So I get there at 10 like it says on the sheet, and it transpires that the bastard who runs the shops has neglected to tell anyone that I was meant to be there, so nobody knows who I am or where I'm supposed to be.
So they call him. And he comes and is incredibly unpleasant to me for ten minutes straight - pretty much starting at "Well, you can hardly expect me to remember someone like you. There's nothing for you to do here, but I suppose if you've got to be here you may as well sweep the floor next door or something" and heading downhill from that. So I went next door, and the guy behind the counter took one look at me and said "Brian's been having a go at you, right?" I said he hadn't told me his name but I figured we meant the same guy.
The guy behind the counter shut his shop, took me into the backroom, made me a cup of tea, sat me down and said that in the five years he'd been there, he'd wanted to run out more times than he could count because of Brian - and Brian was relatively nice to him. He said that Brian had probably asked me to come in on a Sunday because that would mean there were no personnel staff around to keep a rein on him, and that if he'd decided I was someone he was going to be a bastard to, it wasn't ever going to get any better and would probably get worse, and I'd be far, far better off trying to find a job somewhere else, and he was very sorry and he wished it hadn't had to happen like that because he'd have enjoyed working with me.
So I left.
I've called my parents, who were extraordinarily good about it. Thank god. And I'll be trying to find something else to do.
All of which means, among other things, that I'm going to be at The Calling on Tuesday (at least I plan to be), and I hope there'll be some people there to distract me. ~s~
So today wasn't. Great.
It may improve, later. We'll see.
PS - Oh god, the sheer unbelievable horror of it.
Man. Slash writers. What will they think of next? ~shudder~