The off season has hit in full force. Today I spent several hours on my hands and knees in nylons and a short skirt no less, scrubbing table bases and the underbits of chairs. This part of work drives me insane. If I could only work, and make money, and then go home when there's nothing to do, all would be a lark. Instead, when people aren't there, I run around inventing things to do (ie: merge tabasco bottles) to look busy enough that the boss won't decide that I need to do something even "funner" and more useless (ie: scrub down the baseboards with a toothbrush and wood polish). Why is it unacceptable to stand and read a book? When all the sidework for the day is done, and there's nothing more to chop, merge, clean, polish, wipe down, pick up, squeeze, restock or roll, why can't one stand still? And since I spend almost two hours a day without pay getting to and from work, it stands to reason in my own brain that all non-customered time, after the sidework is done, should be guilt-free. Think of all the books one could read in between breakfast and lunch, otherwise spent picking lint balls out of the carpet.
Don't rub your eyes after merging tabasco bottles. Hurts like the Dickens.