-- Num ---- Username ---- Category ------------- Posted -- Expires --- Pages ---
| 75228 | DRUMMOJG     | CHATTER              | 03/11/96 | 03/18/96 |     8    |
| Description: Reply to 75220: We really should have nuked V                   |

>Attn WAAA: A bit of whining ahead.
>Worked didst suck yesterday, both in its specific moments and in general.
[well-deserved rant deleted]
>Ok, I'm done.
>- Joker
Let ME TELL you about Thursday.
I get to work, at 7am, as prescribed by the Power that Be.
The store is closed.  It takes a few moments for this to sink in. The STORE
OPENED.  Oh. fuck. me.  The Shit shall Really Knock the Fuck out of the
Proverbial Fan This Day.
So, after calling Information and not being able to get a connection to Hanoi,
I go home.  I am quite wet and cold by this point, thanks to God's tears for
my plight.
I call the gas company while making a cup of coffee.  I had only been awake,
oh, let's say fifteen minutes at this point.
There is but one person at the gas company, it, of course being SEVEN FUCKING
THIRTY IN THE MORNING.  Normal people are PERHAPS just hitting the snooze
button for the first time at this point.  He cannot find the BossMan's phone
Gas Company Guy promises to page everyone that has ever worked for Cline Energy
in the last fifteen years.  They're losing money, so they decide to help me
So, hell.  I've done my duty.  No bamboo shoots under THESE fingernails, boy.
After doing my normal 'I have no commitment at the moment, I'll log on!' thing
for around forty-five minutes, I begin to get ansy again.
I re-call the Gas Company.  They are doing everything they can.  Honest.
I play on the net some more.  Ten minutes later, the phone rings.  It's Paul
Cline, the Man to Whom My Boss Pays Rent.  The Big Man.  They have contacted
the BossMan's daughter.  [Who, BTW, Doug, is now taking classes at JMU.  I
really hope she doesn't decide to get a vax account and read chatter.  Boy.
Maybe I shouldn't even have tempted Klortho by saying that.  Fuck.]  The
BossMan left ten minutes ago.  Okay.  It's only forty minutes or so until the
whole fucking world ends, and Be explodes like that fat guy in _Big Trouble in
Little China_.
So, I wait until I figure he could arrive at the store at any time before I get
back in the Huck and return to Ho Chi Minh Exxon.  I wave the customers along,
with many apologies.  At this point, I am pretty sure that if the lady that DID
NOT FUCKING SHOW FOR WORK THIS MORNING is either dead, or will be once BossMan
gets a hold of her.
Finally, BossMan arrives.
He pulls up.  He looks at me funny, since I'm standing outside in my jacket
instead of oh, say, transubstantiating the Chili.  He gets out of his truck.
"What going on?"
I explain.
"This bad."
We BUST OUR FUCKING ASSES getting the store online.  It's nine thirty at this
point, the time that I normally start cooking for lunch.  Today is going to
SUCK.  Did I mention that after work, I had to drive 250 miles?  No?
Well, midmorning, Be says to me, "You may not be able to go home tonight."
No 'please.'  No 'Gee, John, I am ROYALLY FUCKED and would you PLEASE save my
ass for the 8,978,323rd time since you've worked here?  Like the time you came
in and closed the store because it was my wife's birthday and I forgot?'
No.  "You may not be able. . .," he says.  He had another thing coming.
"HAHAHAHAHAH, MOTHERFUCKER, YOU ARE ***FUCKED!***"  I think.  "I'd really like
to go home,' I say.  Isn't subservience wonderful?
After work, I DO, however, get sucked into going to the AWOL lady's apartment
after work, just to see if she's alive.  I go.  She is, but in much pain.  (She
had been suffering from a blood clot in the leg for some time.)
I go to The End.  I'm late, so I call my dad to let him know.  WHILE I AM ON
THE PHONE WITH MY DAD, Be calls me and asks me if I could go BACK to Sue's
apartment.  She has the key, you see, and if an employee ever steps out of
line, Be interprets these signs and symbols as 'I am going to get robbed.'  But
then, he believes that every man, woman and child that lives in a 300 mile
radius has a secret and long-suppressed desire to rob him.
Despite the goddamn security system.
"I'M ON THE PHONE WITH MY FATHER," I half-scream into the phone. "I'LL HAVE TO
CALL YOU BACK."  *press flash on phone* "I HATE THAT SON OF A BITCH, I'M GOING
"What now?" asks the dadster.
I explain.
"Tell him to get the key himself and come home," sez Dad.
I do.  Too bad, fucker.  I'm sick of this shit.  I didn't get paid for sitting
outside the store, or for going to East Bumfuckt to find Schrodinger's Employee.
I'm sick of doing favors.  I get no raise.  I get jack shit besides more calls
at eight fucking forty asking if I can come in at nine, help clean up, and
close the store.
"Did you quit your job?" asked mom when I walked in the door.
"Well,  . . .  that's very admirable."
Dear Computing Services:
I will give you my firstborn if you hire me.  Please.  If you do not hire me,
I am going to go stark raving mad.  No one will EVER work harder than I do.
Ever.  I will shine the printers out of habit.  I will make coffee for my
superiors in my spare time.  I'll even make some DAMN FINE fried chicken-- it
shouldn't take too much trouble to convert Li'lVax into a pressure fryer.
Please.  I beg.  You are looking at a desperate man.  I'm grasping at straws,
even as they break my spine, one vertebra at a time.
Just so I can look my boss in the eye and point to the calendar and say THIS.
THIS DAY HERE.  WILL.  BE.  MY.  LAST.  DAY.  Do NOT call me after this day.  I
will NOT come and close the store.  Ever.   Again.  After this day.