention needs to be paid to those lives.
A Final Note
I know I have friends and family who aren’t going to appreciate this particular post. Not that most of them read my blog. I know how the majority of my family feel about this topic and many others (hence “hot take”).
My oldest brother once told me he likes talking politics and such with me because I’m smart. He said I’m smart because I went to college. That’s… A complicated assumption.
I also think he likes it because I will argue with him. Because I hate politics. He knows this, obviously.
But I’m not here to please anyone, I barely know how to make me happy. I’m here to share with others what I know, how I feel, and what I believe. If we agree, neat-o. If we don’t, well. You do you, friend. I’m not here to hate either.
Like my momma always said, hate is a strong word. You should only use it when you mean it.
*I sometimes get tongue-tied when I say LGBTQ and I’m confused as to what letters I need to add and the Alphabet Mafia thing is fun.
As always. Thanks for Reading. Also, polite and friendly discussion accepted and welcomed below. I moderate my comments, they’re rare but I do, and hate will be swiftly deleted. By swiftly I mean probably in the morning it’s passed my bedtime.
Over the years I’ve made a point to be as vague as possible about where I work. There is absolutely no reason for anyone who might read my blog to know where I work. I haven’t lied about it being retail, in fact I have a category titled “Retailiations”. But I refuse to openly and outright name my employer. I say a lot of stuff—though it’s never intentionally bashing (I don’t think). But I’m trying to keep certain aspects of my life as private as possible. This post is in fact concerning my day job, and I want to state first and foremost that I harbor no (at least not a lot of) resentment or anger toward any one individual or entity involving my job or workplace. Most of my issues start with me. And of those there aremany.
I’ve had a rough few days (weeks, months) at work. From changes in people, to changes in policy, to plain old changes in my established and efficient routine.
When I left my previous position, which I was only in because the one right before it was DELETED, I made a point to try to adjust and make it my own safe space. This was in January. I’ve been in this position for almost ten months. And it seems like there have been changes and adjustments to make in it constantly.
But just when I’d gotten into a routine that suited me and became efficient for me, curve balls were suddenly being thrown one right after another.
Of those curveballs is the addition of an extra process added to my routine. Now, in the creation of that extra process I was told I would have complete autonomy. I took that to mean that I would have control over how this new “process” would be handled. How it was set up or staged, how it was organized.
I wanted to clarify for myself what this meant.
I was also told that any additional tasks to the process would be basically set aside for me to work through and control.
I took the time, huge amounts of time, organizing (which is hilarious if you’ve seen my house) this new space for my process, in a way that made it easier for myself, or the individual who covered it on my days off, to complete the precesses.
What I did not take into account was that was a lie. Whether it was an intentional lie, or not (I’m going to optimistically go with not) I do not know. Also unaccounted for is the fact that more than just one party would be involved. And everyone has their own ideas with how things should be done. This doesn’t just refer to my job but all things.
What no one else took into account or had to or knew about was that I am HEAVY and FRAGILE (shout out to a person who might never read my blogs but would know it if she saw it, I hope). Honestly the “Heavy” part has nothing to do with this story except that I hate stairs. But that’s another post.
The key here is Fragile. Mentally. Emotionally. I need to work on that, we have discussed this. A lot. When stress comes to shove I break down. Usually with anger. Silent and fuming anger. Sometimes I aggressively tap my handheld on my forehead and only a day later remember why it’s slightly tender. I have issues, ok. We know this.
This new process, this new step that was added into my day, was already taking an extra 1-2 hours to complete. That’s not including the aftermath, we’ll call it cleanup. But because I’d organized it to be easier, it became quicker each time.
But then enter the third party. The third party began to do not what they were asked to do but extra. That was frustrating. They began adding their “cleanup” to my organized files (this is becoming increasingly more difficult to not use work terms lol). Now, one or two or ten items? Okay I can reorganize. But I’d be reorganizing my files each day. Reorganizing for efficiency. So that’s extra time added on.
I mentioned this to upper management, that the third party was told to set aside this additional work for me to preprocess, but they were not. All I was told was to let them know if it got messy.
Well sir, of course it’s not going to get messy because my OCD isn’t going to leave it alone long enough to let it. I reorganize it. Every. Single. Morning. Because I don’t work two days out of the week, and someone who is not me is supposed to do this when I’m not there.
Well, I went in to work with high hopes only to find my files full if new work to process. Unorganized and out of order. Literally ignoring signs I has personally made. There was also a literal tote of extra work. Ironically this is what they were supposed to be doing all along but they just couldn’t finished shoving stuff in the files so it was left.
And then more was added but a completely different party later that day!
You try so hard.
So now all my time is spent on this. Seven and a half hours of work time. So I’m legitimately not getting anything else done.
Take that back some of my morning routine gets done. But literally nothing else. If someone gives me another additional task, I will not be able to complete it. There is no more time in my days now. Perhaps when less work comes into the facility, it’ll even back out. But with the holidays quickly approaching (retail likes to advance them by two months) I’m afraid it’ll just get worse.
Anyway this post grew three sizes this day and I had no intention of that.
My point is, I’m off. Four. Days. I’m trying not to think about work. I’m trying not to specifically think about how much I’m going to have to deal with when I go back to work (Tuesday’s are THE WORST).
But I’m going to try so very hard to stay calm. Not freak out. Not use my handheld to hammer imaginary nails into my forehead. It is what it is, amirite? And what can you do? Nada.
I woke up at 4:30am thinking about this for some reason.
NOTE: I am happily married and wouldn’t change it.
But brain be weird sometimes.
So as I was falling asleep, I thought about it, and thought about it every time I woke back up.
Why DO people get married?
You can be together and share your life with someone without the license. So why make it government legal.
Here’s an example.
Fred and Wilma are high school sweethearts. Together since they were teenagers. They love each other dearly and are moved in together by their mid-twenties. Eventually they buy a house together, except Fred’s credit is better so it’s his name on the home loan. They never marry.
But, eventually Wilma is making more so she’s paying the home loan and they split the remainder of the household bills. They pick out furniture together, they grocery shop together, they share everything.
They’re perfectly happy, and decided many years before they didn’t want children. By their thirties they’re doing quite well.
The only issue they have is that Fred’s parents, Don and Karen, don’t like Wilma. Karen especially. She thinks Wilma stole her only baby away before he was even grown and now she won’t have grandchildren because Wilma doesn’t want children.
So, they don’t talk to Fred’s parents much. But other than that, life is great.
But one day, while Wilma is at work, Fred is in a horrible car accident. Wilma rushes to the hospital Fred needs surgery so Wilma, the o my person there to consent, allows it without question.
But while surgery keeps him alive, he suffered a severe brain injury and was put in a ventilator during surgery.
Don and Karen show up (who called those two). And the doctor comes in. He tells them all that Fred’s brain injury was severe. He’s on ventilator but may never come off. And if he does he might be functional and require constant care.
Wilma, who has know Fred for decades, loved him for decades, knows that Fred would not be a burden. And that he wouldn’t want to be on life support indefinitely. She tells them this.
But Karen disagrees. She won’t let Wilma take her baby away forever. She wants to keep Fred on life support, in case there’s a chance he could come off. Even the tiniest chance.
So Karen makes it known that Wilma and Fred were not legally married. Which means that what is his is not hers and vise versa. Because Karen and Don are Fred’s only living legal relatives it is decided to keep him on life support.
Eventually the time comes when Fred’s body no longer can hold in on life support. So despite Karen’s desire to hold on to a son that was no longer there, Fred dies.
Fred had no will.
A will would have been a legally binding document that would have made Wilma Fred’s heir if he so chose.
So all those years together, all that time spent together, sharing a life, because Karen hated Wilma, Wilma could get nothing from Fred’s estate.
Of course…
Proof of a relationship, proof Wilma paid for the house, despite it being in Fred’s name, all the shared possessions. Might save Wilma in this situation.
Also I don’t know much about the laws. I don’t know about “common law marriages”, if there still a thing.
But I do know that wills are legally binding, if properly done.
If you’re gonna be in a long term relationship without marriage, be sure you have something legally binding, because the wrong angry person could fight it.
Again
NO IDEA why all this came up in my head at 4:30 in the morning.
Crash Landing 