I can’t take one more minute. I have to vent. Mass consumption of alcoholic beverages in the evenings after work hasn’t helped improve my mood regarding my job. Most days I don’t mind my job. Yes, it’s boring, it’s mundane, it offers no challenges, but it pays decent, and has pretty good benefits, so I stay. Most days I don’t mind the people I work with, but let’s just say the last month or so, I really just want to throat punch most of them. Let me tell you why.
1. Am I the only one who knows how to hang a new roll of toilet paper? Are you just trying to be a smart ass bitch by leaving two fucking squares of shitter paper on the roll? I appear to be the only one who stocks the fucking toilet paper, the least you other bitches could do is hang a new fucking roll up once in awhile!
2. Hey asshole that brings the Milky Way Dark candy bars in and puts them in the refrigerator. I hate you. That’s one of my most favorite candy bars of all time. I just hate you.
3. I’m not your maid, your mother doesn’t live here, clean up after yourself. Isn’t that just basic, common courtesy? I get tired of vacuuming, and picking up all the papers you left in the copy room. I get tired of cleaning up the coffee you spilled on the kitchen floor.
4. The last time I checked work starts at 7 a.m.; that doesn’t mean 7:10, or 7:30, or 7:49, that means fucking 7. Considering you take off more days than anyone else in the office, the least you could do is come to work on time on the days you are here. Oh, and maybe stay until 4? I’m not really sure why he lets you get away with it.
5. Have you ever heard the term “make-do”?? Why don’t you try that? Why do you have to have a certain type of folder, or pencil, or notebook? Does it look like we’re actually making any money around here?
6. Prioritize. All of us have to do it. I am tired of your fucking excuses. I am not perfect. I fuck up. I can admit. You never do. Admit you’re fucking up. Until you admit you’re fucking up, you can’t fix it. Quit ignoring the fact we have a serious situation on our hands. You are fucking everything up for the rest of us.
I love my job, I love my job, I love my job. . . . .