Once again, Estella had to come for me because the car is still at City Limits (a repair shop that is taking a sweet ass time fixing the problem). When arriving, Javi wasn't there and Estella had said that Fred wasn't going to be able to make it because of his work at the hospital. It looked like it was going to be me and maybe a girl. Impossible because it was Thirsty Thursday and those days are usually busy on all three lots.
Both Estella and I set up and I'm placed in lot 2 for the time being. My mother relieves me of my position to send me to lot 3, which upsets me because my mother doesn't know how to take tolls (it's not as easy as it seems and beginners usually struggle).
In lot 3, I take in 25 paying patrons and a few who slipped my radar. Because I've only been working at the stadium for two years (I started in 2007, wasn't hired in 2008 because the Coyotes were bastards and this is my second year), I don't know much about the history. So as we're picking up the horses, I ask Super how long it has been since parking 3 was only a dollar. His response was about five or so years. I grimace because every day there's one jerk who tells me otherwise.
As we're putting away the horses, Super asks me why it is I don't drive. I told him I was working on it, but it's mostly due to my anxiety problem. He sympathized, stating his oldest daughter has the same problem. It makes me feel good that I'm not alone in the world.
After putting the horses away, I head back to the bank to pick up my bags before going over to the covered area to "watch the game and relax" for a bit. What I wind up doing, however, was sit there and read Idoru by William Gibson. However, before leaving the bank, I sit there to take a breather and suck up some cool air. It was then that one of the bankers acknowledged who I am. Shocked that I'm the brother of a former RA's bartender, she states that I am nothing like him. The other banker recognizes the name and is also in awe. I like keeping my familial relations closeted. I never ever, under any circumstance, let others know whose little brother I am. I find life simpler that way.
At the end of the night, one of the ladies who works for the team was crying. Apparently, White Wings' coach is a douche bag who gets his kicks off cussing out young ladies. I'm sure his anger was fueled by the fact the teams almost started a brawl, sending one of our players out of the game. I still don't think that's reason to cuss out someone who was only doing her job. She spent her own money to provide them food, which he demanded her to take out of the box - "Get that shit out of here!" He also refused to reimburse her. It was no way to treat her and way out of line. I think I might heckle should I go in early.
Both Estella and I set up and I'm placed in lot 2 for the time being. My mother relieves me of my position to send me to lot 3, which upsets me because my mother doesn't know how to take tolls (it's not as easy as it seems and beginners usually struggle).
In lot 3, I take in 25 paying patrons and a few who slipped my radar. Because I've only been working at the stadium for two years (I started in 2007, wasn't hired in 2008 because the Coyotes were bastards and this is my second year), I don't know much about the history. So as we're picking up the horses, I ask Super how long it has been since parking 3 was only a dollar. His response was about five or so years. I grimace because every day there's one jerk who tells me otherwise.
As we're putting away the horses, Super asks me why it is I don't drive. I told him I was working on it, but it's mostly due to my anxiety problem. He sympathized, stating his oldest daughter has the same problem. It makes me feel good that I'm not alone in the world.
After putting the horses away, I head back to the bank to pick up my bags before going over to the covered area to "watch the game and relax" for a bit. What I wind up doing, however, was sit there and read Idoru by William Gibson. However, before leaving the bank, I sit there to take a breather and suck up some cool air. It was then that one of the bankers acknowledged who I am. Shocked that I'm the brother of a former RA's bartender, she states that I am nothing like him. The other banker recognizes the name and is also in awe. I like keeping my familial relations closeted. I never ever, under any circumstance, let others know whose little brother I am. I find life simpler that way.
At the end of the night, one of the ladies who works for the team was crying. Apparently, White Wings' coach is a douche bag who gets his kicks off cussing out young ladies. I'm sure his anger was fueled by the fact the teams almost started a brawl, sending one of our players out of the game. I still don't think that's reason to cuss out someone who was only doing her job. She spent her own money to provide them food, which he demanded her to take out of the box - "Get that shit out of here!" He also refused to reimburse her. It was no way to treat her and way out of line. I think I might heckle should I go in early.
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