I don't know if I would officially call this "rock bottom," but I'm getting close.
E was making out the schedule for the week after next at the Hellhole this afternoon. I had a backup cashier at the service desk, and we were in a lull, so I sidled up to E and said, "You know, E, If you need me an extra weeknight next week, I'd be *glad* to come in." A nice smile, an ever-so-subtle bat of my eyelashes, a light touch to his shoulder.
Jesus H. Christ. I'm practically whoring myself for hours at a job I can't stand. And THAT, kids, is what $4 per gallon for gas will do to you.
But it worked. I got three weeknights and--hooray!--SATURDAY evening!! NOT Sunday.
If I'd worn a push-up bra and a low-cut shirt, I probably could've gotten a raise ;)
Hell, maybe I still got a little somethin' goin' on.