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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

I have a tendency to unconsciously appropriate other peoples' affectations, leading me to say things like y'all.

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Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Stick a fork in me

FIRST of all, I don't like my job. Actually, I hate it. I try really hard not to be one of those complainy people about it, so I say things like: I love the people I work with; or, My boss is really ethical and that's a great thing; or, we have really pretty offices and unlimited soda of a limited selection. Ultimately, while my boss is very ethical, I don't even like most of the people I work with anymore and there's no caffeine free diet coke in the fridge ever and all of our laminate surfaces are starting to peel, so I've decided to just come out with it: my job sucks ass. I hate coming here everyday. I hate listening to everyone la-di-da along while they stop and chat in the hall making some sort of insipid comment about shoes or hair or their own clumsiness. I hate the twitch in my eye that I can't seem to get rid of (even with my new glasses) because I'm infront of the computer all fucking day typing up someone else's bullshit, which is clearly the most important bullshit to have ever been conceived since the dawn of time and yes, I am doing my best, but thanks for treating me like a total incompetent (who must have somehow obtained her snazzy college degree through the mail), that way I never get too swelled a head and think that I'm actually a part of something I have to come in and do everyday.

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SECOND of all, if you are some dumb ass at the front of the line in the supermarket at the end of the day, when there are maybe 4 minutes left before the market stops its deliveries, be considerate to the people behind you who are rushing to get their cartfull of groceries up to the register so that they don't miss the aforementioned delivery cut-off and pay the extra dollar for the fucking beans you are dismayed to discover will cost you $3 instead of the $2 you were expecting them to. Do not be a total asshole and make the cashier (who is stupid and somehow new on the job even though she's been working there for the 6 years I've lived in this neighborhood) void the entire transaction (requiring her to very slowly...very slowly...walk to the customer service desk -because her job is so fucking demanding- and then very slowly walk back with some form to put through her register, which is a computer that she still doesn't have a clue how to use) , only to ring you up for a carton of milk instead. Then I'll have to buy half of the groceries I came for and take a cab home. I'll also have to kick you the next time I see your ugly face in the supermarket.

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THIRDLY, I love you and I know you want the very best for me, but if I'm having a really shitty day at work (and pms to boot), please do not ask me if there's any shopping I'd like to do before we meet friends for dinner unless there has been some sudden windfall of money or unless Betsey Johnson is giving away her dresses in a private Irina sale, because the answer will always be: yes, I would LOVE to go shopping. And then I'll have to feel crabby that I can't.

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