2006-05-23 - 10:20 a.m.
This one's a crappy rant about work, for my own therapy, so don't read it. Talking about work is boring as all hell, I suggest go find a good novel instead. No really, this is going to suck, I've warned you officially now, go away.
I hate the spring and fall, right before and after the summer, because I'm one of only a few people still at my work, though its still very busy. the fucker refuses to hire anyone even though he gets applications in every day, and the current staff is stretched as thin as it can possibly go. So I end up working six days a week, and hating my job more every day.
The worst part is, he'll stand beside me looking at me and say stuff like "You hate it here don't you, I can tell you hate it here." This causes my repressed rage to boil over a little bit, I will cry out in exasperation. Then I get an ugly look and a "What the hell's wrong with you?"
I want to explain that most of the time I don't hate it, that I hate it when I don't get time off and when my boss is jumping up my butt trying to tell me what I'm thinking instead of just letting me get through it quietly. Shouldn't he be fucking grateful that I don't ever complain? That I keep it to myself? And I don't hate my job, I hate it sometimes in the mornings when I'm grumpy and not awake, I hate it when people are critical of me, especially before I've done anything wrong. But usually its fun and okay. But it's not worth trying to explain. The fucker doesn't understand anything that's not exactly like him, and doesn't really hear anything that's not about work or baseball. Which makes it doubly frustrating that he tries to pull complaints out of me when I've offered none, when he tries to analyze me when he couldn't analyze anyone to save his life.
Stupid little fucker.
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