Milk is my Sanity

Milk is my sanity. Does that sound weird? Really it's not.
In addition to 16 credit hours, endless laundry, grocery shopping, a time-consuming calling, riding lessons and of course, socializing, I also work part time at the BYU Creamery on Ninth. While I love my 9am-12:30 shift which means that I don't have to give up my precious evenings, there is a catch: Jacki and Jason. The double Js are the general managers of the Creamery and therefore it is in their job description to make my life miserable. Maybe it's because he's a full grown man who wears and apron in his profession 5 days a week, but Jason is quite possibly one of the grumpiest people I've ever met. With his stupid cell phone attached to his ear talking about who knows what, I catch him sneaking around drink coolers and popping out of the isles trying to catch me not doing my job. He is always staring over in the direction of my co-worker and I to ensure that he is getting his ridiculous $7.35 an hour out of us by keeping us busy doing menial chores and subsequently ignoring customers because heaven forbid there is a 60 second lull and we don't leave our registers to sanitize the shopping cart handles for the 100th time that morning. One day I even resorted to scrubbing and sanitizing each one of the shopping baskets just to keep myself busy and avoid his beady little eyes. In addition, there is no where for employees to park their cars during the day so I resorted to trying to hide my car in the Creamery's 30-minute parking lot. Jason, being the annoying busy-body he is, takes to checking the mostly empty lot every half hour to ensure that no hooligan gets away with parking in there longer than 32 minutes. The 30 minute rule is not enforced unless Jason takes it upon himself to call the University Police and have them come ticket the cars, which he was gracious enough to do last Thursday while I was parked in the lot. So after a frustrating hour of stupid customers, facing shelves and endlessly sanitizing every surface imaginable in the store, I walk out to fine a friendly bright green envelop on the hood of my car with a $20.00 parking ticket enclosed: thats about how much I made working that day. One day I'm going to kidnap Jason's precious cell phone, smash it into tiny pieces, pull that giant stick out of his butt and take away his apron and see how powerful he thinks he is.
Milk is the only way I survive. Every so often, it is necessary to check the status of the milk cooler and see if more milk needs to be stocked. While the fridge is a bit chilly, the best part about it is that it's the one place you can be alone, away from the customers, and away from Jason's prying eyes. Without stocking milk I would be utterly lost. I try to take my time while I'm in there, eating up minutes on the clock and singing quietly to myself. The sound of the fans in the cooler drowns everything else out and I can take 5 minutes to collect myself and clear my thoughts. Otherwise I might have punched Jason in the face already, miserable little man. So all I have to say is thank goodness for milk.