Pardon Me While I W(h)ine

I proof, bake, bag, sticker and stock more bread than pictured every single day if you count rolls.
By myself.
My employer does not understand the phrase "understaffed".
This moment of self-pity was brought to you by:
AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

I miss my blog. I feel as though we've been apart a long, long time.

I began working at the bakery at the grocery store again June 1. It took me until four days ago to want to kill someone. That's not bad. But I'm going to complain anyway. What's a blog if not therapy? Most of the people who read this work twice as hard as me (coffeesnob) and I have no right to complain. But today I don't care.

Working 8-5 5-6 days/week. Get screamed at for punching out late (I really leave between 5:30 and 6:30). Boss tells me "working faster is this wonderful new concept, you should try it". Fridays my co-worker (who freaks the fuck out whenever I ask questions, but if I do anything wrong gets all upset - can't win) says she's schizo. It's true, Fridays suck because we have to bake bread for the weekend, do a bunch of orders and get like three different loads in that all need to be put away in the negative twenty degree freezer sometime inbetween it all. But on Saturdays my boss, my boss' boss, my boss' boss' boss, the store manager, and occasionally the owner and owner's son all hang around the bakery impeding our progress, asking stupid questions, joking with us grunts because they're oh-so-in-touch, giving us new orders to do this and that and add this and that (without adding employees or hours) and making my co-worker even more frazzled.

UGH!

The upside of the bakery: no meat. I am not up to my elbows in ham and franks like in the deli. Not swimming in raw (and often questionable) fish or racking raw chickens for hours. All good things. Don't have to wear my "other" shoes because of drippings and ickiness. But I do have to exercize unbelievable amounts of self-control not to eat frosting and cake all day long. I think I gained five pounds my first week back - even with all the running around and heavy lifting.

So I get home at the end of the day, take off my horrible little uniform, and lie on the floor and stretch my aching body (I didn't remember how much physical work the bakery involves versus the deli or the kitchen). I spend half an hour on the floor stressing over The Fiancee's lack of hours, my inability to get more, how I can manage to make my schedule match hers more (only one day a week together, and when she works she leaves just as I get home), and the rest of it. Then shower, wine, food, wine, tv, wine, and, finally, bed-later-than-I-should-because-I-love-being-exhausted-at-work-oh-so-very-much.

So the blog has been neglected. While I'm bagging bread I'm writing blog entries in my head. Sad, I know. I hope to get to writing down a few of the ones festering in my brain in the next few days. The Fiancee's working a few nights that leave me home alonely in the near future, so maybe I can get them done then.

Oh, and planning a wedding is not stressful at all. There aren't a million little aspects to worry about and two mothers of the bride trying to help and get their two cents in. Nope. No stress here.