I used to think I liked touch screens

Listening to: Ferras 'Hollywood's Not America' (embedding disabled)
Reading: Fool Moon by Jim Butcher

until I spent a 10-hour shift either fighting one because the calibration was so far off that I couldn't make the button that allows you to calibrate come up and the other part not on the register because it was completely locked up and a technician had to come and totally change out the monitor, whilst people piled up to the door and I tried to clean and stock without seeming to be ignoring them, apologising the whole day for the inconvenience. Plus, we had a drive-off, and I think my co-worker, under whose name it was (obviously, since I couldn't set pumps) very nearly quit on the spot.

But it all worked out. The thing was still giving me fits after the guy replaced it, but at least with a lot of effort I could get the keys to work, hitting them in the upper left of each button. I got it down almost to a precision, so things were working out. Then the guy coming in for me managed to get the calibration button to work and the whole thing worked like it should.

Ugh. I am ready for bed. I should have known it would be a bad day when I went in and my first customer asked me where everything he needed for his coffee was, even though he was within a foot of each one. It's one thing if a person overlooks an item like stirrers, or cups, or lids. It's another if you have to ask for each and every one, unless you're visually impaired. He wasn't. And all the coffees are labelled (and there is a standard of orange being decaffeinated amongst restaurants and retailers), but each one and its difference had to be discussed--and I don't even drink coffee normally, so I don't much to draw on as to nuances. I am a helpful creature by nature, annoyingly so at times. But even I have limits. I thought I was going to have to pay for his coffee and drink it myself--he needed everything else shown or done for him.

Of course it's better than Thursday when I went in and found that a woman had just left the bathroom, basically spreading foeces all about the toilet, on the wall, in the sink, in the trash can, on the trash can--you get the idea. And we're not talking small amounts, either. I don't even know how she got some of it where it was. I probably should have checked the ceiling. What person does this in a public restroom? Who would even do it at home? Argh.

It's days like this I wonder about whether I should be in a service profession. But I feel much better for venting. Thank you for reading.