Pride

Pride is like gasoline. A little whiff and it's a good thing. A whole great bunch of it...And all it takes is a dude with a match to send you into orbit. So, a little bit of pride can be a good thing. Small bits of pride promote confidence and strength (which I need right now). Let's just say my pride gas tank was getting low...then tonight I went at it with an acetylene torch. Like I've said earlier I have two jobs. My second job often includes cleaning businesses between the hours of 4pm and 2 am after my day job, which occurs from the hours of 7am and 4pm. I have been holding this schedule everyday for the past month and a half. Needless to say lately, I have been making stupid mistakes that I don't usually make. For example: two of the buildings I clean are located in a small town 30 or so miles deeper into the great northern maine woods than my home town. Yeah I know, more remote than my town....go figure. The great metropolis of Ashland has something like 4 gas stations, one small hardware store, a post office, one police officer, three banks, and four people. What they need three banks for I have no idea. Anyway, I clean the chip steam power plant up the road, and one of the banks. The night started out like anyother night. The cleaning of the plant went smooth. I chilled with the guys in the control room as they laughed about eachother and made light of certain other activities every person I've ever known who does mill work make light of. Once I finally got out of there, ahead of schedule even, I made my way to the bank. This bank is arranged with a small lobby holding an atm in the front, then a locked door leading into the bank itself. I went in, unlocked the door, disarmed the security system, and proceeded to get the tunes pounding and me cleaning. It went great, I was grooving and cleaning and having a wonde...errr...okay time. Then...I made the fateful decision to move on to cleaning the windows. The windows that I needed to clean were in the little atm lobby. Before I let the inner door close, I checked my back pocket to make sure I had keys in them then went on the to windows. Come to find out...the keys in my pocket were not the keys to the bank but the keys to my car. I was now officially locked out of the bank I was supposed to be cleaning. The keys, were sitting on one of the cabinets right beside my cell phone. I had no way to call my boss (who just happened to be on his was to Bangor about 4 hours away anyhow). I had no options. No one wants to let some random guy make a long distance call on their phone and I tried. You'd think finding the policeman in a town with three streets would be really easy...yeah no. I even went "trolling" for policemen and I didn't get any. To keep this entry short, an hour and a half later the bank manager arrived to unlock the door and wrench every last bit of precious pride out of the bottom of my stomach. What's worse is that I only had roughly ten minutes of work left in the bank. I just wanted to crawl under one of the clerks desks and die. My luck if I did that I would accidentally bump the nice alarm button and actually get to meet that friendly police officer that no one in the world knows where he is half the time. In short, my day has been pretty much the most frustrating day I've had in a while.