zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
I go weeks not posting, then I don't stop posting all night. 's just, well, I managed to get myself all depressed with my last post, so I am going to share one of my silver-lining happy moments from work:

S., the friend at work who discovered a few month that she has stage 4 breast cancer, is undergoing heavy-duty chemo. So she is nauseous a lot. A lot a lot. And since she has cancer nodules on her lungs, she doesn't want to smoke out to deal with the nausea.

And the entire Coop came together to strategize (a) finding her a supplier and (b) inventive ways to get the pot into her body that don't involve either smoke or sugar. Seriously, it was awesome. All the generations of staff, managers and grunts, we all stopped bitching at each other for a few days and helped her break the law. It was beautiful.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/07/31/AR2008073101540.html?hpid=topnews

This? Is hilarious. And it's even more hilarious (and heartbreaking) because the way I found out about it was that the guy arrested, was arrested in the parkinglot behind our work, and there was a whole "take-down" with four officers, a stake-out, unmarked cars, guns drawn... because of some weed and a freakin' turtle. When it went down, we thought it had to be either heroin at the very least, national security at the worst; instead it was marijuana. Lame.

And, of course, my boss, being batshit insane, tried to intercede on the guy's behalf, until A pulled her down and was yelling "They have guns!", somehow managing not to call her a moron for getting between the equally batshit insane DC police and their target. Did anyone else hear about how the police broke into the Berwyn Heights mayor's house on drug charges and shot the two dogs? My. Fucking. God.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
On Wednesday, I returned from my usual lunch out in the sun, and about thirty minutes later heard a *whoosh* as if a bucket had been perched over a half-open door, but instead it was the sky falling. A hundred million buckets, all at once, drenched the Coop parking lot, managing to flood uphill under the backdoor, down two flights of stairs, etc. Lights flickered but the registers didn't go out, so we stayed open while refugees came in, soaking wet, to drink our Fair Trade organic coffee and wait for the deluge to pass.

When lightning started cracking across the sky, and the radio began to say things like "tornado watch", I resigned myself to not going swimming after work, and consoled myself that I still had meditation class and then dinner with my godmother, who was in town for a conference.

I made it downtown, finally, and was soaked up to my knees immediately. The streets were more like rivers and there were downed trees everywhere so traffic was all snarled up, visibility virtually nil. There was a sign on the door at the Buddhist Center: "Class is cancelled; my basement is flooded." Ah well; 'samsara sucks'.

I looked up my godmother's hotel and braved traffic and rain-soaked embassies to get there. Parked in front of the Embassy of Cameroon (v. pretty), I waited for the rain to let up a little then dashed a few blocks to a v. nice hotel where they said she hadn't checked in yet, but feel free to wait in our sitting room, and do please try our coffee. A surreal smear against the elegance: an issue of Cosmo on the table next to the ornate fireplace, so I read about a man's g-spot and how to have gorgeous summer hair and Carmen Electra's advice on getting guys ("be me"). And waited. And waited.

Because of course her plane couldn't land because of the thunderstorm.

We finally did make it to dinner, though, which was heavenly, and had a thoroughly good time, and had a thoroughly good key lime pie, and I was happy-fuzzy driving home through scattered showers, when I got a call from an unlisted number. It being 11-something, I figured it was a wrong number but answered anyway. It was my boss, letting me know that the power had gone out shortly after I'd left, that it was still out and was expected to be for quite some time, and tomorrow we'd be busy putting the entire refrigerated section into the dumpster.

Refrigerated is my section, and I keep it well-stocked, and today we had to throw out sandwiches, hummus, our entire cheese case, pie, yogurt galore, tofu, orange juice, fresh meat, and gallon upon gallon upon gallon of milk. I almost cried as I was chucking those $19-a-pound grass-fed organic steaks away. And my boss had tried calling shelters, but no one wanted to come pick up ten grand's worth of high-end organic dairy, and by the time I'd heard about it (one of two staff members with a car--we both make a lot of trips to the food bank) it was too late, everyone was closed for the night and it would all be spoiled by morning.

It was a painful, painful day. Cheese I'd sliced and wrapped at 4:30 yesterday I had to throw out today because at 5:30 the power went out. I had to count the individual yogurts by hand as I threw them in trashbags. The dumpster was overflowing; a dumpster-diver's dream. All the specialty raw foods, the sliced organic meats that cost $7 for six ounces; all these things I can't afford and would love to be able to, and I had to throw them out. Me. The person who was raised to respect food and never, ever waste it because the people who put it on the table had gone through some times that were pretty near to starvation, and taught me that we were damn lucky to have anything.

It was the 5th of the month, the Coop's Member Appreciation Day. We didn't open until 1 pm, and as I left the next shift was tackling the backstock milk downstairs. The shelves are completely bare, and I have to stock those empty shelves tomorrow when my replacement order arrives. I don't think I'll make it to the pool tomorrow, either.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
Seriously bizarre thing happened at work today... I was over at the other store, bringing them an order of cheese and picking up an order of tofu (and when did this become my exciting life?) and there's a woman there I'm friendly with, we talk supplements and the Local 400 and sunshine every once in a while. But she's never touched me before, and today she got really really close into my personal bubble and while I'm a touchy-feely person with those I know well it completely freaked me out because I don't know her well, and usually I'm the person to initiate touch, and there's a certain control to that. And she's easily twice my age and although upon consideration I would totally dig aging hippies I was totally not prepared for that kind of come-on. At work.

Anyways. Unprocessed thoughts. Kinda freaked out. Made me reconsider my personal stance on touch. Which I seem to need a lot more than many people I know, or maybe I'm just starved for it, but I'm just now realizing that I can count on one hand the number of people I let touch me. Two hands if you count the people I see once a year or less. Huh.

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