I hate my job with a fucking passion. Hate is a strong word, but it’s the only one that fits. I hate it. I do. Someone without a job will probably berate me for complaining about the fact that I get paid a good salary and have minions who adore me, but the fact is: I HATE IT – and with good reason.
My bosses are “good ol’ boys” who ask my learned (always right) opinion, like it matters to them, and then do what they want (always wrong). They only ask my opinion to make it look like they give a shit, and then they come to me demanding answers when “my” (their) action plan fails. When I tell them to look no further than the mirror for clarification on the latest debacle, they don’t like it very much. The blustering escalates, and I tune out. The fact is, they just don’t know the business. They don’t have a clue what my team does, so they make decisions based on their own bottom line, never taking into consideration the consequences of their cut backs. It’s like being in high school again. I give them the answers to the test, and the dickheads still fail the test… and then blame me because they didn’t read the cheat sheet.
I just can’t deal with the stress anymore. I have to take up arms on a daily basis to defend my minions from the vile dictators. I shouldn’t have to do that. THEY should be taking up for the minions. THEY should be rallying against the big kahuna to help their own people. Our business has doubled in the past year and our head count has remained the same. How do they expect to keep any business if they don’t have the bandwidth to cover business needs?
They actually told me and my co-supervisor that if one of us wasn’t there, the other one would have to work a double shift – even if one of us was out on a scheduled vacation. Yeah, I don’t think so. And they expect the minions to drop everything – family, friends, plans, life – if they ask it. Well, screw that, and fuck those asshats. I’ll be damned if I’m giving up what little life I have for a company that promotes slave labor.
So, I’m lookikng for a new job. It’s scary. I’m either completely overqualified or grossly underqualified. There is no happy medium… unless I want to become a prostitute or a pole dancer. Neither one of those options is looking so bad at the moment. It’s been a while.
What I’d really like is a nice job in a bookstoreÂ Bookstores are quiet (usually). They’re filled with my favorite things: books. I know I’d have to deal with the public (jackasses), but I’m willing to take it. Sure, it can be stressful, but it’s the kind of stress you can leave at work. It’s the kind of stress you don’t have to take home with you. It’s the kind of stress that doesn’t wake you up at 3am asking you a stupid question. It’s the kind of stress that you forget about when you clock out. I like that kind of stress. I would like a second helping, please.
I’m just so tired. I’m so tired and I want to sleep but I can’t because of the phone calls and pages and questions and asshats running around with bullhorns in my skull. I just want the stress to stop.
I’m done now.