Friday {X}, In Which McBoing Reveals He Is Not Dead, Only Wishes He Were
Published by McBoing September 21st, 2006 in Punkass!, Aww Kittensi. At one job I spend all day listening to how gay people are teh suck. At the other job I hear how gross it is to be Jewish, Mexican, and/or Negro. But we ain’t no bigots. We are the Eggman.
ii. Looking at two potential jobs. Both would pay me more. One is another temp gig at a place I could grow to like, the other is a big fatty secret with a big fatty paycheck. Which I probably won’t get.
iii. I fear that being required to show up at work every morning at 8am could be what is keeping me from more professional employment. 9am is a better fit for a burgeoning alcoholic-workaholic. The brown cow says, “And how!”
iv. New manager at Big Media Co. is changing the work shifts, leaving the temps with the worst hours, of course. No overtime, working weekends, training occurs on my “days off.”
v. With the new hours at Big Media Co. I will not be able to keep Job #2. I am not sad, but Sallie Mae sure is.
vi. My bank account wept when I told it the news.
vii. The conference room at Job #1 a) puts me to sleep or b) makes me sneeze.
viii. But no matter. All meetings are soon to be abolished. From now on, if we have a question about work protocol, we are to writer our supervisors an email and they will post an answer to our questions in a big white answer book which we are to read on our own time.
ix. One of my coworkers was fired this week when she said she couldn’t work Saturdays. I can count four people not including me who are presently looking for different jobs.
x. Really. Why don’t we get drunk and screw? Can I taste the Milky Way?
I worked for one of those companies that seemed to be experimenting with how bad they could make the place before all of the employees and customers left. Turns out you can only cut labor and customer service costs so much before the public stops shoveling money at you, those ingrates. I suggest quitting before big media company reaches that point.
Good luck on the super secret fatty paycheck job.
I’m awful glad you’re not dead, mister.
Poor McBoing. You deserve the booze.
iii. I fear that being required to show up at work every morning at 8am could be what is keeping me from more professional employment. 9am is a better fit for a burgeoning alcoholic-workaholic. The brown cow says, “And how!”
Sadly, you’ll adapt. Daylight savings in the fall helps.
The early-to-bed-early-to-rise crap, once divorced from any sort of “natural” need (going to work in your cube, unlike harvesting the crops or feeding the fucking chickens, really can be done at pretty much any time of day), is yet one more manifestation of our collective Calvinist hangover. also see: every single goddam motherfucking ulcerated white-coilar sadsack who can’t even take a break to sit down and eat a meal like a human being, let alone a nice two or three hour lunch and then a nap, not because sie can’t afford the fiscal cost of the lunch, but because the fate of the fucking world depends on whatever the fuck virtual paper-shuffling sie’s doing. and if executives can’t enjoy themselves, then by God -nobody- can.
anyway, good luck on the fatty job, hope it works out.