When I was a teenager, I moved in with my father and my stepmom. Stepmom was a Very Clean Person. (And yes, the caps are necessary.) It took some getting used to because while my mom wasn't a slob, I'm pretty sure she dusted once a year. Maybe.
At my Stepmom's house, whenever the dishes were done drying in the rack, they were inspected by Stepmom before they went back in the cabinet. If they weren't properly done, they went back in the sink and whoever had to wash dishes the night before got stuck with the chore again. One day, Stepmom made split pea soup. I had to wash the ginormo pot.
The next day it was in the sink again. So I washed it.
In the morning, it was there again. So I washed it before I left for school.
It was in the sink when I came home.
Three days this went on. Starting the second day, I was washing that damn pot twice a day. I began to absolutely dread walking into the kitchen. The pot was back, it was always back, it never ever ever went the fuck away! I didn't even like split pea soup and here it was, haunting me! It all culminated in a screaming argument. She accused me of intentionally missing a flake of soup on the handle, I accused her of being a psychotic bitch. Pretty even, don't you think? No? Okay, maybe she was a little harsh.
Anyway, my job is starting to feel a bit like washing the dishes, and I have my own, special split pea soup pan. Oh so yay.
On a happier note, I'm pleased to report that my resume is updated and I've applied to a couple other positions. Light at the end of the tunnel.
At my Stepmom's house, whenever the dishes were done drying in the rack, they were inspected by Stepmom before they went back in the cabinet. If they weren't properly done, they went back in the sink and whoever had to wash dishes the night before got stuck with the chore again. One day, Stepmom made split pea soup. I had to wash the ginormo pot.
The next day it was in the sink again. So I washed it.
In the morning, it was there again. So I washed it before I left for school.
It was in the sink when I came home.
Three days this went on. Starting the second day, I was washing that damn pot twice a day. I began to absolutely dread walking into the kitchen. The pot was back, it was always back, it never ever ever went the fuck away! I didn't even like split pea soup and here it was, haunting me! It all culminated in a screaming argument. She accused me of intentionally missing a flake of soup on the handle, I accused her of being a psychotic bitch. Pretty even, don't you think? No? Okay, maybe she was a little harsh.
Anyway, my job is starting to feel a bit like washing the dishes, and I have my own, special split pea soup pan. Oh so yay.
On a happier note, I'm pleased to report that my resume is updated and I've applied to a couple other positions. Light at the end of the tunnel.
2 Comments:
oooh, Good for you, and good luck with the job search. It will feel SO good not to have to wash that damn pot again!
Loved this presentation. LMAO. Great analogy. Good luck with the job search--unpleasable people are pointless to work for! Good for you.
Thanks for the compliment on my haircut :-)
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