Keep your dials locked and your eyeballs glued to the television, for the next Feats of the Jobless Wonder.
...because I just clocked out for the last time.
...no more Target Photolab.
...no more red and khaki.
...no more "meetings" in the office (or at least, that office) about my behavior, and hopefully no more bosses who absolutely will not listen, who actively seek out my faults, who look over my shoulder to coach me on a job I've been doing for years, who won't take suggestion, who create tension as a means to mold me in their ideals, who troll my co-workers for complaints, who are constantly attempting petty games of one-upsmanship, who strain to avoid any confrontation which only causes more tension and loss of trust.
Hopefully.
More time to read and play guitar and get nice and retarded. More time, more time I don't need. And more time looking, and I mean really looking, for a better situation to be in.
Mrs. Brumbacher was there on the way out. A very sweet old lady who always needs assistance. At first it was irritating how needy she was, but I got over it after a while. Fairly quickly, really. She gave me one of the nicest compliments I could have possibly received though. She was my last "guest."
"Target is losing a good person, you're good with the guests," she started, in whatever accent it is that she has and I can't place, "Whenever I come in here and look over, if you're working I think, 'Oh good!!' " her eyelids tightened and her head tilted up with a big smile when she said that last part, "You're always helping me so much! Thank you, good luck" I shook her hand and walked away, a few minutes later I punched out.
I nearly cried when I grabbed the walkie to announce my departure. My "famous last words," as I've been referring to them, were spoken into the walkie as the first time I'd ever actually used one.
"Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty! I am free at last!"
...because I just clocked out for the last time.
...no more Target Photolab.
...no more red and khaki.
...no more "meetings" in the office (or at least, that office) about my behavior, and hopefully no more bosses who absolutely will not listen, who actively seek out my faults, who look over my shoulder to coach me on a job I've been doing for years, who won't take suggestion, who create tension as a means to mold me in their ideals, who troll my co-workers for complaints, who are constantly attempting petty games of one-upsmanship, who strain to avoid any confrontation which only causes more tension and loss of trust.
Hopefully.
More time to read and play guitar and get nice and retarded. More time, more time I don't need. And more time looking, and I mean really looking, for a better situation to be in.
Mrs. Brumbacher was there on the way out. A very sweet old lady who always needs assistance. At first it was irritating how needy she was, but I got over it after a while. Fairly quickly, really. She gave me one of the nicest compliments I could have possibly received though. She was my last "guest."
"Target is losing a good person, you're good with the guests," she started, in whatever accent it is that she has and I can't place, "Whenever I come in here and look over, if you're working I think, 'Oh good!!' " her eyelids tightened and her head tilted up with a big smile when she said that last part, "You're always helping me so much! Thank you, good luck" I shook her hand and walked away, a few minutes later I punched out.
I nearly cried when I grabbed the walkie to announce my departure. My "famous last words," as I've been referring to them, were spoken into the walkie as the first time I'd ever actually used one.
"Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty! I am free at last!"
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
I need people committed by 11am to get the Johnny to come out.
fooooood