The kitchen is far too close to the bedroom for me to be able to do the dishes right now at 1:13 in the morning. The possibility of Musette sleeping through the noise is slim, though I did sleep through her doing them this morning as she was preparing a crunchy peanut butter smeared waffle breakfast served with coffee and half an everything bagel.
The cereal bowls have lasagna in them. That will not be appetizing tomorrow as I am getting ready for work. The thought of gulping down cereal milk still tainted with the cheesy meat sauce disgusts me, but I’m probably going to do it anyways.
We watch Saturday Night Live. Adam Driver is the host. Fred Armisen comes on and shows one of David Bowie’s performances. I’m constantly underwhelmed by David Bowie. It seems like he was a cool guy, and I like some of his songs, but I’m not his biggest fan. Some people were going wild with sadness when he died, like Ulric, who made me listen to his songs my entire shift. He made Esteban, who worked the night shift after me, do it as well. Esteban complained about it the whole time, telling Ulric that the reason he liked David Bowie so much is because he is old. This is a big part of the reason Ulric fired Esteban. He didn’t respect him. Just play the songs, dude. It’s your job. But not anymore. He fired him on Friday, waiting for him to come in after my shift. Poor kid. It’s probably for his own good though. I told Ulric to wait until he had someone else hired. Now he’s trying to get me to work the weekends, but this is the year I stop taking shit from people, and Musette’s not having any of it. I told him no. Linda’s covering his shifts at the moment, but I know that Ulric’s not happy with me. I make my bosses work for me. If I don’t like ‘em, I fire ‘em. Musette isn’t going to be too worked up about it. It will be stressful, the lack of income, but she’d rather have time with me.