Multi-tasking with heart.

I'm a proud multi-tasker. As a woman, that's not surprising, I know. In my anthropology class I took my sophomore year in college, my professor stated that, on average, men can do 3 things at once while women can do 11 to 12.

I like to push the envelope and shoot for 13, on a bad day.

Today was a bad Monday. Although, I think we can all agree that Mondays are always doomed to be bad. Sorry Monday but you're reputation is sealed. Sunday however...what's this new thing with "Sunday Funday?"

Catholics wouldn't be pleased.

But, I digress.

This Monday, was a spectacular presentation of wrong. Everything ran to Wrong and Right (which resides in my fierce worker's heart) was left cold, wet, and pissed off.

First order of Mr. Wrong: make rain. Lots of loud, cursing-at-6-am-wakeupcall-rain. There's the first hint of dread as you rub your eyes and 1. realize the rain and it's pounding consistency and 2. the register! The third thought quickly sighs with defeat that you officially work too much.

The register at Peabody's is no grand gesture to technology. It does simple. Buttons to the conceded price. Charge or Cash button. Void or Coupon when needed. It does math, which I think is as fancy as it gets. However, this register has one kryptonite: water. Like any electric invention, it is not a fan of water. Most objects don't understand, clearly, that life or death can exist. Us humans give them that soul. The register at Peabody's has the soul of old man pretending like he knows less than he really does. He puts on an act, poor me-old me, but in actuality it knows EXACTLY what it's doing. Wrong and all.

Ten minutes till 7am and I look at Sir Old Register and I know instantly: dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Granted there's only droplets. But all hell is unleashed the moment I try to RIGHT the WRONG and begin to gently wipe Old Reg down. I'm gentle cause I want him to know that he should NOT go into the light and instead come back to me: the owner of the loving fingers that remind him each day: you matter.

He comes back.

For shits and giggles.

The shits: he beeps and beeps and rings up 70 blended drinks

3.95

3.95

3.95

on and on and on and on.

My total is 61.70. Giggles.

Void.

Nope, Old ShitReg doesn't believing in voiding after he's seen the light.

My-I-mention, I have not eaten. When I do not eat, especially breakfast, you DO NOT want to NOT void when I say so.

He finally shuts up. And I void. And we open. One last giggle.

Good Morning. Kinda.

A few regulars stream in. He's fidgety but he's doing his job. He dings and opens. Dings and opens. And then, he finds the light, again.

The last of his lively efforts was robbery.

Old, nasty thief trapped all the cash in its small, plastic drawer. It's a bad thing when on a Monday morning you begin to beat, furiously, at an old man and his plastic draw.

It's been two hours. And I've done 2-2 things. Beat and apologize to each customer. Bagels aren't all wrapped. The counters are wet and messy. Ice bin is still empty and needs to be fetched. It's RAINING. And I keep getting looks from the customers as though I maliciously decided to make it impossible for them to get their coffee and cheese danish. Yes, today I woke up and decided to NOT do my job.

I didn't start doing 11-12 things, furthermore, 13, until about 10am.

It stopped raining. The sun came out. My clothes dried and I

1. cleaned the counters

2. grind coffee

3. brewed coffee

4. double-checked the order for the week

5. grab coffee and replace.

6. clean counters

7. organized the sheds

8. texted manager

9. rearranged milks to fit cold tea pitchers

10. pulled shot

11. steamed milk

12. stir, lid, and sleeve

13. asked, "how did your jazz concert on sat. night go, richard? "

13. That's the one that makes all the rest worth anything.