Today was the big sewing event. It went pretty well; the disasters from years past were the same size, but since the room was bigger, it wasn't so bad.
Sometimes I think I want to be in charge. I'm convinced that the event would work out much better that way. For example, I'd give people a job to do so that jobs actually got done. And I wouldn't lose the money (three damn years in a row they can't find the bank bag full of cash). This year I decided to empty the cash drawer as the head honchos were doing other things.
I separated the receipts and the money. I closed the bag with the cash in it. Zzzzzzzip. The bag with the receipts wouldn't close so I put rubber bands around it. Boiiing boiing boiing. Then I held it in my hot little hand.
The Model arrived and attempted to take the money. I said "Um, Pollytyranna is the manager. She should really hang onto this so she knows where it is. That way it won't get lost like it did last year."
I didn't say it quite like that. I think I was a snippy bitch, saying something like, "It's Pollytyranna's responsibility. It's her job to keep track of it. She needs to keep it. That way if the damn thing gets lost, we'll know good and well what moron lost it." I didn't say the last part. I think people heard it, though. The women around me groaned, remembering the panic and chaos of last year.
So when Polly shows up, the women around me said to Polly, "Yes, you're the manager. It's your job to take care of this," she rolls her eyes like "Why am I so put upon?!" She takes the money, though. She has now thrown it in a shopping bag that has a bunch of other stuff in it.
So we pack up a van, one SUV, and three cars full of merchandise and junk and fixtures and who the hell knows what. We unpack a van, one SUV, and three cars full of merchandise. Our tiny store has overflowed with baskets, boxes, bins, and, you guessed it, shopping bags.
Guess what Polly and the Model can't find!
The money.
I don't know if they found it because I went home feeling like a vindicated shrew.
But Mrs. Parker would know what to say to them if they came to her to ask if she'd seen the money.
She'd say, "You can take a flying shit on an old grey goose."
How do you like them apples?
And I still think I'd like to be in charge.
Posted by dotty at October 29, 2003 09:42 PM