Omega, Stone Sour
This will not be pleasant, so if you don't want to observe as I exercise my full right to bitch on the internet, please move along. Be sure to have your hand stamped for re-entry once the bitch-session has ended.
It is in regard to a topic often bitterly referred to as inevitable. Most people say that such things shouldn't be bitched about, simply because they are universal constants, like gravity, and simply cannot be gotten around no matter how much they piss you off. People say that it is childish to complain about them, and that it merely makes you look like a foolish little douche. Well, to those people, I say this. Choke on my 'taint hairs, baboon shavers!
What I'm complaining about today is this; Life isn't fair.
That's it.
That's the whole fucking thing of it.
You know what I mean, don't you? I mean, we are taught and told from the word go that we can be whatever our peonic little minds can fathom, and that the only thing holding us back is motivation. *shakes head* Fuck that. It is often by simple, blind, stupid luck that people get the job, the girl, the car, and the cash. Are these things the meaning of life? No, but in the immortal words of Jelleestone, "Money can't buy me happiness, but I'm happy so I can buy what I want, anytime that I want."
To get back on track, what I'm saying is this... I work retail. I have worked retail, unceasingly, since the Cretaceous period. The jobs have gotten marginally less shitty, but the customers haven't gotten any smarter. I dare say the customers have actually knocked themselves down a couple of pegs on the evolutionary ladder. And that says not a fuckin' thing for the troglodytes that come on in during Stampede season. Fuck them.
Retail is pretty much the bottom of the fucking barrel. I mean, even in fast food you have two perks you don't get otherwise. If a customer pisses you off, you can deliver to them the "house special" with little fear of recourse... This always serves to ameliorate whatever humiliating situation you've been forced into. Besides this, for at least half of your job, you are in a back-area where customers can't get at you. It might be dirty, it might be unpleasant, but at least you are only interacting with your fellow man-ape half the time.
But not retail, no no. That big smile, confidant posture, and casual demanour are all fabricated for the benefit of the consumer fuck-knuckle entering my store. I would love nothing more than to sit on my fucking duff and tell them the truth about the shit they want to buy. Do you need a seven-hundred dollar set of pots and fucking pans? No shitlips, you don't. Because you cook twice, maybe three times a day, and that is an investment that will NEVER fucking pan out for you... fucking mouthbreather.
Everything in retail is fake. From the value of the product you're purchasing, to my apparant care and concern for your wellbeing. I have met the occasional customer who makes me laugh a little bit, but those isntances are almost worse than the other mayonnaise-drinkers. Because at that moment, when you have expressed care or kindness for me, I realize one thing: You work retail too. *shakes head* Only retail workers are kind to one another. We're the people who clean our spilled Slurpees up at Sev, or put shit back where we found it if we have no desire to buy it, or don't bother entering a store without the sole-purpose of purchasing something. Because we know that to do otherwise would be to incite the impotent fury of the till-ninjas within.
The worst fucking part is this... I am now overqualified to work at pretty much any retail institution there is. I've been at it so long that, really, nothing they throw at me is going to be any different than anything else I've already seen. I have experience. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the easiest jobs in the world I have locked-down. But if I were ever to apply somewhere else... somewhere more officy, or even just more respectable, I'd be fucked... Why? Because having experience in retail is like having a degree in Fine Arts. It amounts to about the paper you wrote it on, and even that is better used to wipe the ass of the financially stable cocksucker you handed it to.
Fuck you.
Fuck you, too.
I'm out.
-Devlin
It is in regard to a topic often bitterly referred to as inevitable. Most people say that such things shouldn't be bitched about, simply because they are universal constants, like gravity, and simply cannot be gotten around no matter how much they piss you off. People say that it is childish to complain about them, and that it merely makes you look like a foolish little douche. Well, to those people, I say this. Choke on my 'taint hairs, baboon shavers!
What I'm complaining about today is this; Life isn't fair.
That's it.
That's the whole fucking thing of it.
You know what I mean, don't you? I mean, we are taught and told from the word go that we can be whatever our peonic little minds can fathom, and that the only thing holding us back is motivation. *shakes head* Fuck that. It is often by simple, blind, stupid luck that people get the job, the girl, the car, and the cash. Are these things the meaning of life? No, but in the immortal words of Jelleestone, "Money can't buy me happiness, but I'm happy so I can buy what I want, anytime that I want."
To get back on track, what I'm saying is this... I work retail. I have worked retail, unceasingly, since the Cretaceous period. The jobs have gotten marginally less shitty, but the customers haven't gotten any smarter. I dare say the customers have actually knocked themselves down a couple of pegs on the evolutionary ladder. And that says not a fuckin' thing for the troglodytes that come on in during Stampede season. Fuck them.
Retail is pretty much the bottom of the fucking barrel. I mean, even in fast food you have two perks you don't get otherwise. If a customer pisses you off, you can deliver to them the "house special" with little fear of recourse... This always serves to ameliorate whatever humiliating situation you've been forced into. Besides this, for at least half of your job, you are in a back-area where customers can't get at you. It might be dirty, it might be unpleasant, but at least you are only interacting with your fellow man-ape half the time.
But not retail, no no. That big smile, confidant posture, and casual demanour are all fabricated for the benefit of the consumer fuck-knuckle entering my store. I would love nothing more than to sit on my fucking duff and tell them the truth about the shit they want to buy. Do you need a seven-hundred dollar set of pots and fucking pans? No shitlips, you don't. Because you cook twice, maybe three times a day, and that is an investment that will NEVER fucking pan out for you... fucking mouthbreather.
Everything in retail is fake. From the value of the product you're purchasing, to my apparant care and concern for your wellbeing. I have met the occasional customer who makes me laugh a little bit, but those isntances are almost worse than the other mayonnaise-drinkers. Because at that moment, when you have expressed care or kindness for me, I realize one thing: You work retail too. *shakes head* Only retail workers are kind to one another. We're the people who clean our spilled Slurpees up at Sev, or put shit back where we found it if we have no desire to buy it, or don't bother entering a store without the sole-purpose of purchasing something. Because we know that to do otherwise would be to incite the impotent fury of the till-ninjas within.
The worst fucking part is this... I am now overqualified to work at pretty much any retail institution there is. I've been at it so long that, really, nothing they throw at me is going to be any different than anything else I've already seen. I have experience. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the easiest jobs in the world I have locked-down. But if I were ever to apply somewhere else... somewhere more officy, or even just more respectable, I'd be fucked... Why? Because having experience in retail is like having a degree in Fine Arts. It amounts to about the paper you wrote it on, and even that is better used to wipe the ass of the financially stable cocksucker you handed it to.
Fuck you.
Fuck you, too.
I'm out.
-Devlin