Permission to Abort Mission, Sir?

There is a hair convention in town. You know, a hair show? A show for hair dressers. I mean...stylists. They call themselves that so they can charge $70 for a haircut instead of $10. That's also why they call them 'clients' now and not 'customers.' Well, my work has been out-of-control. Saturday night I worked and I was so out of it. But the sections that the servers get are so ridiculous. There is no rhyme or reason. Three tables outside, four table inside but no where near each other. So you are running around like a complete fool trying not to fall down or lose your mind. I didn't work yesterday lunch, luckily. They were so busy the kitchen couldn't keep up and people were waiting two hours for their food. Last night was worse than Saturday night, except this time I wasn't a maniac and was actually picking up tables for other people who couldn't handle their section. It really just depends with me. You never really know what you're going to get.

Well something kept telling me to get my phone. I had a weird feeling like I needed to have it on me. Like maybe my friend who was watching the baby would need to get a hold of me. I wish I would've listened to that little inner voice. Then I would have a time line. Someone stole my purse at work last night. It is a black leather Coach zip pouch that I put my whole life in and move from bag to bag whenever I change purses. Gone. It had to have been someone I work with because no customers would know purses were there and we would definitely notice some random person going through the cabinet nosing around. Thank the gods I cleaned it out the other night. I can't remember what all was in it. Makeup. Receipts. My sunglasses. Whoever it was left me my phone and my keys. They even took the tee shirt I wore to work.

I filed a police report when I got home. He was all official and shit. Came up the porch with his finger on his holster. Skeered me. He wrote down all the answers to his very important questions. "What kind of bag, miss?" Coach. *wimper* "What kind of makeup, miss?" *whisper* cover girl *yell* AND Burt's Bees! I am pretty sure I saw him scribble something like Bird's B's and 'she's crazy insane' and 'run background check/have surveillanced.'

I just went to get a new license and took two pieces of mail with my name on it. "I need something with your social security number on it." WTF!! Argh! This is why people don't use social security numbers as identification anymore. What if I had been crazy enough to keep it in my purse? Whoever stole my bag could just go with it and get a license made in my name. 

Oh well. I'll have to go back later this week. Which is probably a good thing. My hair is dirty and I have on a skull tee shirt.