In Which, I Though I Was Done

Yesterday was originally my last shift at the coffee shop. However, when I went in earlier this week, I saw my name down on the schedule for next week. I was obviously confused, as I had put in my two weeks notice. I knew this, my manager knew this, my coworkers knew this, even you all on the internet knew this. And yet, there I was. On the schedule. I was even scheduled on my birthday, which was a big ol' Hell No - 2 weeks notice or otherwise.
It took some work to pin my manager to the wall to see what the eff had happened. I maintain she was doing her best to avoid me - our District Manager had just come through and dinged us for a bunch of stuff we were doing wrong and I suspect she was in some mildly deep shit. That being said - I don't really care. This whole "Working beyond my 2 weeks" thing is kind of important. My fellow coworkers asked whether or not I was going to show up-because I didn't really have to and they wouldn't blame me if I didn't.
I frankly found that upsetting, that they lived in a world that if I ditched them, they'd be resigned to it.
Once my manager used her Grown Up Words, it was revealed that it was either put me on the schedule or cancel her vacation.
Now, I'm not really a cold hard bitch like that. I don't wanna see anyone cancel their vacation, no matter how much I don't like working there. However - I basically said, "What's in it for me?" and we went from there. I maneuvered my way from a lot of hours not-so-many hours and my manager gets her holiday. (And I'm sooooooooo not working my birthday).

Like Bing Crosby says - Everyone's working a little angle. I have no problem working it to my advantage if I have to.

In completely unrelated news...

I had to go to the dentist earlier this week and worked myself into a veritable tizzy over it. I haven't seen a dentist since I was about 26 and lost my dental insurance due to aging out. I also haven't seen a dentist because the dentist I was seeing died.
...I really liked my dentist. I used to be terrified of him, but he was really excellent. And then he died. I wasn't terribly keen on finding another one who didn't scare the living crap out of me. Not having insurance also didn't help the situation. He did a lot of work on my mouth-probably bought him a condo in Boca or something.

Well, fast forward to this past weekend. I had a bit of a toothache, but ignored it. I grind my teeth like a maniac when I sleep and thought maybe it was from that. I've had teeth hurt from doing it in the past, but the ache has gone away (despite wearing a mouthpiece - I'm super sexy when I drool, just ask the BF).
This tooth, however, just kept on hurting. So on Monday I make an appointment with the BFs dentist, whom he says is superb. I tell him he had better be, or I'll kill him later.
I drive myself over in a state of near hysteria and end up feeling kind of stupid because the dentist ended up taking an x-ray and poking the tooth and doing nothing else.
It turns out the tooth that hurts has had some serious work done in the past (root canal and crown) and basically shouldn't be hurting. It's a long story as to why it might be hurting, but I'm on an antibiotic now and it's helping.

It also tastes like ass.


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