Hit the snooze button!

It's about stupid o'clock in the morning and my mothers' daughter is a tiny wee bit insomniac.
So I thought I'd give a brief update on what's been going on since e spoke last (or was that the aforementioned lil' voices?)
I did not mention in my last post that I have sort of been promoted from customer service assistant (what does that even mean?) to deputy manager recently. That meant a change of shops for me, from a fairly busy 400 bets a day- shop to an almost dead 150 bets a day- place. When people ask me if I like it I delight myself in telling them that it's a tad more money for a helluva lot less work, so, yeah I do! The customers seem decent enough (apart from the inevitable bad apples, but you get them everywhere) and my new colleagues sure are remarkable characters.
The manager, let's call him Paul, is a dude of roundabout 50 summers. Soft- spoken, mild- mannered and suffering from a severe case of OCD. His whole life consists of double-, triple- and quadruple- checking everything to the tiniest detail. Everything apart from whatever the heck is going on around him, so the shop is an absolute mess. Enter moi, no way I'm putting up with cobwebs that are older than me. Good job he's a really sweet lad who will make people want to be patient and nice with him rather than take the mickey, otherwise even I would feel the need to grab him by the ears and shake some sense into him. An absolute darling, really, and as much as I want to shout, I could never even raise my voice around him. But if he keeps ringing the shop 5 times a day when I pull my shifts just to make sure I know the safe number, won't forget to set the alarm and keep the counter oor unlocked for Leroy the 70 year old cleaner I shall be screaming and shouting at every pot plant that is unlucky enough to cross my path for years to come. Local flora, you have been warned.
Then there is the male CSA, who I shall call Howard. He's about the same age as Paul and a jolly chubby dude. He's actually got a special chair for "disabled" people because he claims that due to his size he can't get bloody comfy on the chairs us mere mortals use. Cheeky bugger, he's nowhere near as... rounded as he makes himself out to be and he knows dang well that he has what must be the most comfortable chair any employee of my company ever had the good fortune of parking their backside on. Way to go, dude, you know how to play your cards! (needless to say I nick his chair whenever he's not working. Heaven on earth for my bum!) Howard has been married for about as long as I have been alive, owns a black lab pup called Dexter (he says Paul owns a dog as well, I shall have to inquire!) and speaks about 7 languages- or so he says. If his fluency in German is anything to go by, there is no doubt in my mind that his claim is true. How this guy managed to end up taking bets in a dead shop beats me. I can totally see him as a local librarian, cheerfully handing out obscure tomes to studious citizens. Either that or a teacher of evening classes in Yiddish. Oywey, and I thought I was good with languages!
The last, but most certainly not least new character in my work life is an amazing woman who should be named Adele. Why? Well, why not? If you could see her, you would agree. Adele is, I guess, around 60 and does not give a flying fiddlers' fart. Firetruck- red hair, emerald green eye shadow, bright nail polish, combat trousers and only happy with a telephone within reach. Larger than life, a veteran of 28 years of employment with the company. Every customer is a potential source of gossip and entertainment, and every colleague is a most valued acquaintance and candidate for friendship. Curiosity is a virtue, and nobody is too remote to be cared for/ about. Adele might come across as incredibly nosy, but fact is that she actually DOES care for everybody she ever met. Strangers really ARE friends she has not met yet, and I am certain that her phone holds more numbers than the pope, the president of the USA and Kofi Annan combined could cough up. Talking to Adele is like you're best buds with the nations' favourite agony aunt and you go for a pint or ten. Gossip meets genuine care and interest, your grandmother and high school bestie all in one. A firetruck- red avalanche. Howard calls her Frau Gaga, and I cannot think of a living person who does not love her.
So, take these three entities, a dead shop and myself thrown into the mix, and what do you think is the result?

That's Frau Gaga holding a needle- felted wee monster I came up with the other day at work (!). Note her jockey hat bracelet! You can't but love her. Anyway, it so happens that in preparation of surviving 12 hour shifts in that dead little place I have taken to bringing random craft supplies to work, and the other day some rovings turned into what I can only describe as the bunnyrabbit of doom. Adele recruited the wee bugger as a companion for her granddaughter straight away, which is why I only have this daft shot of him, but I thought I'd show him off anyway. He seems to sum up neatly what is going to be my main company from now on. Odd, unheard of and yet utterly... loveable.

I really hope I didn't bore you to death, guys, but really, you can't expect any coherent posts from an insomniac who needle felts at work for relaxation instead of snoozing at night... right?

Good job I have an 8 hour shift coming up in 5 hours, it's about time I get some sleep!