Tag Archive: work


Dear Person That Keeps Texting Me, 

I’m writing to you here, because I know what you do with men that won’t stop bothering you, which you are. You deprive them of all contact. However, one of my many flaws is that I tend to always want to have the last word, so here it is. 

1. I never led you on that I’d be that friend that goes out constantly. I “go out” in the traditional sense maybe a few times a year. I don’t have the money to do it often, and even if I did, I have much more worthwhile ways to blow my money that last longer and don’t cause me social anxiety like being around you does. You just sit there. 

1a. You lost all contact privileges or hope to speak to me again when you sent me a text threatening, and I quote: “To show up and pull me out [of my] house” and my girlfriend too. I don’t take that as a joke. You’d know that if you listened to half of what I said about why I cut off contact with obnoxious people in the past. You do not use words like “pull” or “force” in reference to taking me out of my home. It may seem a small linguistic thing to most, but to me it says one thing: “You are something for me to control and I can make you do what I want you to by force if necessary.” Needless to say, I don’t care for that. It’s made me legitimately scared you’ll somehow get my new address and show up here. 

2. You didn’t help your case by sending me baiting, passive aggressive texts to me about “finding a picture of me in my costume on the internet on reddit” and to “Text him if I want to hang out or if you hate me and never want to hang out ever” That’s creepy. Creepy as fuck. And I checked, it’s not true. So it’s playing on most sensible human’s fears of having their picture posted on the internet without their permission. You’re using fear tactics and guilt. That smacks of what I mentioned in 1a. You honestly believe you have the right to try and manipulate and force me to do what you want me to do. 

3. The very fact I feel somewhat guilty about this is something that disgusts me: As a female, I’m told I should be nice to boys and not to hurt their feelings. That I’m the bitch that lead them on, it’s all my fault if their feelings are hurt. Well, guess what, you’re a 30+ goddamn year old man. Your itty bitty feelings are not my problem. They never should have been my problem. Maybe I should have responded a long time ago with something “mean.” I think, “maybe this is on me in part.” And then I remember you’re a 30+ year old man that’s been married before (divorced) with two kids. You should know better. 

4. You’ve repeatedly made it obvious you don’t listen to what I say. I tell you I want at least a week’s notice for plans, you keep texting me about “hanging out” tomorrow. Or tonight.

4a. And you keep mentioning drinking. Constantly. That’s a massive red flag to me, and to any female raised in the “always watch your drink” days of our society. You want me inebriated. You don’t want me, you want to feed me alcohol to see what I’ll do. I’m not your fucking toy. Further, it makes me wonder why you want me incapacitated so I can’t leave, because I’m a decent fucking human being and I don’t drink and drive. Ever. And you want to meet at your home. I’m not comfortable with that, for all the fucking reasons I just listed. 

4b. Further on the I’m not your toy– your frequent texts of commands to “amuse you” show a lot about how you view me and women in general. 

5. You started down this road when you showed you had no sense of boundaries by texting me in the middle of a flash flood warning and severe thunderstorm to “come watch your kids” because your “sump pump blew out.” this tells me two things: I’m a potential babysitter and you have no regard for my personal safety or your kids’. I don’t even know where you live. 

5a. I don’t care if you apologized later, the fact you did it in the first place tells me a whole lot. This also refers back to 4: You don’t listen to what I say. I told you, multiple times, I hate kids. I hate kids. In plain English, I have told you “I loathe children.” I won’t even learn yours’ names, because that is how little I fucking care. And you blatantly ignore it. 

6. You used me as a resource for your dating woes to the point it was pathetic, and further illustrated your lack of boundaries. I’m not a stereotypical woman. The fact you seem to believe me to be a resource to “Solve the mystery of what women think” proves you believe me to be so on some level. This refers back to 4 as well: You don’t listen to what I say. I’m a stereotype. I’m a woman. Ergo, I do what women do. I’ve told you, repeatedly, that isn’t the case. I’ve also demonstrated it in my actions. You’ve blatantly ignored that. 

7. You’re my former supervisor. That adds a whole other level of creepy to all of this. 

8. I don’t have to fucking justify to you, or anyone, why I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t owe you any explanation. My high school self, before all this stupid bullshit and work and college, and a fuckwit ex boyfriend or two, would have laughed at you and said “Fine, bitch, cry into your pillow.” You know what? She’s making a fucking comeback. She gave no fucks. She was a royal cunt at times, but she stood her ground and didn’t give a fuck what people she upset if she was doing something she knew was right. 

9. I’m deleting your text so I’m not tempted to respond, because the sooner you learn you can’t manipulate and order around your friends, female or not, the better. 

Have a nice day, and a very merry go fuck yourself from me to you. 

 

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… It’s gotta be a little bit more pleasant than this.

I’m angry. Really angry. I get that way any time I have to take off of school or work due to something like pain or fatigue. Maybe not the most productive way to deal with it, but it’s what I do.

Let me start by saying I don’t like when I am not in control. Thus, this whole gastroparesis thing is making me very, very upset. I’m currently stuck taking a half day off from work to try to harangue my specialist into giving me a test in the vain hopes that a definitive diagnosis, rather than just a diagnosis of exclusion, will give me some leverage at work if push comes to shove and they ask me why my attendance sucks. I’m really hoping that this stupid fucking thing doesn’t cripple me to the point I need something like disability, but if it keeps fucking up my job, I may have to look into that.

I’m upset, I’m frustrated, and some other people in a similar situation might start looking for strength on high. This is one of the few times I wish I had some sort of faith, rather than agnosticism leaning toward atheism. I wish I had some comfort, even if it was a lie. I used to have faith in myself, and that’s failing as my body seems to be failing me.

My bad days are farther apart now, but they’re still REALLY bad when they occur, and I’m still losing weight. I can only keep that up for so long, guys. There’s not much on me to lose. I hate the idea of having a scale in the house, but it may be the only option I have to see just how fucked I am– I’ve already lost ten pounds due to this thing. Gotta say– if any of you need a diet program, try gastroparesis. You’ll dread eating so much that killing yourself sounds more pleasant.

I’m trying to upbeat. Believe me, I’m trying. This is upbeat for me. Angry and seething, but upbeat. If I was being emo, I’d post choice lyrics or quotes on Twitter and go stare at a wall in my room and do nothing. I’m trying to convince myself that this is just a bad flare up– but at the same time, I recognize I need to be prepared for this to happen in the future, along with all my other various little sicknesses I always seem to have. I’m staring at my future and wondering if I can even work a full time job like a normal person. What the hell are my options then? I always wanted to be a writer. Maybe that’s a good thing because maybe that’s my only option. Something where I can work from home and at my leisure. Something where I can go and curl up in the bathroom at a moment’s notice if need be, then resume work afterward without any penalty.

As of right now, my status is that of a Black Parade— I’ll carry on. If there’s one thing I share in common with my favorite wizard, Harry Dresden, it’s that I’m too goddamn stubborn to give up without one hell of a fight and taking at least a few people down with me in the process.

Thank you for letting me process. Thank you for dropping by. I know things can get depressing as shit around here some days, and that ain’t how most people want to spend their time.

Fuck this shit right in the damned ear. I’m finding a hack to get around it and have as normal a life as I can, even if I have to strangle a gastroenterologist to do it.

So, I’m really, REALLY glad I’m quitting my current job. And now, after a hefty shot of good whiskey, I’m gonna tell you why.

I work for a retirement home as a server. Management is a bunch of useless assholes. That’s to be expected in my experience, no offense to any management in the audience, but good managers are rare.

Tonight, we didn’t have a normal meal service. Tonight, I was used as tits and ass as a part of a grand scheme of lies to lure new residents into the home. The way they presented things was that you got a restaurant quality meal every night (sort of true) with wine (not true) and a fancy dessert (not true), and that “lovely ladies” would serve it to you.

How do I know I was being pimped out, you ask? Well, a few reasons.

1. All the servers tonight were slender and could be considered traditionally pretty/attractive.
2. All the servers were white (if any of you know me from Retail Hell Underground, you know of the racist assholery that goes on at this job. Our only server of Asian descent, for example, was expected to like and eat “Chinese” food daily, and our only African American server was referred to as a “negro” by a resident. In both these instances I applauded these ladies offended for not fucking hauling off and slugging the fucking people that said these things. There’s also a lot of fun blatant homophobia at this good “Christian” (seriously. They stressed that about ten times in orientation) business.)
3. All four of the servers of tonight were scheduled for tomorrow as well. This never happens. And the people that are off did not request for the time off.
4. Another server came down to help us and was quickly shooed away when we *did* need help. She is not ugly, certainly, but she has a kid and is not a teen to twenty something that looks cute sashaying around with plates of food while being forced to smile and make small talk.
5. Current residents were not only told to find their own food tonight if they were “independent living” residents, but they were shooed out of the hallways so they would not be seen with their walkers and canes. More proof they wanted everything to look “pretty” rather than like a retirement home.
6. The general atmosphere of “shut up and smile and look pretty.”
7. I was the oldest server. I’m twenty-two.

This revelation occurred to me as we were walking back from being applauded for being such lovely young servers, right after they failed to say that there were more things unusual about the meal service that night than just the specially made dessert which was a “special occasion thing” (bullshit). All of them, except me, were the ones that wore make-up to work every day, that styled their hair. Only one could be considered even a little heavy, when in reality, she’s average sized. But not one of us could be called ugly, not even in hairnets and ugly uniforms. We were the ones that the male residents flirted with, that the little old ladies tried to set up with their grandsons.

I’m fucking pissed off. I’m not pissed off just because I was used as T&A. No, if that’s part of my job description, then fine. If it’s in my job description to look pretty, fine, then I see that as a requirement of the job just like being able to stand for 8+ hours or whatever. I’m pissed off because my attractiveness was used to lie to people, making me a co-conspirator with these fucking assholes I work for. I’m pissed off that I was used to lie. I realize all of this falls under the realm of advertising (a business of lies) because they were trying to recruit new customers and the buyer must beware, but I’m still fucking pissed. I feel like a whore. I don’t appreciate being trotted out as some little show puppy for you to lure people into your business under false pretenses and tricking people using the beauty equals good hypothesis.

This is all on top of the fact I have caught my managers blatantly lying to me about scheduling, on top of the fact they make us come into work sick when we’re working with the elderly (whom are immunocompromised) thus endangering their customers, on top of all the racist, homophobic bullshit, and on top of the fact that the bulk of management are uselessly catty bitches who play favorites and are either just cranky on a good day or outright two-faced cunts on bad days. This is all while being paid 7.70/hr to be bitched at, complained at, glared at, and treated like shit by residents and knowing that even if a resident jumped up and started to strangle me, if I raised a hand to defend myself, I would be shitcanned. No joke. Ask anyone who works in a retirement home, it seems to be a common rule.

Fuck this fucking job. I’m so glad I’m fucking leaving and being paid a living wage. Even if I am in call center hell, at least I’m out of this goddamn place.

Tattoos and Stupid Girls

I am one of the older of the waitstaff at my new job. Everyone else is about 18-21, most trending toward 20 and below. After a few days of listening to conversation as I work, I came to a realization that both saddened and annoyed me:

I never realized how damn big the age gap between the age of 22 and 18 could be.

Getting drunk is still modern and cool to this lot. I’m not kidding, one of them will repeatedly whine at her friend on the staff that she wants someone to get drunk with, because “I wanna get sooooo drunk 2nite lol.”

Okay, look. The one time I got truly “hardcore” drunk was not on purpose (I underestimated how much alcohol was in a mixed drink. Never again.) and I really don’t see the appeal. Furthermore, I’m at a loss as to why anyone would think that memory loss and throwing up multiple times is fun. So, okay, fine, maybe I just don’t get that one. But honestly, I think it’s just forbidden fruit syndrome– it’s more fun because they aren’t supposed to do it and they’d get in trouble with mommy and daddy if they’re caught, which gives them a thrill. All right, fine. I can understand that, but you’re still an idiot. Frankly, I expect this type of stupid behavior from them. Most kids fresh out of high school are that way.

What really annoys hell out of me, however, is their attitude toward tattoos/piercings. They don’t want tattoos for a reason, they just want a tattoo. They think they are “SO hardcore” because they’re going out to get a piercing tonight, just because they can. Seriously?

For those who haven’t been to piercing places/tattoo places, a tattoo generally runs 50 USD minimum, because they make you pay for the cost of opening a new tattooing kit and new ink. Piercings, meanwhile, I’ve seen for under 20 USD. Makes it a bit obvious as to why they want a piercing: it’s the cheapest way to piss off their parents. Never mind that it can cause horrible infections, scarring, and even if you get it done at a reputable shop, your body can still reject the piercing and it is NOT pretty, nor pleasant. However, as much as they want the piercings, what they really want is (apparently) the Holy Grail of pissing off your parents: Getting a tattoo without their permission. A piercing they can make you take out, mommy and daddy CAN’T make you take off a tattoo!

“Why do you care, exactly? So they’re morons. Judging by your various angry tirades you think most people are idiots. How is this more annoying or surprising than anything else?” You ask.

It annoys me because I have a tattoo. I have a tattoo that I put a fuck lot of thought into, mulled over for a long time, and that I got because it means something to me. Ever since one of these idiots glanced it when I took off the wrapping (I have to keep it covered at work for dress code reasons), she won’t stop bothering me about it. It wouldn’t bother me except for the fact it’s very clear she cannot wrap her head around why it has/should have any significant meaning. It’s just a random symbol on an arm to her, and to her, just means I have a tattoo.

“So…?”

So, she thinks that because I have a tattoo, clearly I got it for the same reason she did: just because I wanted one and it’ll piss off mommy and daddy. In her mind, I’m lumped into her little group in some way and I object to being lumped in with a bunch of empty headed drunkards.

“And?”

Okay, look, I know I’m getting worked up over nothing. It’s a rant for a reason. I honestly just really object because of the fact my tattoo is there for a reason, and these idiots enforce what seems to be the general perception of a 20 something with a tattoo: They got it to piss off their parents, have no ability to think long term, will rebel in a structured setting, be it home, school or the workplace, just to rebel, and are generally an entitled pain in the ass. That is the exact reason you should always keep your tattoos covered around prospective employers. They see that, they will NOT hire you. They can use whatever exclusion criteria they wish, of course, but it still greatly bothers me that if I accidentally push my sleeve up too far because it is hot in the interview room, they glimpse a line on my arm in ink and I’m automatically kicked out. It doesn’t matter how qualified I was two seconds ago.

Forgive the ranting in frustration. It’s been a long week.

It has been a strange, partly bad, partly good week. I started at a new job and, to my surprise, my tendency to just be hated on sight by women in an office environment was NOT limited to my summer cube job or various random interactions– no, it was that way here, too. This was not helped by the fact that the woman kept going over and over how “wonderful” a Christian establishment this place was (wish they’d advertised that one a little better) and being downright surly toward me. You want to be religious, that’s fine, but when your workers can only wear some sort of religious medallion to work as jewelry, there’s problems. Not a good idea to stay here long, methinks. Here’s hoping things are better away from this woman, who is technically not in my department.

Upset that I had somehow managed to offend this woman simply by existing, while trying to be very nice, all smiles, cooperative, etc. I fucking risked my life to come in that day, with heavy snow, poor visibility, and wind chills of -20+. I asked my friends what it was that was wrong with me, that, despite all that, this woman took one look at me and started being short, curt, and in some ways, downright mean. The answers were, frankly, surprising to a pessimist like myself.

I got that I was pretty and she was jealous, that I was too smart and it annoyed her, that I had the “Audrey Hepburn Effect,” defined as a quiet elegance that made common people feel common, and thus, acutely uncomfortable. I was amazed that so many people saw some sort of good in me. When I seemed surprised at the outpouring, one person commented that “the hardest thing in life is to see our own beauty and worth.”

It got me thinking in what may seem to be an arrogant, self-absorbed fashion. I’ll try my best not to let it be.

The thought was this: If I accept this idea that these things are true, why the fuck is it so difficult for me to get a job at every turn? Why is it that when I get a job, women just take one look at me and decide I’m evil?

I heard a variety of theories on this one too, the most common of which was that if a younger female arrives at a job, the elder, higher up woman immediately gets territorial and assumes the younger one will take their job. Some proposed that these women assumed I was after even more than their job, that I would somehow turn people against them or take things away from them because I’m considered more “attractive” than they are, and the younger didn’t help matters. Another is that they figure that because some would consider me “pretty” that they have to be extra hard on me, lest I think I can get away with whatever I want, because, everyone knows, pretty girls get off everything easy. Especially with men.

Really? There’s a reason I prefer working with men. They’re not batshit insane. They don’t shriek that at every turn people are keeping them “down” or discriminating against them, or bitching that a man finding them attractive, even if it is just their eyes lingering on a girl for a few seconds, sexual harassment. They don’t piss and moan that life is so *hard* for them because they’re not Megan Fox or who the fuck ever the star du jour is today. Furthermore, you know what? Males get over what I look like. It generally goes like this:

Male Coworker/friend: *awkward*
Me: I’m taken, yes these are real, yes they’re D+ cups, no you won’t ever touch them. Hand me that box, please.
MC: *blink* oh! Um…
Me: Don’t apologize. I don’t care. Admire if you want, just don’t let it interfere with work.
MC: *gives box* Okay. [insert job smalltalk here]

Naturally, it doesn’t always go that way (The situation I speak of above is in a very casual environment, not an office and CERTAINLY not with a supervisor. But the point is, If I don’t give a shit, or try to play it to get favors, or whatever, they get over it. They leave me alone. They treat me like their male coworkers, complete with lewd jokes and everything else because I DON’T CARE. Women, however… if you aren’t a part of their church/branch of military/daycare group/have kids to chat about they just hate you. That was the main problem at my summer job: Lady, I don’t give a fuck about your kids. Frankly, I think it’s unprofessional you bring them to work and then walk them around the office expecting everyone to “aww” at them. No, I don’t care that you’re pregnant. I don’t care when you’re due. I don’t care about your wedding, or your friend’s. I care about coming here, getting my shit done, and being left alone to do my job.

I wasn’t impolite and blunt as I’m being here, mind you, I just expressed no interest and made no motion to get involved in the office gossip pool. I didn’t care. That bothered the living shit out of them. They LIVE on office drama, why don’t I?!

It’s really quite simple: I’ve got better things to do with my life. If you don’t, then I think you need a serious rearrangement of priorities.

However, I’m contradicting myself. I make it sound like they spoke to me often, thus contradicting my statement they detested me on sight. They DID speak to me. They did, in passing, after I had been there a while. Mostly to gloat and go “OMG, LOOKY I GOT ENGAGED” when they did so to everyone, despite not liking me. However, when I didn’t fawn over them, it reinforced, I guess, what they initially thought: That I’m a terrible, cold, stuck up bitch who doesn’t care about making friends because I’m out for their job.

My male supervisor? He was FINE. He called me in when I fucked up, complimented my team’s work when it was spectacular. My teammate and I made friends with the IT guys and joked around with them because they liked computers and vidyagames, especially Mario. Guys were cool, civil, decent human beings and didn’t expect me to take non-work time to discuss things that were non-work related. We saw each other on breaks, on lunch. They didn’t come around to my cubicle squealing to their friends “OMG, MAH BABEH JUST KICKED I’M SOOOO EXCITED!”

Women in the workplace scare me. It’s why I want to get (back) into a mostly male staff. They may ogle my tits when I first show up, but they’ll eventually get past it and act like a human being. Women just hold grudges for fucking ever, and in this case, there’s nothing I can do. I’m not going to cut on my own face and become a Reaver just because you have low self esteem. And you know why?

It’s honestly because if you stopped holding grudges and smiled more often, you’d be pretty too. I’m of the opinion everyone has some sort of beauty about them– yes, outwardly. You have something. It might be smooth skin, a type of grace, great style, quirky taste in accessories– but something about you is attractive to someone. So stop shitting on me because you think I’m “prettier” than you, if that’s what your problem is. I can’t change the genetic configuration of my face. I dress modestly at work, I try not to draw attention to my naturally large chest (but, frankly, short of binding, if I’m wearing a t-shirt there’s not much I can do), I don’t wear lots of make up or anything else. I just want to come here, do my job, and be left alone. I’m not here to steal your job, you fucking lunatic. I don’t want it, and even if I did, I’d much rather earn what I get than try to “seduce” someone to get it.

So how about you lay off the attitude and leave me alone, savvy?

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