Point blank: I HATE my job. I hate it with an ocean of contempt and the fire of a thousand suns. I'm only keeping it at the moment so that I have money coming in until my lease runs out in a month or so, and I am free to move again. (My long stint of unemployment did firmly solidify that one should do everything in one's power to keep the money coming in until alternative sources of income are located... Anyway...) I have told no one from work about this site, and I feel pretty safe in saying that nobody from my office has bothered to do enough searching on my boring ass to find it on their own, so in addition to baring my soul here, I'm just owning my disgruntled worker status and wearing it proudly for all the world to see. And let me tell you that owning it the way I've decided to do is more than a little liberating.
(On a related note, you all WILL get the benefit of my horror stories once I am no longer under any kind of contractual obligation to maintain my silence about the horrors of my work... So just be patient.)
I will preface the remainder of this post by indicating that my partner in crime, and former college roommate Kirsten will be coming to visit me in a couple of weeks. And with my excitement for her visit, and my contempt for my job, I lovingly crafted the following e-mail to Kirsten who is very much aware of the situation.
Seriously. That is where I'm at right now. And considering I just had my taxes done and found out that I'm getting fucked over by the boss yet again, monthly reports are due tomorrow, and I had to work on my goddamn day off, my disposition is not improving... Basically I'm in that "Fight Club" phase where "Jack" is still at work, but that anarchist seed has been planted, and it starts to show around the office. It's really only a matter of time before I stage a fake fight with the boss in order to get a tasty settlement out of it... Or something.
"Ok, so here I am, working. Which roughly translates to me being a miserable sonofabitch. We know this... It's pretty well a given. What are also given are fantasies about some kind of great dinner looming on the horizon after the conclusion of a visit which seems to stretch into perpetuity when one has an empty stomach. (Hopefully that dinner includes something with BBQ or bacon in the title of at least one item.) There are also the equally if not more prominent fantasies about a life which doesn't so closely resemble a colossal diarrhea fountain, or what translates to a pretty much life-long continual bout with a serious case of the herp, or anal warts... Neither of which are actual problems of mine, but god does have a sense of humor, so it's really just a matter of time before my naughty bits are burning. But I digress.
The fact is that while I was dreaming of a better life, I naturally thought of your impending trip to [city of residence redacted.] And then someone in one of my visits asked a fairly mundane question about one of my favorite topics-- The all-encompassing glory that is the NCAA men's b-ball tournament. And after our conversation the other night, I was naturally operating on a piqued interest. And wouldn't you know that Friday the 21st of March, (also known as the day of your arrival) is OPENING DAY OF THE TOURNAMENT! I mean I knew the timing was close, but I didn't know it was quite this perfect!
I don't think I've ever been so excited in a supervised visit! EVER. And certainly not lately! I think I actually got a big creepy grin on my face, because when one of the people in the visit asked what was going on, I just noted that I was really excited about something, and that I was in fact so excited that I think a little bit of pee came out... (Yeah, I actually said that to a client... Because I currently have so little regard for this job.)
Speaking of little regard for my job, the company founder was delivering a speech during this morning's weekly staff meeting, and he was talking about how we have to drive all over hell's half acre, and how this job is tough enough as it is, and we shouldn't have to stress about the time to get from A-to-B ... Yada, yada, yada... And at the conclusion, he asked if anyone had any questions, comments, or observations... Being emboldened by my current desire to get shit canned so that I can collect unemployment and take advantage of the system like my clients do, I raised my hand. I definitely had something to say... Basically, I felt a strong and sudden NEED to call out the boss in front of the WHOLE staff. (And we're not a small agency.) I noted that yeah, we do have to drive all over hell's half acre to do this goddamn job. And that doesn't come cheap when gas is $3.20 a gallon. So then I asked if they were planning to help us out with that cost at all. My question was met with a look of shock from the good doctor, and a round of applause from the gallery. I have since heard my praises sung by many of my fellow underlings who share in my frustrations... It wouldn't surprise me if the bosses were plotting my doom. Either way... I'm operating on the Chuck Palanhniuk/ Fight Club philosophy that losing all hope is freedom... I mean there is no hope for improvement, so might as well use the freedom to vocalize what everyone else is thinking. (I mean might as well let everyone out there see just how awesome I am, even if I'm not going to stick around!)
Just thought I would share that bit of info."
Here endeth the most honest post I've composed in quite some time.