endedben

I'm not even going to try and write well. This is for the streets.

I hate work.

I hate working hard in the men's department all fucking day, only to go up to women's and slave there for 2 fucking hours. I want to leave when MY FUCKING WORK IS DONE. I shouldn't have to help them. There's twice as many people up there and it takes them four times as long? That doesn't make any fucking sense. Women shoppers are also fucking insane. That sale section is the a level of Hell Dante forgot to mention.

I hate work.

I hate my hours. Example: I work 4 to close tomorrow. Not bad, right? No, bad. I have to leave by 3 just to get there on time. That means I have to get ready at 2. I'm up so late from closing the night before that I have maybe an hour of awake time before I need to go to fucking work. And then again the next day. And again the next day. And again and again and again.

I have no time to do anything. I work and work and work for no fucking money. It's the least rewarding job and I have to deal with goddamn New Yorkers or fucking Europeans all day. How many times do I have to tell some fucking French asshole to not stip down and try on clothes in the middle of the floor? I can open a fucking fitting room door for him so he can try on his pink fucking shorts. He'll just have to wait for those asshole college kids who think ''Strictly For My Ninjas" and "I Have A Black Belt...In Keeping It Real" is the funniest thing since his moms bitch face and needs to try on EVERY FUCKING SIZE THREE TIMES OVER. And then he'll leave it in the fitting room. Thanks, you shit head. I want to kill you. I want to shove the red ''My Mom Thinks I'm Cool" down your throat and kick your balls into your stomach.

I can feel myself becoming a worse person. I want to poke out eye balls and slice guts. I have NO fuse anymore, I'm just a backdraft explosion waiting for a door to open. Every single customer makes me want to punch them repeatedly in the face for hours.

And after those brutal hours of torture motherfucker torture, do I get to come home to my fun roommates who I moved here to hang out with? No. Because Owen has a fucking 9 to 5 suit and tie job (pushing papers I'm sure) and Gabe works all the damn time (and makes around 200 dollars a fucking night). I come home to a dark house with ants everywhere. I have no one to talk to except on the computer. That's bullshit. Why the fuck am I here? None of us see each other or spend any goddamn time with each other. It's one big half baked ''Wow Let's Live Together!" idea from 9th Grade. God fucking Dammit.

Even my alone hours are painful. Know why? I can't fucking walk without a goddamn limp. My knee and tendons and hamstrings and muscles on my left leg, JUST my left leg, feel like they've been twisted and ripped from their proper places. The first day back to work and I can't even get out of bed?! I can't even enjoy my fucking life because I'm in too much physical pain ALL THE FUCKING TIME. 50 Cent was shot nine fucking times and he walks fine, but I work at Urban Outfitters and feel like a goddamn cripple. Fuck this shiiiiit.

And I know this is the best job I could possibly get. And despite all reason, I want to keep it. I'd be able to get a job at the East Lansing or Ann Arbor stores if I move back home, or anywhere else. And maybe my 8.25 for every hellish hour would stretch a bit farther than it does it here. I fucking hope so. I work 45 hour weeks to STILL NOT MAKE RENT. Even if i HAD money I have no time, place, energy, will to spend a fucking penny.

I hate work.