Wasteful

I've ignored this blog, not that anyone's reading. Is anyone's reading? I think half the time I'm keeping this record is because I want to write about work, but I also like to entertain people. Sadly, this isn't an entertainment blog - it's a blog about work. Go figure.

I think Bossman's thinking of cutting Brandon from the work list. Estella and he talked about it. Apparently, after him and Fred went to go pick up the barricades, Brandon said he was leaving. He signed out and left. Bossman said he didn't say for him to go and Estella sure as hell didn't either. This left Julie to do extra work at the gate. I couldn't relieve her as I've taken on clean up. The only thing keeping Bossman from axing Brandon is the fact we'll be short a guy.

I don't know how I feel about the guy. Half of me is annoyed by his constant bickering, the other half is apathetic.

Behind Enemy Lines

Bossman said something strange when I entered the building to sign in. "He's not one," he said, naming me. When Estella walked it, it was the same. Apparently, former-Super had gone into work to drop off his keys. He said with him, five people will surely quit. Bossman was just wondering which of his employees would choose a side. I'm a neutral party.

Brandon was in parking. Early on, he said he wasn't going to stay the long period. This meant that I was going to get gate duty when Julie left. And sure enough, there I was standing at the gate, making sure people don't leave with beer. Time passed, and I noticed that no one was coming to take my place.

Bossman had left Brandon go home early because he'd complained the night before, not wanting to be at the gate. It's not fair, though, because later in the night as I rushed to get the rooms cleaned, Bossman looked at me with this air of anger. "I'm the son of a super woman, I'm not a super man," I wanted to say. Even my mother would've struggled to clean the suites if she had to stand at the gate because some lazy, whiny white boy didn't want to work. It's alright. Tonight Fred's going to be at the game, and I'll leave him at the gate while I go and clean the rooms. I refuse to relieve Brandon and I have made my complaint with Estella about it.

Two more games for this home stand, and then I'm on break for four days. I can only anticipate the hell I'm going to have when things blow up and Brandon takes the inevitable step in quitting the moment when it's announce that he's stuck in the lot.

The times are a changin'

It's a Bob Dylan song playing on a continuous loop. Since last Thursday, when I missed because I was sick, things have been slowly changing at the stadium. Yesterday, the major changes began. Super was fired.

I was outside before work, as usual, reading. I went inside the main office to see if the sign in sheet was there. It wasn't, so I went back outside and went back to reading. Afterward, Super came out of the doors. He looked at me, eyes distant. He was frowning. Rough day, I was guessing. He mumbled, "I'll be right back." His voice was farther away. I didn't think anything of it. Soon after he stepped out of the gates, Bossman came up to me and leaned upon the table in front of me.

"Things are going to be different," he said. I thought he was talking about my new work load. It didn't matter, I signed up for it. "How much of a load will it be if we were to take the barricades?"

"Like one by one? We can take two at a time, but that's walking back and forth. It's going to be a lot of work."

I still hadn't caught on. I told him Fred had a truck and we'd use his. I called Estella to get his number. Fred didn't answer, so I looked up and saw Brandon (the new guy) walk in. He has a truck. We used his. When we get back from setting up, Fred greets us with the bags. Estella is somewhere inside. He tells me that Super's gone for the day. Things aren't making much sense. Was he sick?

I take parking two's bag and Estella comes out. She tells us what has just taken place. She's now our supervisor. Apparently Super had run out of warnings and Bossman had to do the final thing. It was sad to see him go. I know I didn't really like the guy because I didn't really know him well. But any man willing to show you his scars is worth knowing. Things will change.

After setting up, the Deal Maker (who I never speak to, but yesterday was different) pulled up and asked if I wanted to do promotions. I said that I didn't really like people, which is why I'm in parking. We closed up lot 2 and I was going to trade places with Brandon. When arriving, Deal Maker stayed on his cell and told me to get back into the car because they wanted me inside instead. From now on, lot 1 will be the only entrance to the game. I can only imagine the hell that will be the parking lot. Of course, on Thursday's all three will be open and not free.

For the meanwhile, I'm still to report at my same time, mop up the suites that need it, replace paper towel and toilet paper in the restrooms and sweep up excess crap. Then I'm wherever they put me. I'm going to ask if I can do Estella's old job in the meanwhile, because after a while, I'm just a guy walking around. I don't want to be on that list.

We're going to see a few people quitting, mostly the Ticket Troll girls. Super always left them go, Estella's not as nice. They have to stay until the end, is what she always said. Yesterday, the one who arrived caught word of the change and knew that she would have to stay. She faked her daughter's sickness and went home.

No one said working outside the diamond was going to be pretty.

Drama at the Work Place

Go figure. With a "new" team and "new" management, you'd think that things finally in the stadium would be graceful and happy. Wrong. With the new schedules now in place, I'm not longer a parking lot Nazi, but a parking lot Nazi slash Ticket Troll as well.

That's not the worse part. I work at the stadium for two reasons:

1. My mother works there so getting the job wasn't hard
2. I like chasing cars to collect tolls (which I'm not allowed to do anymore)

And I was in agreement that parking three (or four, whichever it is now) would be my home lot. I'm uncomfortable being in the throes of people. It's part of my anxiety problem (which correlates with a series of mental issues like depression and neurotic behavior). Bossman doesn't like us getting too comfortable in our positions so he wants to expand them. Now I'm in the risk of heat stroke come Thursday and conked on the head by a foul ball on Saturday. This hardly seems fair.

But to add injury to insult, Bossman decided yesterday (on my day off) to attack my mother for doing her job. While the men maintenance workers sit on their backsides most of the day, my mother was doing their job. And it's not a lie, or an over exaggeration. One of these guys used to work on the lot before he decided he wanted more hours (like I did) and request to be transferred to maintenance (like I did, but unlike him, didn't get). On Sunday, said guy was out with his father when I was called in, rather than picking up and cleaning the stadium.

Looks like it's going to be a hell of a season. Let's just hope this blog doesn't get me into trouble. And if it does, then I guess I'll just have to write an inside report. Simple as that.