Sara Tonin
Bluelighter
I woke up with a headache today. I knew I had a whole day of chaos ahead of me. No one to help me deal with it but myself. No I hadn't been up all night. I wish that this splitting pain was from partying, but it wasn't.
To be quite honest, I went to bed early. I did what I was supposed to do. Unfortunately, I've found that doing what is right sometimes hurts. As my head throbbed, the thoughts that ran through my mind as I worked and dealt with people were funny but equally disturbing.
There was the anal-retentive man that kept cutting me off mid-sentence and wouldn't stop trying to haggle with me. For two hours, he talked at me. The whole time I secretly wished that a gun would appear magically so that I could shoot myself in the head to escape this temporary hell. Well, the gun never came so I had to settle for yet another 45 minutes of being talked down to. At one point he asked to speak to the manager, to which I answered, with a sarcastic smile, "I am the manager, how may I help you?"
Next thing you know, the rude, "is someone-going-to-help-me?" bitch pops in. For her I wished that someone would run in and snatch her nappy wig off of her head. I could hear an imaginary audience roaring with laughter. I told her I'd be with her in just a moment. Wasn't it obvious that I was already helping someone and that I was the only one in the office? If I could have dropped everything and licked her shoes, she still wouldn't have been completely satisfied, so fuck her. Huffing around and slamming the door on the way out was a nice touch by the way...very, um, adolescent girl.
Oh and don't forget the man with the shifty eyes wearing a Member's Only jacket circa 1980. He was a bit of a close-talker. Every time I took a step away from him he took a step closer. He gave me such a creepy vibe. I wonder if he noticed at all when I picked up the pair of scissors?
To those of you that haven't been to my office, don't be scared. I don't hate my job. I don't hate you. I just hate the way I felt at my job today. I hate the way that I went home today feeling completely exhausted and empty. Once this headache passes, I'm sure I'll be as good as new, ready to greet you with a big smile on my face and a palm extended.
I'll admit, I did rather enjoy the sinister thoughts though. What an over-active imagination I have.
To be quite honest, I went to bed early. I did what I was supposed to do. Unfortunately, I've found that doing what is right sometimes hurts. As my head throbbed, the thoughts that ran through my mind as I worked and dealt with people were funny but equally disturbing.
There was the anal-retentive man that kept cutting me off mid-sentence and wouldn't stop trying to haggle with me. For two hours, he talked at me. The whole time I secretly wished that a gun would appear magically so that I could shoot myself in the head to escape this temporary hell. Well, the gun never came so I had to settle for yet another 45 minutes of being talked down to. At one point he asked to speak to the manager, to which I answered, with a sarcastic smile, "I am the manager, how may I help you?"
Next thing you know, the rude, "is someone-going-to-help-me?" bitch pops in. For her I wished that someone would run in and snatch her nappy wig off of her head. I could hear an imaginary audience roaring with laughter. I told her I'd be with her in just a moment. Wasn't it obvious that I was already helping someone and that I was the only one in the office? If I could have dropped everything and licked her shoes, she still wouldn't have been completely satisfied, so fuck her. Huffing around and slamming the door on the way out was a nice touch by the way...very, um, adolescent girl.
Oh and don't forget the man with the shifty eyes wearing a Member's Only jacket circa 1980. He was a bit of a close-talker. Every time I took a step away from him he took a step closer. He gave me such a creepy vibe. I wonder if he noticed at all when I picked up the pair of scissors?
To those of you that haven't been to my office, don't be scared. I don't hate my job. I don't hate you. I just hate the way I felt at my job today. I hate the way that I went home today feeling completely exhausted and empty. Once this headache passes, I'm sure I'll be as good as new, ready to greet you with a big smile on my face and a palm extended.
I'll admit, I did rather enjoy the sinister thoughts though. What an over-active imagination I have.
