Today is November 1st Thursday. I’ve been working all week at a different Ross store, a closer one in Plano. And it’s been tough. It’s not that it’s strenuous work; it’s just very taxing working in such a mismanaged business. I understand that the store has just opened and that most of the staff is new, but they are so unorganized that hardly anything gets down, especially considering the army of temporary people they have working there (or trying to work there). Most of us temps want to work, but we are continually confronted with the store’s employees who give us no information, wrong info, or are just sloughing off. They are all nice people but none of them really knows what is going on, other than the store manager, and she can only be in one place at a time. I’ve been trying to act responsible and been attempting to organize the stock room, but with the limited information I get and the lack of authority I have it really gets frustrating. Today I told myself not to get so wrapped up in it—after all I’m only temporary. Around lunch time, when we were unloading some trucks in the rain, the store manager asked me if I was looking for a permanent job. I had thought of just laughing hysterically, but I said I was, in a sarcastic sort of way. She said, “I know, you’d want more money.” I said, “It’d take more money and some authority to make some changes,” and we left it at that.
I finally wrote my Mom a letter and sent her some copies of my photos. And for some reason I went into a description of what it is like living here with Dave and his family. I wrote (more or less): I’ve met people that I’ve never seen before on this trip that I’ve been able to talk to and be friends with immediately. And then there have been some that I just haven’t been able to talk with. Dave’s wife Cindy is one of those. Maybe we are two different personalities and sort of clash. But I make attempts to talk conversationally with her, but she says as little as is necessary, usually without looking at me. Although they’ve been hospitable in letting me stay here, I still feel uncomfortable. I come into a house where I have to take off my shoes outside before coming inside; where food magically appears on the table the second Dave walks in the door; Davie gets spanked for not picking up his crayons, and he cries and then steps on and hits the kitten, and then gets spanked again, “You gotta be nice to the kitty,” and he cries even harder, probably out of sheer confusion and/or frustration.
I’ll take the peace and quiet of the camper I’ve been staying in in the backyard (the guest house, as Dave put it). It seems big and roomy after living in my van. The one good thing I’ve picked up from the family life is I’ve taken to settling down after supper, instead of worrying about doing something. I sit and read or write and hope to start drawing. I’m usually accompanied by their “outside” cat Peaches. Peaches is a big old orange tom cat who is starved for affection and won’t let you stop petting him, and Creamy is their white furry kitten that stays inside. (Get it, Peaches and Cream?) I asked Dave the other day if I could take Peaches with me when I go, but he said, “No way.”
I knew I would run pretty low on money before I got paid, and I have. Right now I have seven cents. That’s it besides some bucks I’ve got in savings up in Minnesota. Maybe I should’ve sent for a twenty or so a while back. I guess I figured I could borrow a few from Dave, since he seemed to be doing so good. I finally asked him today but it turns out that he’s pretty broke, too. I was supposed to get a check in the mail yesterday or today for that day I worked last Saturday. Hopefully it will come in tomorrow’s mail. I ran out of gas this evening on the way home from work and had to use the gas in my “insurance” can. That should be enough to get to work and back tomorrow.