Rant.
Warning: Rant ahead.
So…
Where do I start this lovely rant?
Let start with my friend that I got a job for.
She was working two jobs. One at Blockbuster Video. The land of weekends, holidays, late nights, and pissed off customers. The other at Expo. Same description as Blockbuster, minus (possibly) the holidays (I wouldn’t know, I’ve never worked at Expo).
She’d never worked in an office environment, so my boss (the Chinese version of Stalin) was reluctant to hire her. But I pushed, and she got hired.
Now, admittedly, our office can suck. But, (and I can’t believe I’m about to defend my job), it’s really not all that bad. Monday through Friday, 8:30 (or 9:00) to 5:00 (or 5:30), the normal holidays off (you know, like Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Years Eve, New Years Day, Easter, Thanksgiving), and a down right casual dress code. I could show up in sweat pants and no one would (probably) say anything. Unless it was to mock me.
But instead, all I get to listen to is how much she hates her job (and this is a year later), how she hates making a dollar less than everyone there for doing the same work, and how our boss is the devil incarnate (not a total exaggeration).
But I feel guilty every time she starts her whining (and that’s the nice way to describe her bitching). It’s like, hey, I’m sorry I rescued from retail hell and got you such a horrible, miserable job.
There’s no, “Hey, Beth, thanks for at least getting my foot in the door, so I can get a better job. Thanks for ensuring that at least the next place I apply to, I have office experience, and can possibly get more money.”
Noooooooooo……..
It’s all, “I hate this place, I hate [the boss}, and I have to keep working here until at least May.”
Well, you’re fucking welcome. I’m so glad I could make your life a living hell.
****************************
Okay. I’m done with that.
****************************
Now on to other crap.
So my uncle is deteriorating at an even quicker rate. He fell at the hospital on Friday and broke his shoulder. My 79-year-old grandmother can’t take car of him, so he’s in a hospice. Oh, and he’s losing his memory and can’t even remember what year it is. And he’s only 49-years-old.
So, yes, listening to you bitch about your job is number one on my list of things I want to do.
****************************
Don’t worry, eventually I’ll get out of the bitter barn and play in the hay. Just not now.
So…
Where do I start this lovely rant?
Let start with my friend that I got a job for.
She was working two jobs. One at Blockbuster Video. The land of weekends, holidays, late nights, and pissed off customers. The other at Expo. Same description as Blockbuster, minus (possibly) the holidays (I wouldn’t know, I’ve never worked at Expo).
She’d never worked in an office environment, so my boss (the Chinese version of Stalin) was reluctant to hire her. But I pushed, and she got hired.
Now, admittedly, our office can suck. But, (and I can’t believe I’m about to defend my job), it’s really not all that bad. Monday through Friday, 8:30 (or 9:00) to 5:00 (or 5:30), the normal holidays off (you know, like Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Years Eve, New Years Day, Easter, Thanksgiving), and a down right casual dress code. I could show up in sweat pants and no one would (probably) say anything. Unless it was to mock me.
But instead, all I get to listen to is how much she hates her job (and this is a year later), how she hates making a dollar less than everyone there for doing the same work, and how our boss is the devil incarnate (not a total exaggeration).
But I feel guilty every time she starts her whining (and that’s the nice way to describe her bitching). It’s like, hey, I’m sorry I rescued from retail hell and got you such a horrible, miserable job.
There’s no, “Hey, Beth, thanks for at least getting my foot in the door, so I can get a better job. Thanks for ensuring that at least the next place I apply to, I have office experience, and can possibly get more money.”
Noooooooooo……..
It’s all, “I hate this place, I hate [the boss}, and I have to keep working here until at least May.”
Well, you’re fucking welcome. I’m so glad I could make your life a living hell.
****************************
Okay. I’m done with that.
****************************
Now on to other crap.
So my uncle is deteriorating at an even quicker rate. He fell at the hospital on Friday and broke his shoulder. My 79-year-old grandmother can’t take car of him, so he’s in a hospice. Oh, and he’s losing his memory and can’t even remember what year it is. And he’s only 49-years-old.
So, yes, listening to you bitch about your job is number one on my list of things I want to do.
****************************
Don’t worry, eventually I’ll get out of the bitter barn and play in the hay. Just not now.