I am, for all intensive purposes, a giant blathering pussy.
Which is better than a crusty wank but worse than an ill-fitting asshat.
A phone call this afternoon from The Big Boss confirmed my suspicions that the world at large does in fact know that I FUCKING HATE MY JOB AS AN ASSWIPING SPECIALIST.
But instead of being a self righteous gonad or even the aforementioned crusty wank he was nice.
Just. Plain. Nice.
GAH.
Now I have to be mature and shit. Suck up my bad attitude. Plaster the smile back on. ALL BECAUSE HE WAS FUCKING NICE.
Dammit.
6 comments:
screw that grownup shit. Pick an annoying coworker and unleash the creature from the urinary tract of hell.
fuck it don't even pick an annoying one. just pick one. go claws out and shit. make a day of it. it'll be fun.
We have to find you a new job.
HAVE. TO.
A new job that pays to to lash out at idiotic customers, be sassy as you want, and get to dress comfortably.
I still think you would enjoy your own coffe-house.
That's why he is the big boss.
Have you ever considered gas station employment?
I might do that do get my aggressions out on people.
This is in lueu of the attitude I received from the portly, purple-haired, shit-in-her-face, Shell Mart girl last night.
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