Return to hell

The other night (Tuesday, to be exact) I had to go back to the Applebee's I worked at down here. Why, you ask (or not, because it's not really that interesting)? Because I hadn't received my W-2 form yet. I kept waiting, hoping it would come. I kept having my parents check their houses to see because I couldn't remember which address I had given for my mail to be sent (I rotate between home where my mom lives & where my dad lives while he's at work, but regardless it will get the job done). Neither of them had it.

Great.

That meant I'd have to go back to that place where I wasn't exactly revered, or even liked that much (if you need a refresher or a crash-course in my trials at that place, they're all chronicled in my posts from September of last year). I didn't leave on the best terms, either, having given a fill-in manager a letter of resignation & a hug for being nice.

I get out there & ask the bartender with dreads (I love her hair) to see the manager for my W-2. I'm hoping it's one of the nicer managers. Of course it isn't. It's the short one who glares all the time. I'm surprisingly not upset & shake his hand & his reception to me could have used some work (eh, whatever). He gives me the number of the place I need to call to get a re-print W-2 & I thank him. Trying to make small-talk, I asked how he was doing & he was like, "Good" & just kind of walked off. On my way out I started talking to the bartender, until Napoleon Complex comes up & stands around, acting like he's trying to intimidate me into leaving. I just rolled my eyes called it a night.

At least I handled myself well.

Edit: It turns out that my parents did get my W-2 & didn't realize it because I've worked at 3 Applebee's in the past year. So I'm viewing my little trip out to Wellington, FL as a source of closure.