Slut Detente
I was surprised to learn that some sororities are considered sluttier than others, my impression was always that they existed on sort of even parbroil of sluttiness and conformity, perhaps worried that other sororites would try to outslut them if they went too far. I am stunned
Working in retail/service has a certain professional asshole side to it. Your job is to take their money, give them their Stuff, yes. But you are your own guardian much of the time and that means you can use the interim between the Retrieval of Stuff and the Extraction of Money for fucking with people.
Fucking with people can be achieved in many ways but the best all leave leave the gull with nothing to pin on you. It is point of further delight when you know the outraged bastard will try to relate his mistreatment to another only to find that they can not actually describe what it was that you did that pissed them off so.
Smiling, not smiling, repeating the customer's words verbatim (that one causes much discomfort, obviously you heard them if you know exactly which words they used, the only option is sheer disbelief), measured response time, using fallacious logic to 'agree' with a customer, taking obvious delight in a request that one knows is bound to make a hash of things and occasionally playing dumb are all marvelous forms of self-entertainment all while meeting the minimum needs of the service industry.
And here's a tip. Never try to out asshole a clerk. You are in our territory and we control the environment. Most of us know exactly how to tow the line and our bosses don't want to hire what will inevitably be another asshole to replace us. We will beat you and embarass you every time.
I got into a foul mood today because I am sick of going to work wondering which part of my bosses personalities are going to show up. I am probably the least able to deal with her mercurialism. She seems to be playing an extended run of good cop/bad cop wherein she might be either at any moment.
Today we went through an MSR, which is the middle management (Guy Who Acts Like A Pedophile" ) checking up on lower managment (my boss). It involves a checklist and annoying the living tar out of whoever is working at the time, namely Andrea and I. (or was that me and Andrea, never did memorize that rule)
We got a good score on the dumb little checklist, we were all on our best behavior. (I can be fucking charming when I put my mind to it, seriously). But my boss still left pissed, snarling at us on the way out. As to why, I am baffled an simply grateful that I don't have to work with her tomorrow.
Why the fuck am I at this job? I know the answer is something like "because I hate looking for other jobs." As long as my annoyances remain on a low simmer they do not outweigh the profound irksomeness of putting together a resume.
Some people hate thinking about death, I hate thinking about my job history and how unimpressive my life looks on paper. I always want to explain it, "hey look I've been pretty happy most of these years, so who cares how long I worked at McDonalds or whether I shilled for totalitarians at the Santa Rosa dorms, or what despicable fluff pieces I wrote for that newspaper."
God I don't even really know where to start, but right now I have this overwhelming urge to try and get my life in order. Maybe it won't be there in the morning.
this poem immediately leapt to my head when the second plane flew into the tower one year ago.
It's always been one of my favorites and it odd significance - feeling of tragedy and dread of what to come - struck me.
I was in the small minority of Californians awake when the first plane hit. I was working very early, so the feeling that struck me when the second plane struck. Was very much of a confused slow realization that this was no accident and that quite probably we were at war.
I hate war.