Work has been terribly busy besides Mondays, but even they have attracted a small crowd. I'm talking about my Thursdays and Saturdays. And we get by with just enough help. Saturday not enough. The boss works Saturdays, so somehow he thinks he can do the work of two people--at 60+ and a hardcore pot smoker. His head's in a thick cloud and his problem is he never takes advice, even when he should.

Chris is leaving for India this month. January 26th is his last day, if he shows up. I told him him it'd be awesome if he didn't, just to stick it to the man, which is what Chris is all about. I am already fuming during my shifts picturing us a man down. I asked my boss to rehire Mike Rieck, a guy who is super nice to work with and super good to Joe's customers. Mike Rieck liked to call off work too much, 'getting Riecked' is how my boss refers to it, so his chances of donning the greasy shirt again are slim, which is unfortunate for everyone except dickhead boss, apparently.

The incentive to put the new Bachelor's degree to use is mighty powerful. I've got to use what is to my advantage. Being short-staffed makes me snippy with customers, versus my usual loving, smiling self. I guess it's psychological. My bit of freedom is in jeopardy and I'm responding.

My boss is also being stupid about this retarded cookie menu item his grandson told him he eats somewhere in Arizona. There exists a small deep dish pan for such a purpose. My boss bought one, a tub of cookie dough, and vanilla ice cream. The plan to copy is make a cookie in his hot as hell pizza oven and serve it up with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Being cheap, the boss is totally ignoring the deep dish aspect of the pan and serving a dinky, overcooked, everyday chocolate chip cookie on a paper plate, mind you, with a minimal amount of ice cream.

My suggestions: add more dough and cook it for less time because the oven is hotter than the recipe calls for. 'Nah,' he always says with his left eye squinting. 'Nah,' I told my husband, 'I quit!'