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T'was the first day of work. I want to quit already. As part of the job, I threw away enough edible food to feed a family of five for a fortnight. It made me sick. The smell of humid, decomposing soups, meats and vegetables didn't make me feel any better. Only the idea of 10$/hour for the next little while kept me from quitting right there.
I gave some thought to the concept that perhaps doing something I don't really enjoy will teach me a thing or two because, "I too need structure, a little fucking discipline." On the other hand, I get enough shit from stage crew that I'm not sure I really need any more personal stress and discomfort under the guise of experience or "embetterment".
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I'm not sure my use of alliteration in the third sentence adequately describes how disgusting it made me feel to live in this country.
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The lockers in the locker room are made by GSW Inc. I smiled and thought about shooting myself in a hospital. I also considered calling in sick.
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I called but she's on the internet and you haven't moved into the twenty-first century yet.
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unger
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