Employee Eval

Over the last few days everyone has had their employee evaluations at work and I have to say that it didn't go badly.  Not that I was expecting it to, but as a bad liar, an occasional trouble-maker (never at that job, I swear!), and one who tends to run her mouth, I have the natural inclination to feel like I'm getting in trouble every time I have to talk to someone in authority.  My parents call me and my first thought is that someone died (I know, not really getting in trouble, but as a teenager when they called I thought I was in trouble.  I would have to say that thinking someone has died is not an improvement on thinking I'm in trouble).  I get called into the boss's office at Primary Job and I'm wondering if they've found something I did wrong (even if I can't fathom what that might possibly be) and now I'm going to get fired.  EVERYONE gets called to do employee evals and I still feel like I'm getting called to the principals office.*

We got gift cards (to a fabulous local cheese shop where I will pick up something delicious to make with my beau) and a bonus based on how many shifts we've worked.  I haven't worked a lot of them, so mine isn't that big, but I'm glad that everyone else that works more than I do gets a bonus.  The deserve it.  There was also a little drawing for some additional gift cards (I didn't win).

Miscellaneous stuff:

• If our pizzeria was a horror movie, general consensus is that I'd survive.
• We have a new beer that's kindof weak but would make a good introductory beer to someone who doesn't want to be overwhelmed**.  The brewery is doing their grand opening this weekend and I will definitely be there.
• I'm glad that I didn't decide to pick up delivering again.  Every time I run low on cash I think about how much nicer things would be if I was still delivering and brought home a bunch of cash.  Then I remember how I didn't have any free time and didn't have a social life whatsoever (it sucks to build one from scratch, ask anyone who's not spectacular at making friends and moves to a new place, that's me except that I didn't move).
• Pizza adventuring is going well.  I'm spoiled on sourdough crust for my Neopolitan pizzas.

*Funny enough, and perhaps this is the source of the problem, in school I never got called out on how much class I was skipping (my grades were still good) or any trouble we might have been making (it really wasn't trouble trouble, just kid stuff that I thought I should have gotten in trouble for but that my parents probably knew about and chose not to prosecute me for).

**On my recent beer adventures, which are less frequent than I'd like and more frequent than my waistline would like, I've decided that I fall on the malt side rather than the hops side.  I don't mind drink beers with a lot of hops, but I'd rather be punched in the face by malt than hops.  On a recent excursion with my father we tried a beer called Old Speckled Hen and it tasted a lot like fermented malt vinegar filtered through musty chicken feathers.  I, oddly enough, didn't mind it so much but my father made such a face that sent me into fits of giggles for several minutes.  He falls on the hops side.