So There I Was, Surrounded By Fucking Retarded Eight Year Olds...
...
I've decided to start every work story with this sentence from now on. I work with fucking idiots. People who are too fucking stupid to get simple jokes. Sometimes I tell jokes that require an education that went a year or two past high school. A lot of the time I don't. The stupid fucking cocksuckers I work with in this retarded goddamn toilet literally don't understand what I'm saying when I tell a joke. I'm not talking about "A Priest and a Rabbi walk into a bar" jokes, I'm talking about just everyday conversation. Mutual bitching about a coworker, or something similar. And I'll say something about the person we're bitching about and the people I'm talking to are already laughing at whatever else has already been said and they just keep laughing and take the joke and run with it, in exactly the wrong direction. They just never understood what I was talking about. Perfect example:
My wife and I have these friends and every time we eat over there, we have some seriously fucking great food. But it's old school food, the kind you aren't supposed to eat very often. Lots of butter and cheese, frequently rolled in bread crumbs, deep fried, lightly sprinkled with cheese, sauteed in olive oil and butter, and served on a bed of freshly grated cheese with garlic butter dipping sauce. You get the idea. So we went over there a while back and we had a really great meal with a healthy amount of butter and cheese and then I had to come here, to The Retard Circus. When I got here, some of my coworkers were like, "Jesus, dude, you look exhausted." And so I explained that I'd just come from this party and had eaten all this wonderful food but instead of explaining it the way I just did a few sentences ago, I made a joke about how every time my wife and I eat at this house, we just like to pretend that we're going on this really intense version of the Atkins diet.
Kind of a funny joke. Nothing I'd expect a huge laugh over, but kinda funny. Fucking crickets. Almost, anyway. There is one girl I work with who has a sense of humor and she was in the other room at the time, but she heard it and giggled. So my supervisor looks at me and says, "What kind of food do these people eat?" And I described what we'd had for lunch and she says, "Well that isn't Atkins at all," genuinely thinking that I have no fucking clue what Atkins is. I explain to her that I know this and that I was simply making a joke and she says, "But that's just nothing like Atkins." I had to explain to her that it was a joke three times. Later that day she mentioned that Atkins is supposed to be low-carb and that potatoes wouldn't be served in an Atkins meal. Sometimes I crave various super powers. Most of the time, I just want to fly. At that particular moment, I wanted the ability to pull starving lions out of my pocket.
I also work with children. Not actual children, mind you, but the grown up kind, who left high school behind anywhere between five and fifty years ago. I don't mean to imply that, in addition to the fucking doinks I work with here, there is also a group of immature people I have to put up with. What I'm saying is that they're the same fucking people. Perfect example:
Last week the same fucktard who couldn't understand the Atkins joke comes up to me while I'm on the phone during my lunch break and asks, "Are you on your lunch break?" I tell her that I am. She says, "Okay, because we have a bunch of priorities that just came in..." and she looks at me as though I'm supposed to cast the phone to the floor and dive back to my desk to HELP. Fuck that shit. "Okay, well that doesn't change the fact that I'm still on lunch and that I can't even log in to the system while I'm clocked out." Might as well have quacked like a duck. She says, "Okay, because Marti can't do all these by herself..." and she just looks at me like any second now I'm going to realize what a selfish asshole I'm being and go work for fucking free. I tell her that I'm on my lunch break AND trying to have a conversation on the phone and that when I'm done with both, I'll be right back at my desk to help take care of things. So she walked back to her desk but I could tell she was annoyed with me. I swear to god, it was like trying to convince a five year old that we were still going to Disneyland but we just had to wait a few minutes while we get the oil changed in the car. Five year olds don't know what oil is, and they don't give a rat's ass that it needs changing. They just want to go to Disneyland, now, now, now.
That was the last day of my work week. Today, the first day of my work week, I come back to The Velvet Fist, and I get here and she smiles at me and tells me she has a few small jobs for me. I log in and she's given me the biggest jobs on the system. This, not two weeks after she and I both talked about how we hated long jobs and much preferred doing several short jobs over a few long ones. Meanwhile, there are a dozen short jobs sitting on the system unassigned.
I've been here four hours now, and I've only completed one job. And I've written this. And I'm all caught up on my weekly blog reading. I fucking hate it here.
I work with and for retarded fucking eight year olds, who think working here is both important and meaningful. I work with people whose lives are so fucking empty they actually think they've developed relationships with the officers who dictate the reports we type up. Officers they've never met and never will meet. I work with people who bicker and gossip and passively hate each other. I work with people who think that they wield actual power over the lives of the fools sitting RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO THEM, completely missing the point that we're ALL fucking idiots for working here.
One of the cooler people to work here died last week. She was 26 years old and working at this shit hole was as far as she got with her (professional) life. That makes me sad. ALL of that makes me sad. Sitting alone at the end of the bar, drinking whiskey while THAT LUCKY OLD SUN plays on the juke box, sad.
This job has run its course.
I've decided to start every work story with this sentence from now on. I work with fucking idiots. People who are too fucking stupid to get simple jokes. Sometimes I tell jokes that require an education that went a year or two past high school. A lot of the time I don't. The stupid fucking cocksuckers I work with in this retarded goddamn toilet literally don't understand what I'm saying when I tell a joke. I'm not talking about "A Priest and a Rabbi walk into a bar" jokes, I'm talking about just everyday conversation. Mutual bitching about a coworker, or something similar. And I'll say something about the person we're bitching about and the people I'm talking to are already laughing at whatever else has already been said and they just keep laughing and take the joke and run with it, in exactly the wrong direction. They just never understood what I was talking about. Perfect example:
My wife and I have these friends and every time we eat over there, we have some seriously fucking great food. But it's old school food, the kind you aren't supposed to eat very often. Lots of butter and cheese, frequently rolled in bread crumbs, deep fried, lightly sprinkled with cheese, sauteed in olive oil and butter, and served on a bed of freshly grated cheese with garlic butter dipping sauce. You get the idea. So we went over there a while back and we had a really great meal with a healthy amount of butter and cheese and then I had to come here, to The Retard Circus. When I got here, some of my coworkers were like, "Jesus, dude, you look exhausted." And so I explained that I'd just come from this party and had eaten all this wonderful food but instead of explaining it the way I just did a few sentences ago, I made a joke about how every time my wife and I eat at this house, we just like to pretend that we're going on this really intense version of the Atkins diet.
Kind of a funny joke. Nothing I'd expect a huge laugh over, but kinda funny. Fucking crickets. Almost, anyway. There is one girl I work with who has a sense of humor and she was in the other room at the time, but she heard it and giggled. So my supervisor looks at me and says, "What kind of food do these people eat?" And I described what we'd had for lunch and she says, "Well that isn't Atkins at all," genuinely thinking that I have no fucking clue what Atkins is. I explain to her that I know this and that I was simply making a joke and she says, "But that's just nothing like Atkins." I had to explain to her that it was a joke three times. Later that day she mentioned that Atkins is supposed to be low-carb and that potatoes wouldn't be served in an Atkins meal. Sometimes I crave various super powers. Most of the time, I just want to fly. At that particular moment, I wanted the ability to pull starving lions out of my pocket.
I also work with children. Not actual children, mind you, but the grown up kind, who left high school behind anywhere between five and fifty years ago. I don't mean to imply that, in addition to the fucking doinks I work with here, there is also a group of immature people I have to put up with. What I'm saying is that they're the same fucking people. Perfect example:
Last week the same fucktard who couldn't understand the Atkins joke comes up to me while I'm on the phone during my lunch break and asks, "Are you on your lunch break?" I tell her that I am. She says, "Okay, because we have a bunch of priorities that just came in..." and she looks at me as though I'm supposed to cast the phone to the floor and dive back to my desk to HELP. Fuck that shit. "Okay, well that doesn't change the fact that I'm still on lunch and that I can't even log in to the system while I'm clocked out." Might as well have quacked like a duck. She says, "Okay, because Marti can't do all these by herself..." and she just looks at me like any second now I'm going to realize what a selfish asshole I'm being and go work for fucking free. I tell her that I'm on my lunch break AND trying to have a conversation on the phone and that when I'm done with both, I'll be right back at my desk to help take care of things. So she walked back to her desk but I could tell she was annoyed with me. I swear to god, it was like trying to convince a five year old that we were still going to Disneyland but we just had to wait a few minutes while we get the oil changed in the car. Five year olds don't know what oil is, and they don't give a rat's ass that it needs changing. They just want to go to Disneyland, now, now, now.
That was the last day of my work week. Today, the first day of my work week, I come back to The Velvet Fist, and I get here and she smiles at me and tells me she has a few small jobs for me. I log in and she's given me the biggest jobs on the system. This, not two weeks after she and I both talked about how we hated long jobs and much preferred doing several short jobs over a few long ones. Meanwhile, there are a dozen short jobs sitting on the system unassigned.
I've been here four hours now, and I've only completed one job. And I've written this. And I'm all caught up on my weekly blog reading. I fucking hate it here.
I work with and for retarded fucking eight year olds, who think working here is both important and meaningful. I work with people whose lives are so fucking empty they actually think they've developed relationships with the officers who dictate the reports we type up. Officers they've never met and never will meet. I work with people who bicker and gossip and passively hate each other. I work with people who think that they wield actual power over the lives of the fools sitting RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO THEM, completely missing the point that we're ALL fucking idiots for working here.
One of the cooler people to work here died last week. She was 26 years old and working at this shit hole was as far as she got with her (professional) life. That makes me sad. ALL of that makes me sad. Sitting alone at the end of the bar, drinking whiskey while THAT LUCKY OLD SUN plays on the juke box, sad.
This job has run its course.
