Nick: please read, addressed to you, sir
hey nick,
here are some words of encouragement:
1) "But apparently and inexplicably the lottery machine and the register have a difference of about $30 in yesterday's totals (she didn't say whether it was heavy or light), and I can only assume it was my fault."
- When I was working at Foster's Grille I had more than $70 taken out of my pay check on more than one occasion for cash register difference problems that I never ever recalled being responsible for. Basically, when handling money all day, the shit happens; with out any knowing or lack of concentration. Shit just happens, nickels and dimes add up, and its hard for some managers to count. Welcome to working life.
2) "Of course I won't. I need the money that I hate, and the last thing I need is for the world to have this one additional piece of ammunition against me, proof that I'm not cut out for this world of working men and women, evidence that even the lowliest third-world immigrant is more proficient at strange machines than I am, all forging into the undeniability of the most universal truth: Nick is a worthless piece of shit. And who am I to argue?"
- The only people in the world who hate money are those who do not have enough of it. Does that mean we should spend our lives trying to make as much as we can make? No. It's okay to hate money. But for you it doesn't mean to you your own welfare which, as far as shelter, food, and clothing is concerned, is paid for by someone else. It most certaintly doesn't mean the welfare of your wife and/or children. But to those "lowliest third-world immagrants," that money does mean those things. Just as the human body cell needs water to live, the human body social being requires money. So, is the man or woman who is capable enough to support him or her self really "lowly?" They are doing something, and in atleast one if not more foreign languages, that you seem to think you're not able to do. You're smart, and if you needed it, it'd be a lot easier to accomplish. In a way, you do sort of need it, right now atleast, it's your only ticket out of your house, if you want it that is, and a ticket to move anywhere, where you can then decide to accomplish something more suited for someone the MAN deems ill-suited. To shoot up the world of suits. Shoot in your foot. Welcome to working life.
3) "I'm certainly not a worker, seeing as how apparently "work" nowadays isn't work but service."
- Work has always been service. Who the hell do you think wants stuff done? People with money? Someone figured out how to make money of those people, and now they've set up a system. On the way down, a hundred billion years later, someone hired you. Well shit a brick! Welcome to working life.
4) "THAT is my job, ladies and gentlemen. To try my best and fuck up, and catch shit all day long from customers and coworkers. The job itself is not frustrating in the least-- it's not hard work. The people I have to deal with are the hard work."
- Whenever anyone laughs, just think of how giddy they've suddenly become with the joy they've got over being helped by someone as smart, genuine, and real as you. That's the truth brother. And it'll crack a smile on your face with sudden joyous thanks. And now that mere serviceable eye constact you made for mechanical purposes had turned to a smile, a warm hello, a moment touched by God in the smallest way.
- But, people will be dumb bitches too sometimes. And you're allowed to call them that, in your mind and under your breath, to help you get over it. "The breads in isle too - - - (you dumb ass slut hoe)." You can't take it personally, because people are in a hurry and or a bad mood and or simply hate everything that day, for reasons far out way beyond you. Some days are simply shitty. And then you gotta wake up the next morning and do it again. That's why God invented alcohol. Welcome to working life.
5) "The rag twisting in the box. The frequent twitching. The depression (as a side note). It's a strange feeling to always feel like there's tears welling up in your eyes when you never actually cry, and upon further inspection there's no water there at all. It's like my body is trying to convince me I'm crying, that I'm getting some sort of release, but I'm too smart to let it do it. If I release a little, I'll release a lot, and nobody wants to see that. They'll all end up dead."
- You're right. You gotta let it out or else it will eat you up and bad things will happen. Write some songs. Just remember the 'straight line of physical existence is plotted on a graph. Passing through straight line repeatedly this one, wavy like davy jones shirt sleeves, a graph of unlimited exponents, this is the line of the poetic universe.' Go there and let your mind relax and get in touch with that which creates. All things we know today, all knowledge, comes from that space. Get there. Write a song. Write a poem. Use words that you don't have to speak during the day. Use syllables that don't exist. That don't go together. Unhook your brain from life kick. Go to kickesville and dig it, man. Welcome to working life!
Piece!
-Ben
here are some words of encouragement:
1) "But apparently and inexplicably the lottery machine and the register have a difference of about $30 in yesterday's totals (she didn't say whether it was heavy or light), and I can only assume it was my fault."
- When I was working at Foster's Grille I had more than $70 taken out of my pay check on more than one occasion for cash register difference problems that I never ever recalled being responsible for. Basically, when handling money all day, the shit happens; with out any knowing or lack of concentration. Shit just happens, nickels and dimes add up, and its hard for some managers to count. Welcome to working life.
2) "Of course I won't. I need the money that I hate, and the last thing I need is for the world to have this one additional piece of ammunition against me, proof that I'm not cut out for this world of working men and women, evidence that even the lowliest third-world immigrant is more proficient at strange machines than I am, all forging into the undeniability of the most universal truth: Nick is a worthless piece of shit. And who am I to argue?"
- The only people in the world who hate money are those who do not have enough of it. Does that mean we should spend our lives trying to make as much as we can make? No. It's okay to hate money. But for you it doesn't mean to you your own welfare which, as far as shelter, food, and clothing is concerned, is paid for by someone else. It most certaintly doesn't mean the welfare of your wife and/or children. But to those "lowliest third-world immagrants," that money does mean those things. Just as the human body cell needs water to live, the human body social being requires money. So, is the man or woman who is capable enough to support him or her self really "lowly?" They are doing something, and in atleast one if not more foreign languages, that you seem to think you're not able to do. You're smart, and if you needed it, it'd be a lot easier to accomplish. In a way, you do sort of need it, right now atleast, it's your only ticket out of your house, if you want it that is, and a ticket to move anywhere, where you can then decide to accomplish something more suited for someone the MAN deems ill-suited. To shoot up the world of suits. Shoot in your foot. Welcome to working life.
3) "I'm certainly not a worker, seeing as how apparently "work" nowadays isn't work but service."
- Work has always been service. Who the hell do you think wants stuff done? People with money? Someone figured out how to make money of those people, and now they've set up a system. On the way down, a hundred billion years later, someone hired you. Well shit a brick! Welcome to working life.
4) "THAT is my job, ladies and gentlemen. To try my best and fuck up, and catch shit all day long from customers and coworkers. The job itself is not frustrating in the least-- it's not hard work. The people I have to deal with are the hard work."
- Whenever anyone laughs, just think of how giddy they've suddenly become with the joy they've got over being helped by someone as smart, genuine, and real as you. That's the truth brother. And it'll crack a smile on your face with sudden joyous thanks. And now that mere serviceable eye constact you made for mechanical purposes had turned to a smile, a warm hello, a moment touched by God in the smallest way.
- But, people will be dumb bitches too sometimes. And you're allowed to call them that, in your mind and under your breath, to help you get over it. "The breads in isle too - - - (you dumb ass slut hoe)." You can't take it personally, because people are in a hurry and or a bad mood and or simply hate everything that day, for reasons far out way beyond you. Some days are simply shitty. And then you gotta wake up the next morning and do it again. That's why God invented alcohol. Welcome to working life.
5) "The rag twisting in the box. The frequent twitching. The depression (as a side note). It's a strange feeling to always feel like there's tears welling up in your eyes when you never actually cry, and upon further inspection there's no water there at all. It's like my body is trying to convince me I'm crying, that I'm getting some sort of release, but I'm too smart to let it do it. If I release a little, I'll release a lot, and nobody wants to see that. They'll all end up dead."
- You're right. You gotta let it out or else it will eat you up and bad things will happen. Write some songs. Just remember the 'straight line of physical existence is plotted on a graph. Passing through straight line repeatedly this one, wavy like davy jones shirt sleeves, a graph of unlimited exponents, this is the line of the poetic universe.' Go there and let your mind relax and get in touch with that which creates. All things we know today, all knowledge, comes from that space. Get there. Write a song. Write a poem. Use words that you don't have to speak during the day. Use syllables that don't exist. That don't go together. Unhook your brain from life kick. Go to kickesville and dig it, man. Welcome to working life!
Piece!
-Ben