It's Sunday morning in January, and I lay still in bed.
The alarm is sounding, my husband's yelling (nicely), and I am filled with dread.
My toes are freezing, my fingers cold
And my make-up's at least twelve hours old.
My hair, it smells of nicotine, but I will not shampoo.
Oh coworkers surrounding me - have I got a treat for you!
My socks don't match, my pants are wrinkled and my shirt already worn,
Up too late for healthy food, breakfast is candy corn.
I sit at my desk, my shoes off to the side,
I am falling asleep - and trying to hide.
The emails roll in, one after the other.
Each customer an idiot - whom I'd like to smother.
I listen to the radio, I cruise around the net.
You'd think I'd get in trouble - but it hasn't happened yet.
It's time to take some phone calls now, so I had better go.
All these people are stuck in their homes because of all the snow.
I wish that I were stuck at home like them- lazily making calls,
Asking ridiculous questions and driving people up the walls.
Throwing oranges in an apple cart...
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
Work
Does anyone like their job? I mean, really!
The thing is that I have had some really shitty jobs in my day. I have cleaned the gas station toilets in meth-ridden Cedar Hill only to have to spend the rest of my shift meticulously counting individual packs of cigarettes, scraping dirty ice off of filthy fuel pumps in the dead of winter and trying to repair the drive-thru car wash only to be left soaking wet and smelly waiting on a long line of alcoholics who have been anxiously awaiting 6:00 am so that I would unlock the liquor cases.
I have managed at a lower class (read cheap) buffet restaurant in an area where being white makes you a minority. I made stew in a pot large enough to hold me (don't think I did not consider jumping in), learned that every side dish was made using only a packet of powder and "2 quarts of hot water" and quit when a tree branch came through a window and everyone left. I mean everyone. I was left with a broom. In the dark. Alone.
And, of course, there is the infamous toilet paper stocking incident of 2004. What else can I really say about that? For 8 hours a day I faced shelves of toilet paper and listened to my coworkers talk about how hung over they were. I wanted to suffocate myself with the toilet paper.
Who can forget serving? Waiting to get cut, running until you think you might pass out, sneaking homemade croutons from the bin, eating soup so quickly that it burns your mouth, forgetting to ring in appetizers, bring drinks, bring the check. Ha. I was no good at that.
I did a stint working overnights at a drug store. Those are fuzzy memories, clouded by singing fish, dancing gophers, lots of stolen candy and long walks home in the early morning mist. Trust me when I say that it sounds more pleasant than it is.
The point is this: I have it easy now and I still hate my job. I go to work in what could easily be classified as pajamas, I never wear my shoes, I listen to white house press conferences and lazily answer customer emails. I do not even have to talk to them. Really, I do not have to talk to anyone. I use AIM and blog (haha) and, until recently, I played on MySpace. And I hate it. I dread coming in, the evenings drag and I do only what is required of me.
I wonder what job I would like? I would imagine it would have to involve a lot of sleeping.
The thing is that I have had some really shitty jobs in my day. I have cleaned the gas station toilets in meth-ridden Cedar Hill only to have to spend the rest of my shift meticulously counting individual packs of cigarettes, scraping dirty ice off of filthy fuel pumps in the dead of winter and trying to repair the drive-thru car wash only to be left soaking wet and smelly waiting on a long line of alcoholics who have been anxiously awaiting 6:00 am so that I would unlock the liquor cases.
I have managed at a lower class (read cheap) buffet restaurant in an area where being white makes you a minority. I made stew in a pot large enough to hold me (don't think I did not consider jumping in), learned that every side dish was made using only a packet of powder and "2 quarts of hot water" and quit when a tree branch came through a window and everyone left. I mean everyone. I was left with a broom. In the dark. Alone.
And, of course, there is the infamous toilet paper stocking incident of 2004. What else can I really say about that? For 8 hours a day I faced shelves of toilet paper and listened to my coworkers talk about how hung over they were. I wanted to suffocate myself with the toilet paper.
Who can forget serving? Waiting to get cut, running until you think you might pass out, sneaking homemade croutons from the bin, eating soup so quickly that it burns your mouth, forgetting to ring in appetizers, bring drinks, bring the check. Ha. I was no good at that.
I did a stint working overnights at a drug store. Those are fuzzy memories, clouded by singing fish, dancing gophers, lots of stolen candy and long walks home in the early morning mist. Trust me when I say that it sounds more pleasant than it is.
The point is this: I have it easy now and I still hate my job. I go to work in what could easily be classified as pajamas, I never wear my shoes, I listen to white house press conferences and lazily answer customer emails. I do not even have to talk to them. Really, I do not have to talk to anyone. I use AIM and blog (haha) and, until recently, I played on MySpace. And I hate it. I dread coming in, the evenings drag and I do only what is required of me.
I wonder what job I would like? I would imagine it would have to involve a lot of sleeping.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Tomorrow is laptop day.
This is self explanatory. Expect more posts to come. I will now join the ranks of the mobile posters. Not posters like from movies. Those are largely immobile. Posters as in those who post to blogs and the like. This could have been clarified with proper punctuation. I prefer to ramble.
Until tomorrow.
Until tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)