This is What I Do at Work

I used to hate my friends with stiff jobs. They would bitch and complain and moan about how superior they were than their customers. They’d cry about how the customers just didn’t get it. So I’d say, hey, if you’re so fucking awesome, then why are you still working at Retail Mart making four dollars an hour and these horrible patrons can afford to buy the shit you sell, which you yourself cannot afford? They would look at me as if to say if you only knew…

So I decided that it was time to stop sitting on my ass at home getting absolutely nothing accomplished. I went to Retail Mart and got a job.

These people are so fucking stupid, I tell you. I make absolutely no money. But for some reason, Jose Schmoe can come in here and drop $1500 like it’s nothing on some shit he’s got no idea how to use. And then my buddy from long time ago who makes only slightly more than me can waste his valuable time on the weekends teaching Jose over there how to use that $1500 piece of just-out-of-reach-for-us luxury.

Then these fuckers have the nerve to ask, “What kind of Widget do you have?” “Um, they don’t pay me enough to afford one of these” I am forced to humbly reply to them.

So my poorness fills me with a slight twinge of jealously; but I am filled even more so with hatred. Hatred of these fuckers that are actually the epitome of stupidity. I wonder how it is that someone like this has a job where someone is willing to pay them enough to buy these fucking luxuries. The loudest thing that rings in my head when these poor mules come in here is the fact that their employer must make Corky from “Life Goes On” look like Steven Hawking’s illegitimate semen child, raised by one hundred of the most genius minds to ever grace our planet. All men, of course.

Sometimes I will catch myself about this, because I know some bright motherfuckers who have the social graces of the nerdiest guy from ye ol’ leper colony. I sometimes have to remember that usually the smarter you are, the more time you spent away from human beings and kept yourself locked up in a dark room with no windows reading Isaac Asimov and quoting Karl Sagen to lull yourself to sleep. Social skills are a learned thing, and you can’t very well learn them whilst teaching yourself Klingon to impress the two other people on the planet that know it. And to show the sadness of this whole mess, five will get you ten that the actors who have played Klingons for years on ST: TNG or ST: DSN or ST: V, ad infinitum, have no idea how to even say “hello” in the most basic of Kligonese. But I digress…

So my original point is that is was making me stupid, right? Well, to go along with that idea: during the many months, nay, years that I sat on my ass, I would come up with the wonderful and beautiful ideas about the progression of man and the soul and the essence of being, and I had ideas on how everything worked and others on how everything really worked. This was all under the influence of marijuana, mind you, so it never got onto paper, or, more apropos, Microsoft Word 2000. Now, however, I have this shit job. It has done many positive things. I now have a little bit of pocket scratch for which to buy pot with. Alas, I do not have time for that wonderful drug anymore. I am better able to schedule my time. I now do not have to be ashamed of the fact that I do not have a job (but I am, anyhow, because this job is bullshit). But for all of these so-called positive things, it has done one huge bit of damage that I may never recover from. I have become patently stupid. It comes from having to talk down to hosts of idiots who ride the wave of luck and money to appear to themselves to be God’s holy little corn hole and light of being. I am so unable to say squat to them. They would never, ever get it. I can’t tell one artistically brilliant dead Son of God joke because of the seriousness they emit, which has come to them by way of mass media. I can’t tell their stupid children to get the fuck out of my way and stop playing with that and don’t touch that, because they will take it as a personal affront to their child’s future id, ego, and superego.

Which brings me to this. Mothers: beat your children. Unless you want this nation of pussies to be even bigger pussies down the road and the pussy of all pussies running this fucking country in forty years, smack your fucking kid in the face once in a while. When they mouth off, when they talk back, when they disobey, when they get bad grades, when they lie, and then once in a while for no fucking reason at all just to keep them on their toes.