ranting randomly

I've been reading Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller. Ironically, the section I read before I went to work seemed to fit perfectly into the little predicament I got myself into at work.
Scene: the store
Time: 1:34PM [actually shoulda started at 1:30 but as usual, I'm tragically late. Gotta work on that]
As I'm hurriedly putting on my headset and rushing to get onto the sales floor, my lovely manager (she who shall not be named) stops me.
"E, you can't wear that."
*double take* "Whaddya mean I can't wear this?"
"Would you wear that in an office job?"
"Yah"
"Well... regardless, it's not dress code. See here (proceeds to walk over and point with a satisfied air at the newest diagram of the dress code of Gap Inc.) Do you have anything to wear over this top?"
"Um no *flustered and confused*"
"See here on the diagram, it says that if you wear a halter top, you hafta wear a layering piece underneath."
"Um yeah but I'm not wearing a halter top. It says if I wear a halter top I have to wear something underneath but this isn't a halter."
"Doesn't matter. I don't want you wearing that."

UGH.
Later on during the day when I was finished my shift, I was buying 2 polos for my guy friend. Of course, since I had to use my employee discount, She Who Shall not Be Named had to do the cashier for me.
SWSNBN (zapping in the shirts) ... So.. *looking at KT*, who is this gentleman with you?
me: Oh.. This is K. K this is my manager (he had already heard about the dragon lady).
SWSNBN: *raises eyebrows* "Oh I see. Isn't that nice, Esther you're buying gifts for him!"
me: Yes. I'm such a nice person .. *coughs*
SWSNBN:Oh yah, sorry about the other day I made you wear your heels for that 6 hour shift (cuz my other shoes were too "inappropiate".. once again) Were your feet ok after?"
me: Ya, those were my comfy heels but obviously, my feet were a lil sore after (actually, i was HELLA sore)
me: (attempting to make polite conversation) It's kinda hard standing all day with this kind of job isn't it? My feet are pretty sore after some of my shifts. Yours must be too since you work longer.
SWSNBN: Oh. Mine, no never. I tend to invest and buy higher quality shoes than probably what are yours.
me & KT's reaction = aghast in surprise and insult.

I was very tempted to say (in reply to her comment about shoes), "Oh really? I guess my $200 and $300 shoes are really poor quality in comparison to yours. Your shoes must be close to $500!"

We walk out and KT said "Man, your manager is such a b*tch."

Seriously, I got what I read from Donald Miller's book today. People like to compare themselves with other people just to make themselves feel better. SWSNBN is the manager of a retail store but really, does she have to make others feel lesser than her? I suppose it's one of those personality disorders .. Okay, not disorders but inherently, every human being has an innate need for approval, to be told in some way that "you're good the way you are", for some form of acceptance. And when you don't find that from the proper source, you look for it in other ways -- or you make it for yourself by putting others down.
I fumed about SWSNBN for my entire shift and a half. Then again, I realized how utterly sad SWSNBN. Not sad in the whole pathetic manner but sad in the way that SWSNBN isn't the only one in this world who puts others down or manipulates others in order to feel a sense of authority, of acceptance, of control.
But even that, is short term. Temporary. You put one person down, you put the next one down but for what and to what gain. You still feel empty, like something's missing, and you know deep down inside that you're miserable and that people hate you.

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I had an extremely weird dream the other day. It was actually pretty scary but not in the blood and gore way but in the weird whack way. Either way, I woke up terrified. In my dream, I was sitting in front of a makeup mirror with a white dress on. I think it was a wedding dress. A lot of women were fluttering about around me and some of them I recognized were from my church. They all were twittering around -- as women are when they're excited and flustered. Some were fixing my hair, others were piling on mounds of makeup on my face. I was so confused as to what the commotion was.
"What's going on? What's happening?" I asked.
"Aww ... dearie! You're getting married!!", replied one of the aunties.
"WHAT!?!? Who am I getting married to!?!?!", my reaction.
The aunties chuckled and flittered about some more, acting like I had just said the cutest thing ever.
My dream flashes to the next scene and I'm in my old house's playroom. I look outside the window (this huge arched window) and a Cadillac pulls up. Somehow, I instinctively know that the man inside the Cadillac was going to be my husband-to-be. The door opens and out steps ....

Rudy Giuliani. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudy_Giuliani

I was horrifed. Filled with terror and disgust and .. well, disappointment. Of all famous people, my weird brain decides to put Rudy Giuliani as my future husband to be. *shivers* I don't even know anything about the American elections, I suppose I would make a bad wife then.