Wrong Side of the Bar

I may have mentioned before that I don’t care for my job. I think if you check the archives that you might find I mention it in passing. Several times.

I put in my 8.5 hours last night, got home at one in the morning, and now I’m heading back for my 9:30am shift. It doesn’t even feel like I’ve slept.

8 hours on your feet is a long time. 8 hours running around for idiots, CHEAP idiots, is even longer. If such a thing is possible.

I’ve got plans, there is change on the horizon. But in the meantime I have the cheap and the idiot, each vying for my soul. What I need is a break.

Break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar.

The sobering fact is that my wife puts in longer hours than I do which makes it hard for me to get much in the way of sympathy. Impossible really.

I guess I’ll just turn the tables on some lonely drunk today and fill his beer with my tears. That’ll teach him to drink before noon- the lucky bastard.

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