Like a Rhinestone Doodle, 11/12/06 Just tell me already. I'd like to know. So I can check it off? Thanks.
Today was my 6th day of work in Real Life, but in Crazy Land? It's been 6 weeks. Yes, kids, each glorious day feels like a week. Now, this would be great math if you were in love, on vacation, counting your piles of money, taking a nap, having sex, doing drugs, or whatever the heck makes you happy, but alas, none of this is the case. What's the case? The terrible reality of the way time moves when you're playing defense with a crazy person.
I was benched a lot in Varsity basketball in high school because of my attitude. For those of you who are surprised, I am pointing to the door. There it is. Now, riding the bench came with an added punishment in the form of playing a lot of defense in practice. For those of you who don't follow sports: Defense is way more exhausting than offense. Coach knows this. Even if he is a dick with a terrible perm/fro, and he won't let you wear white shoelaces with blue hearts, and his wife has a brown mole the size of a large green grape wedged between her cheek and her nose. But, the upside of the mole is that at breakfast, your Dad will take a raisin out of his Raisin Bran, stick it between his cheek and nose, run around the kitchen, and imitate this shit out Coach's Wife, and you will laugh your fucking ass off.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Defense. Defense especially bites if you lost the toin coss or "paper, rock, scissors" duel for whichever side would have to wear the pinnies--polyester loose fitting vest (the broads' version of "shirts" vs skins at practice) --because then you're working not only extra hard with no glory (no glory on defense) in a hot skanky ass gymnasium but with the added heat of polyester.
And that's how I feel at this job. From ten to six everyday, all day, I am playing zone defense with a crazy person, setting picks, wearing a red polyester wife beater in 90 degree heat, and I don't get to wear my preppie blue heart shoe laces.
We've all had our moments like these. You know the moment, the one where you are so mad you want to spit, you throw up your hands, frustrated and red in the face and say either to yourself or under your breath or in my case completely out loud, "OH, HOLY FUCKING HELL! I AM NOT PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT!"
Needless to say, I'm exhausted.
Other jobs --which I've never had--I imagine feel may feel similar to this in pay, responsibility, and reward factor:
Bathroom Attendant
Fry Cook
Developmentally Disabled Assistant/Handler
Martha Stewart Assistant/Handler
TSA Agent / Metal Detector Machine Dude/Dudette
Thoughts?
Anyway, duh: rough Monday.
But I did learn one good thing today: If you shout, "Like a Rhinestone Doodle! ...Dooo... Dooo!" really loud in Doodle's face, she'll leave you alone for awhile.
7 comments:
A gal who knows how to set a pick... I think I'm in love.
Doodle looks like she's saying, "You can never be too rich or too thin, dahling."
You, on the other hand, are saying, "for God's sake, stop me before I see if my boss bounces when she hits the ground from here."
I have worked for crazy people before. Your crazy person sounds crazier though.
Doodle looks so sophisticated. She looks Marvalous!
You are in the Empire State Building, The windows work. Your boss is four feet tall. I say you pick her up and go for a three-pointer.
what happened to doodle getting a job? did she decide to retire instead? she is adorable but you know she's a whore, right?
She looks like she's thinking "Don't hate me just because I'm beautiful." Stuck up cat.
TSA guy-for shizzle. The third time some bozo asked, while standing next to the sign that says," No Liquids", if that means the quart of designer water they just bought---full body cavity search..with a bolo knife.
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