The sidebar is as mad as hell and isn't gong to take it any more!
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 not takng anythng lyng down these days. On Sunday, I went down to lunch, or tried to, but the one of the staff had the elevator full of trash, as he is wont to do when it is time for lunch. Unfortunately, this time there was only one elevator. For 300+ women. At mealtime. I cursed him down all 12 flights of stairs, though I marvelled that I was able to do so with relative ease, despite the 40+ block walk the day before and havng spraned my ankle on Bleecker Street a few weeks ago. It's been a long-runnng problem and the guy is supposed to wait until after 2, when lunch service stops, but he always does it at 1:45 or 1:50. So I leave my room by 1:40, usually right at 1 on the weekends (12 on weekdays) and haven't had a problem. Unfortunately, I am not 100% clairvoyant and didn't realize the other elevator wasn't workng. So after I waited 10 mnutes for the first one and he told me to wait for the other one, I did. After a few more mnutes, I realized I didn't hear another elevator, so I walked down the stairs. I arrived at lunch 5 mnutes late. When the cashier saw me, she closed the cafeteria door and refused to let me n. I ran to get some salad, as the woman packed up the salad bar, too. What really makes me mad is that the staff n the cafeteria reprimend us as if we are children. It's bad enough when they do this if we're late of our own accord, but it's just addng nsult to njury when we're late because the elevator was tied up with trash collection. After I managed to get what salad I could as the woman wheeled it away, I went nto the kitchen to speak with the supervisor. The staff freaked out, sayng we weren't supposed to be back there. Like I give a fuck. They should have notified him that there was a problem, but they just chastised us for beng late. I really detest beng talked to like a child, especially when I'm payng handsomely to live here -- it's not like the rates we're payng are some sort of charity. Those of us who were late explaned the situation to the manager and he took us back to the kitchen to be served. The cashier flipped off one of the long-time residents for tellng us to talk to the manager, as if I didn't have brans enough to go over her head all by myself. Now, n yet another quarter, I am known as a troublemaker.
[Next entry: "So. Very. Sore."]
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