¡Adios Amigos!
I love how appropriate Ramones album titles are to my life. In this case, while I do very much wish it meant I was finally saying my final ‘fuck you’ to the building, it’s only another wasted year that’s getting the sendoff. Cue the sigh so heavy it finally smashes a hole through the pathetic attempt at a floor that we all know the landlord is not going to be using our astronomical rent hike to fix.
I think that’s a subject that’s already been bitched to hell and back though, so I’ll swallow the bitter taste that’s staining the back of my throat. But damn, if I had the time I’d follow up the legal action on this bullshit.
Ink Spot remained manageable during the season. We even had enough dead time for Kay (the piercer there) to stretch my lobes. She got me these wicked tribal wood earrings for Christmas, and she needed to make sure they’d fit. I’m a fan of them, they’ve got some really delicate detailing that you wouldn’t expect on something so…bulky.
The Exchange…well, it comes and goes. When we’re busy it’s always the locals who are shopping for everyone they know. The regulars who know how the store works, you know? The herds hit the mall, which I am more than ok with. Boxing Day was a fucking disaster area. Fucking bargain whores. They drive me mental.
I suspect that part of it was the culmination of all the pre-Christmas stress and the breaking point of a month of 70-80 hour workweeks between three jobs. Yeah, three, and not my normal three.
I succumbed to the lure of extra holiday cash and got a seasonal temp job at a Virgin Megastore. Why yes, actually, I do still want to kill myself over it. But I suppose it could be worse. Maybe.
It sure did make me savor all the times I got to say, “Do we look like the kind of place that has gift wrapping? Go to the fucking mall,” at the Exchange at any rate.
Anyways, so yeah, Boxing Day turned me homicidal, and then some. I suppose I’m sorry you had to deal with me like that Ichigo. And bros, sorry to have missed you but trust me, it was for the better.
On the upside, January looms. A barren wasteland in terms of sale but a sweet oasis to the overworked clerks. Surely I'm not alone in the sentiment?
[Private]
Virgin offered me a permanent position and damn if I'm not tempted to take it. The job is so fucking easy it hurts. I'd climb up to full-time and be a buyer in no time, I'm sure. I suppose its the solidity that's really appealing more than anything else. I can go in and just...shut off my brain.
I'd go mental in a week though. Fuck, who am I kidding, I've already gone mental. I just don't have nearly enough integrity to grit my teeth and smile day in day out to every fucking idiot who comes in thinking they're 'in the know' about some hot new music and then hum me a fucking bar (off-key no less) of the new Justin Timberlake, or Rihanna, or fucking Gnarls Barkley (because none of these goddamn tools ever have any idea when it comes to artist or song title, and have never heard of the goddamn internet). And don't even get me started on the fucking walking incompetence that calls itself the staff of that monstrosity posing as a record store. Gah.
On the other hand, my rent just spiked by $255 thanks to that AWOL asshole of a landlord. It fucking destroyed the little bit of cash I had left over from my Virgin paycheck after all the rest of the shit that demands my money. Not to mention how much I spent on Christmas presents. Which wasn't actually a lot, but it was something more than I'd normally spend. I never would have been able to make rent had it not been for that fucking job and I don't know how I'm going to make it for February right now. I just don't have almost $300 to spare every fucking month. I was already living on the fucking wire every month.
I can do groceries on credit cards I suppose, and have enough on hand cash for rent. But I won't be able to ever actually pay off my bills. I just have more expenses than I do income right now and my income is only going to go down at this point as my hours get downsized with the holiday season being over. Virgin's already halved my hours for next week, and I only even have next week before I'm out of that job all together.
I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't afford to feed and house my family. I never thought I would ever have to admit that, even to myself.
I'm this close to throwing in the towel. I've been playing this whole 'living legit' thing for years and it just refuses to work. I could be making a hell of a lot more money for a hell of a lot less work, all it takes is a little compromising on my part.
I can't help wondering though, once you start compromising, where do you stop?
[/Private]
I need a new artist with an extensive repertoire to rip off for journal entry titles. One that doesn't suck and that hasn't already been abused by the microcosm of culture this building seems to breed. Maybe inspiration will hit tomorrow at work.
I think that’s a subject that’s already been bitched to hell and back though, so I’ll swallow the bitter taste that’s staining the back of my throat. But damn, if I had the time I’d follow up the legal action on this bullshit.
Ink Spot remained manageable during the season. We even had enough dead time for Kay (the piercer there) to stretch my lobes. She got me these wicked tribal wood earrings for Christmas, and she needed to make sure they’d fit. I’m a fan of them, they’ve got some really delicate detailing that you wouldn’t expect on something so…bulky.
The Exchange…well, it comes and goes. When we’re busy it’s always the locals who are shopping for everyone they know. The regulars who know how the store works, you know? The herds hit the mall, which I am more than ok with. Boxing Day was a fucking disaster area. Fucking bargain whores. They drive me mental.
I suspect that part of it was the culmination of all the pre-Christmas stress and the breaking point of a month of 70-80 hour workweeks between three jobs. Yeah, three, and not my normal three.
I succumbed to the lure of extra holiday cash and got a seasonal temp job at a Virgin Megastore. Why yes, actually, I do still want to kill myself over it. But I suppose it could be worse. Maybe.
It sure did make me savor all the times I got to say, “Do we look like the kind of place that has gift wrapping? Go to the fucking mall,” at the Exchange at any rate.
Anyways, so yeah, Boxing Day turned me homicidal, and then some. I suppose I’m sorry you had to deal with me like that Ichigo. And bros, sorry to have missed you but trust me, it was for the better.
On the upside, January looms. A barren wasteland in terms of sale but a sweet oasis to the overworked clerks. Surely I'm not alone in the sentiment?
[Private]
Virgin offered me a permanent position and damn if I'm not tempted to take it. The job is so fucking easy it hurts. I'd climb up to full-time and be a buyer in no time, I'm sure. I suppose its the solidity that's really appealing more than anything else. I can go in and just...shut off my brain.
I'd go mental in a week though. Fuck, who am I kidding, I've already gone mental. I just don't have nearly enough integrity to grit my teeth and smile day in day out to every fucking idiot who comes in thinking they're 'in the know' about some hot new music and then hum me a fucking bar (off-key no less) of the new Justin Timberlake, or Rihanna, or fucking Gnarls Barkley (because none of these goddamn tools ever have any idea when it comes to artist or song title, and have never heard of the goddamn internet). And don't even get me started on the fucking walking incompetence that calls itself the staff of that monstrosity posing as a record store. Gah.
On the other hand, my rent just spiked by $255 thanks to that AWOL asshole of a landlord. It fucking destroyed the little bit of cash I had left over from my Virgin paycheck after all the rest of the shit that demands my money. Not to mention how much I spent on Christmas presents. Which wasn't actually a lot, but it was something more than I'd normally spend. I never would have been able to make rent had it not been for that fucking job and I don't know how I'm going to make it for February right now. I just don't have almost $300 to spare every fucking month. I was already living on the fucking wire every month.
I can do groceries on credit cards I suppose, and have enough on hand cash for rent. But I won't be able to ever actually pay off my bills. I just have more expenses than I do income right now and my income is only going to go down at this point as my hours get downsized with the holiday season being over. Virgin's already halved my hours for next week, and I only even have next week before I'm out of that job all together.
I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't afford to feed and house my family. I never thought I would ever have to admit that, even to myself.
I'm this close to throwing in the towel. I've been playing this whole 'living legit' thing for years and it just refuses to work. I could be making a hell of a lot more money for a hell of a lot less work, all it takes is a little compromising on my part.
I can't help wondering though, once you start compromising, where do you stop?
[/Private]
I need a new artist with an extensive repertoire to rip off for journal entry titles. One that doesn't suck and that hasn't already been abused by the microcosm of culture this building seems to breed. Maybe inspiration will hit tomorrow at work.