Every February-ish I’m listing to one song or another from Skinny Puppy on repeat. Like, Repeat. With a capital blowmyearsout. This year, of course, is no exception. Apart from the car I drive whilst listing to aforementioned song, and contemplating taking a wrong turn into a telephone pole.
Of course the live version video is better but this is here for clarity’s sake. Hah. Clarity.
Dear Customers,
You are already rude. Your needs are already inane. You are already wasting my time. Add a cellphone to that and you are compounding the problem that you are still alive, breathing air and walking this earth, while wasting space, as well as my time and energy when I cannot get away from you at work.
So.
Since you cannot pull that loathsome thing from your ear for the amount of time it takes you to speak to me after YOU accosted ME for help in the first place, do not be surprised when I push that thing so far up your ass that Verizon includes a colonoscopy report with your next bill.
Come on, dial that thing. Give me a reason.
*******
Dear *******,
Thank you for your interest in the Executive Assistant – Chief Medical Office opportunity at ******** Hospitals; job number IRC122371. We have reviewed your resume and qualifications for this specific position / job number. While your skills and experience are impressive, we are pursuing applicants whose credentials more closely fit the requirements for this particular opportunity at ********** Hospitals.
Please note that if you have applied to other positions /job numbers from the specific one noted above, you may view your status at anytime by logging on to our website, as there could be other opportunities in which you are being considered.
Thank you again for your interest and we wish you success in your career endeavors.
Sincerely,
Recruitment Services
********* Hospitals
Dear Suckwad,
Thanks for being completely inept at carrying out your recruiting process. As a fellow recruiter, I can recognize a job well done. As a person who did do a recruiting job well, I can easily see when one falls short of well, adequate or even competent. In short you, sir, suck. Like, suck-shit-through-a crazy-straw suck.
It took you what now, 1 month and 1 day to simply tell me “no” after wasting my time -AGAIN- for 30 minutes on the phone? I mean hell, you didn’t even meet me face to face. An email takes 5 seconds for your assistant to cut/paste into being.
Also, thanks for being the human equivalent of a maxipad on the telephone. I’ve met typing paper with more of a presence than you.
I could give two shits about this job and find it HIGHlarious that you can’t recognize that someone with my experience would do anything but feign enthusiasm for this position. The recession has me by the balls and you think I aspire to be a glorified secretary?
Bitch, please.
*******
Dear CowWorker,
I’d say I’m really sorry you live a small life, but that would imply my considering you and your sad existence. My life is not small, I will not work here for 31 years and have this place as my sole source of entertainment, interaction or friends.
Have a wonderful evening with your Lean Cuisine dinner, your sham of a marriage and the children you squeezed out who don’t love you anymore. I have Things to Do, Places to Go, Drinks to Drink and the impending GRE on my plate.
In other words, kindly fuck off.
Sincerely yours,
******
Dear Customers,
Because I’m feeling magnanimous today, I will share with you the reason I don’t allow you to visibly anger me anymore with your stupid demands, rudeness, insipid helplessness and generaly cuntitude that comes with being middle-aged menopausal women.
When you start up with your nastiness, rudeness, and general mistreatment of me, the retail worker, I imagine stabbing you with my scissors, in the face, repeatedly. I picture picking up the largest piece of merchandise near me and swinging it like a baseball bat until it connects with that thick skull of yours. Home-run!
And to top it off, after I finish killing you in my head, I smile, look you straight in the eye and wish you a great afternoon, good luck or a wonderful evening. And I thank you for your patronage.
See, if you anger me and I break the mask I wear to get through the day, then you win. But when I continue about my task of helping you with the same level of neutral professionalism and polite faux-interest that I give my nonasshole customers, I win. And top it off, I’m entertained by scenes of your death.
Some days are harder than others, but I Will. Not. Let. You. Get. To. Me.
So doubly, I will continue to win because I laugh at you. You have no idea what I’m thinking and that is freedom.
Oh yeah, and I watch Dexter not for entertainment, but more of a “how-to.”
Thank you, come again,
*******
Dear Corporate,
Pull your heads out of your asses and quit cutting my hours. You don’t get to decide when or why I will quit. I do. Cutting my hours to the point where I can no longer feed or house myself is tipping the scales in your favour. You don’t declare my 2 weeks’ notice. I DO.
While George Bush said working 3 jobs is “uniquely American” , I call it BULLSHIT NECESSARY WHEN FACED BY A LACK OF A LIVING WAGE, OR STEADY HOURS FOR THOSE STUCK BEING PAID BY THE HOUR.
I CANNOT SAY FUCK YOU LOUD ENOUGH OR HARD ENOUGH TODAY.
This could be the year where I become eligible for food stamps,
*******
10. Your (few nice) coworkers no longer worry that you’re being beaten by a significant other when they see the bruises on your bare legs on Casual Friday. They think it is hilarious when you say you fell in the shower whilst skunked and tangled in your socks, and have instead chosen to believe that you’re just a clumsy person who took up rollerblading over the weekend.
9. It is only Tuesday and you’ve already gone through half of the big bottle of Absolut because it was on sale at the liquor store. AND it was somehow cheaper than the jug of Kalatchnakayakovakillmeplease with the E-Z pour spout.
8. You don’t even like vodka, you like whiskey. But you were too buzzed to get to Trader Joes (2 Buck Chuck, y’all!) and you’re watching your pennies these days, so vodka it is.
7. You drink the vodka straight while watching Intervention and wishing that you could get enough of an addiction that would merit 60-90 days in a treatment facility only because it would mean:
a. not having to go to work
b. maybe even seeing if your family/friends actually care about you enough to make fools of themselves on national tv.
c. guilting someone into paying for a nice Indian dinner-all the courses, dammit- to celebrate your release.
6. You find an old bottle of blackberry liquor and peppermint schnaps way in the back of the fridge behind the Frank’s and your roommate’s mashed potatoes. Party tiiiiime!
5. (But seriously, look at me. Can you picture this on rollerblades?)
4. You read anorexic blogs in hopes of developing an eating disorder if only it would stop you from drinking so damn much.
3. But at least vodka only has about 60 calories per shot.
2. And if you cut the vodka with water, you can totally stretch it out til like Thursday.
1. Fusck it, fucking wheres the tAcoBell and why donnt they fukking deliver?
Just took some time to move to an area with an even worse job market, fail at life and find a new job to hate. But mostly just fail at life.
So, yeah, I guess this blog will in fact continue.
And you thought I’d moved on and found personal happiness. Pfffft.
I have to say, I actually don’t completely hate my job now that I know it will be ending soon. There’s really something to be said for showing up 20 minutes late and not giving a fuck. That got the day off to a great start, and from there it only got better. I only cussed 3 times, and once was just to make sure I still knew how. It is amazing to actually have an ok day.
I totally should have done this months ago!
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