I just found out two weeks ago (right before my vacation) that my department (actually, this entire division of the company I work for) is moving to another state. Thank you, job! Thank you so much for once again turning things upside-down! Thank you for making life even more unpredictable and uncertain than it already is! Thank you for that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I wonder if my next paycheck is my last! I love it when my guts churn with gas and bile! Thank youuuu!
I keep thinking about the move I made to California five years ago, and how miserable and homesick and depressed I was for that entire year. I like being back on the east coast. I like being close to my family and friends. I don’t want to live in a place where the only folks I know are my asshat minions from work (because all they want to talk about is work). And I refuse to put myself in a position where I have to make new friends because people tend to suck (except for you).
So, no thank you, job. I must (un)regretfully decline your generous (in your opinion) invitation to join you in this magical land where English is a second language because most of the inhabitants didn’t make it past the fifth grade. Sounds like a lovely place, really, and I’m so very appreciative that you ordered asked, but alas, I’m allergic to illiteracy and seemingly innocuous intimidation tactics.
…which means I’m looking for a new job. Got some good prospects, but starting over is going to suck. I’m Queen Bee here! If I’m unable to oust the royalty at my new job (assuming someone hires me) I’ll have to go back to drone status! I’m not the honey maker! I’m the honey TAKER! The honey belongs to ME!
Nekkid visions of Trent covered in honey with me stuck to his gooey interface made the job issue fly right out the window. Niiiiiice.
(I really need to take my sugarbeetus pill.)