I had an accident...

Seriously. I had an accident. And I'm a road sign, apparently. I don't know how it happened, but now I'm not sure what to do about it. Keep reading for more information.

So today, I was bored of Rexburg. Having exhausted all of my "sit around and do nothing" patience yesterday on a How I Met Your Mother marathon, I decided to drive thirty or so minutes away to the closest town of any size, Idaho Falls.

My motivations were simple. 1. Get out of Rexburg. 2. Spend some time alone with my music. 3. Go to the bank to cash that tax return and 4. Buy some stuff for a Halloween costume at Target.

Now, as you may or may not remember, I worked in the Target Bakery for several months about a year ago. Right around this past may, I was dating a guy and trying to figure out a way to move back up to Rexburg so we didn't have to do long distance. As part of this, I put in a request to transfer to the store in Idaho Falls. They never got back to me, and I got a killer nanny job for some fantastic kids in Colorado, broke up with the boyfriend, and ended up having the most ridiculous summer ever.

Right around July, THREE full months later, the Idaho Falls Target calls and asks if I'm still looking for employment with them. I told them I would be returning in September, and I would love a job. They said they'd set up some interviews and would be calling me the following day. They never called. I called them and they never answered or called me back.

Needless to say, the rejection hurt. I thought we had a good relationship going! What we had was special, and I thought they wanted me! My pain turned bitter, I declared every man a jerk, swore off of dating forever, and became a lonely alcoholic. Wait, just kidding, that's a different story.

 To finish this long sidenote, when I came up to school, I realized I didn't want to work at Target EVER AGAIN. So I didn't go in and apply.  I was happily unemployed, and planned on staying that way all semester.

Back to today. 

I went to the bank, and discovered that there was more money in my account than expected, and after doing a small happy dance in my seat, I drove across the parking lot to Target. As always, I ended up spending significantly more money than I intended there, and so I asked the lady to scan my employee discount card just in case it still worked. It didn't. So she asks, "How long has it been since you've been a team member?"

To which I explained that I had been on a leave of absence, but they might have terminated me, since I was trying to transfer to that target but never got an interview. And before I could explain that I was glad for it, since not having a job made sure that I could focus on my schoolwork, she turns to the people in line behind me and says "Hold on a second."

She proceeds to walk towards the Guest Services counter, beckoning me to follow with two short finger curls. I followed, unsure about what was going on. Mystery employee grabs a phone, dials a number, and then says the following:

"Hey Kristy, it's MysteryEmployee. I have a woman here from a target in Colorado who says she's trying to transfer  [which I wasn't] and is here for an interview [which I definitely wasn't]. (Turns to me) what's your name? (Back into the phone) Emily. Yup. Okay. See you soon!" She hung up the phone, turns to me and says "Okay, she'll be right out. I'll wait with you until she gets here!"

At this point, I was standing around like a dog when you throw a blanket over it, entirely unsure of what was going on and not sure how to get out. I was incredibly confused and bewildered by the speed of events. So instead of telling MysteryEmployee that I actually wasn't looking for a job and I had just come to buy some stuffs and had been making polite conversation, I ended up talking to her about something stupid like snow or Black Friday. Before I knew it, two women come out of the back with a folder on which my name was written (Creepy, much?). One introduces herself to me as the lady who had spoken to me on the phone months before and then never called me back. (I bravely held back the tears of a rejection that still stung.) The other was a manager of some kind, and immediately ushered me into the back room, where I found myself in an interview, answering the question "Why do you want to work at Target?"

Now, I should have said, "Actually, I don't. I have no idea how this happened, five minutes ago I was just trying to buy some Halloween stuff and then drive home, I don't want this job. Please don't make me work here again. Whimper."

But the problem is that I was in an interview. These people were under the impression that I had gone there for the express purpose of having an interview and getting hired -- despite the fact that I hadn't showered today, was wearing my oldest jeans with no fewer than three giant holes in the upper-inner-thigh, and had on little to no makeup to hide my lack of sleep the night before. This confused me, so I found myself saying this:

"Um... It's a really good company? (Lie.) I really liked the atmosphere? (Mild lie) and...my coworkers? (More or less not a lie) and how Target treats its employees? (HUGE lie.)"

Ignoring the fact that I had responded with the most uncertainty possible, my interviewer just wrote it down (sans-question marks) and proceeded to the next question. Three minutes later, I was told to go to Food Ave and await my second interview.

So I stumbled dizzily towards the plastic chairs and popcorn smell of the familiar food avenue, pretty certain at this point that I was in a weird dream. Until the second interviewer came out, who was actually just the HR lady from earlier. The second interview went like this:
"Who was the HR person at your store? What was your store number? What time can you get here every day?"

And then she had a verbal debate with herself about whether or not she should put me on the schedule she was making for tomorrow, and which training session I should go to, and how she could figure out how to let me skip the training, since I've already been trained. I was silent and dazed the whole time. I'm beginning to suspect I may have been drugged.

We finished the interview with her saying "Okay, I'll call you tomorrow and we'll get you started as soon as we can! See ya!" To which I responded with something like, "Thanks so much! Have a great day!" And stumbled outside (after trying to go out the "in" doors and feeling stupid,) highly confused and unsure about how that had happened.

As I stood there, blinking and shivering in the wind, I realized the full gravity of what had happened. I had gone to Target to buy ONE THING. I ended up checking out with four items, and within ten minutes, I had accidentally gotten a job that I didn't ask for and didn't really want. I felt kind of like a kid who had been caught peeing her pants at school. Except I was the one who caught myself. My rational self (that knew I wasn't looking for a job, and thinks it would be a bad idea) was standing over my confused, people-pleasing, high-achieving self and frowning, unsure of how to handle the little menace and what she did.

So now the question is this: Do I take the job and drive 35 minutes to work every day for minimum or close to mininum wage, or do I not take the job and give up the extra income? (Which I could DEFINITELY use, by the way.)

Let me know what you think! Or don't. But please do, because comments make me disproportionately happy in comparison with the amount of energy it takes you.  

Also, I linked to some (okay, one) other post in this one, you can tell because some (okay, one) phrase is a different color. You can read it if you want. It's kind of related and might even be interesting, because it talks about my early perspective of working at Target. Plus it'll open in a new window! Bonus! Kaybye!

The First of the Worst

SPOILER ALERT: the date went nothing like this. And my biceps aren't nearly as well-defined as hers.

My first date in college was a little bit of a disaster, to be honest. I had met the guy randomly, when he overheard me saying something about my hometown in Colorado, promptly turned around and yelled across the thirty feet of sidewalk and frightened freshmen between us, "I'M A RANCH KID, TOO!"

At which point me (and my other two ranch-kid friends) walked up to him and had an awkward conversation. You know, the kind that goes like "So... Where did you go to high school? Oh, do you know so-and-so who also went there? No? Well... Colorado's great, huh?" It was awkward, but we eventually discovered that he was kind-of friends with my friend's cousin who had taken my other friend on a date once. Or something like that.

Anyway, to give you a little description, this kid was pretty tall (compared to me at least, which means he very well could have been very short, but he had at least 6 inches on me), had a baby face, those glasses that every four-eyed kid's mom buys them when they're about seven that are just round glass with super thin wire frames -- the kind that she thinks will keep you from getting bullied because they're as invisible and unobtrusive as possible, but actually make you look even more nerdy and style-less. He also was wearing carpenter jeans. Some day, I'll explain the myriad problems with carpenter jeans. Until then, you could just read this post about Nice Guys, because it mentions them, briefly.

But I digress. This kid ended up getting my number in the most sneaky way I've ever encountered. I was telling him about how I lived in Colorado my whole life, yet had never been skiing or snowboarding. He goes "Well, I can teach you to snowboard!" To which I responded "That would be rad!" And he goes "Here, take my number and you can call me if you ever want to go."

Sensing the seriousness of this predicament -- that this kid in whom I was not interested at all was trying to arrange an actual hang out and/or date -- I hesitantly took his number, fully intending on never using it. Then the kid goes, "Now call me so we can make sure its right."

"Nah, that's cool. I'm sure it's good," I say, hopefully, reciting it back to him.
"Seriously, my phone is weird and sometimes if you don't call me right now it won't even come through when you want to call me later," he earnestly stated.
Ignoring the obviously nonsensical reasoning behind this, I called him. Then he saved my number into his phone. That sneaky boy.

A week later he called me and asked me on a date. It was going to be a group date, to a haunted house and then ice cream. Given my one-date rule, I agreed to go. After he picked me up for the date, we walked to the boys' dorms to meet the rest of the group. Upon entering the lounge, we discovered that no one else was there. Just us, and some random kid. So we played ping pong for like 40 minutes, our awkward getting-to-know-you questions (and ensuing awkward silences) punctuated by the sound of the ball hitting the table, paddle, and wall/floor behind me.

40 minutes later, people start to show up. I quickly discover that this isn't just a group date, it's a mass date, with 5 couples. What's even better, is that no one knew anyone. Seriously, it was like this: My date knew one guy, who knew one girl, who knew another guy, who didn't know anyone and so invited a random person to join the date. And then they all brought their respective prey dates. That's a recipe for disaster.

The next ingredient to an awful date full of awkward freshmen who barely know each other is planning on going to a haunted house in a town 30 minutes away, but not planning on how to actually get there. Turns out only one of the 10 people on the date had a vehicle. And it was a truck. Luckily, in Idaho there's a law that if all of the seatbelts are used, you can have as many extra people in the car as you can fit and it's legal. Unfortunately, we were in Idaho and it was October, so once the sun goes down, the temperature drops to about Antarctica. So we weren't riding in the bed. Luckily, the truck had a cab with back seats. Unfortunately, trucks with backseats aren't actually meant for people, despite the 5 seatbelts. We all know they realistically fit 3 people and maybe a dog. Maybe.

Undeterred by the obvious lack of space and comfort, the boys decided to continue with the plan anyway. So we all piled into the truck. And immediately fell out. So we tried again. Thankfully we all grew up in a time where Tetris was the best pastime available, so we used those tricks and managed to flip, angle and drop us all into a position in the truck which was at least not excruciatingly painful. So, there I was, laying across 4 men (none of whom included my date), trying to ignore the smell that comes with 5 teenage boys -- their natural scent overriding the stench of the cheap cologne they applied with too much enthusiasm, and 5 teenage girls -- and all of their accompanying hair-products, deodorants, perfumes, and scented face glitter.

Thankfully, I had just met all of these people, so the lack of personal space, and the fact that I had no idea where I was touching who, or who was touching me where, definitely made the situation bearable. Or the exact opposite of bearable, with a little bit of nauseating on top.

So we finally get to the haunted house, called Dr. Slaughter's, where they learn it's cash only. Rather than pile everyone back into the truck to find an ATM, the ever-so gallant men decided to go look for one. They didn't want to subject us frail and delicate womenfolk to walking around the dangerous (read: ridiculously safe) streets in Idaho Falls at night, so they left us huddled together like penguins, shivering next to the bloody clown with a chainsaw.

38 minutes of incredibly fake compliments and crappy girl jokes later, our dates return, cash in hand. We go through the line, where the girls are preemptively screaming at nothing to get their vocal chords warmed up. The men feel manly letting their dates cling to their arms. My date is disappointed because I missed the class in girl-school that taught us how to tease our hair and pretend to be scared because it's "cute". (Actually, I missed most of the classes in girl-school. Thank goodness Pinterest was invented to fill in the gaps in my femininity.)

Once we get in the haunted house, I am not scared. They did a really good job, and there were lots of cool, jumpy moments, but I was too busy having disdain for the other girls to let myself be scared. It was also using a considerable amount of my concentration to keep switching my jacket to the arm on whichever side my date was standing to avoid his fumbling attempts at touching me and/or holding my hand. Yeah, I'm a jerk, I know. We all know that the only reason guys bring girls to haunted houses is because they want to feel manly and brave and have the girls cling to them like their lives depend on it. But I wasn't about to touch this kid, I didn't even know him for heaven's sake! And he was wearing carpenter jeans! And was bristling with insecurities! And I was a huge jerk!

 There was one point where, desperate for physical contact, my date led me to this section of the house where it was a long maze of hallways with long strips of white fabric hung from the ceiling every 4 or 5 inches -- meaning it was easy to get lost and disoriented. At this point, he turned to me and goes "You should probably hold my hand through this so you don't get lost." Then, being the nice, considerate girl huge jerk that I am, I looked at him, go "Oh, yeah, okay....." then turn around like I'm looking for something and nonchalantly lose myself in the maze of mummy wrap.

15 minutes later I made it out, where he is waiting with an "I told you so" look on his face. I act cute and girly and tell him how I got lost and couldn't find him, while touching his arm where a bicep belongs. His hurt masculinity is calmed. I quickly go back to not touching him.

After the haunted house, we went to get ice cream. Which meant Tetrising ourselves back into the truck. This time my date ended up underneath my calves. And then we got lost. At ice cream, we quickly discover that none of the boys are particularly good at conversation, and the girls are all pretty boring. So I start being flirty with everyone to try and get people to loosen up a bit. This leads to all the boys hitting on me with cheesy lines and the girls fake-laughing to try and get their dates' attention back while their resentment for me steadily mounts. Jealousy becomes apparent. My date isn't very good at pick-up lines. 

Once we all cram our way back into the truck for a third time (my date now under my shoulders, where I can see all the bats in the cave) we had been on the date for about 5 hours, which is crazy long for any first date, let alone one in which no one was particularly enjoying themselves.

 For some reason, everyone ignores the fact that they're not having fun, and end up going back to one kid's house to watch Sherlock Holmes. I had never seen it, and I still haven't really, because I spent pretty much the entire movie avoiding my date's stumbling attempts to cuddle with me. Luckily, I had perfected the "don't touch me" position way back in high school, which makes it virtually impossible for a boy to cuddle with you. The guy who was hosting the movie kept going back into his room to bring out some random toy or gadget to impress us all with. These included a rifle, a police baton, one of the lasers that is so powerful you can see it from like 4 miles away, nun chucks and a machete. I began to fear for my safety.

At the end of the movie (which I'm pretty sure is at least twice the length of a normal movie), my date wanted to walk home. Which was like 4 miles. In the 30 degree weather. I said "heck no! And convinced the guy with the truck to drop us off at my apartment, where an obvious party was happening. My date expects to be invited in. I have zero desire to spend any more time with him, given how this torturous date was now bordering on 8 hours in length, so I say something about going to bed and send him home with an awkward side-hug to remember me by.

He texted me the next day to thank me for a great date and suggest we do it again sometime. I don't remember if I ever answered