T.G.I.Fuck it.

 Okay, I know, I'm late. Let's just pretend I posted this yesterday, and everyone will be happy.

 So I'm tired of wasting my time. I spent 8 hours at work, or engaged in activities directly related to it, and got paid minimum wage (that's 7.25 an hour) for the four hours I was actually at work. The other fours hours was en route, waiting for my check (which should have been there when I got there), and running errands reliant on that check. That measly, 96 dollar check. 105 of which (yes, that gives you a negative number) flew directly from my hands to T-mobile for the phone bill.

 Anyway, I grossed 29 dollars yesterday. For four hours of "work." I use quotations because it isn't challenging, it isn't rewarding, and it isn't fulfilling. You know, it's a job. Out of that, I will net 25 bucks. So if you throw in the 4 hours my job sucked out of my life on top of the four hours I was imprisoned in retail jail, I made a realized profit of 25 hours for eight hours of effort. According to mathematics, I realized a net gain of 3.60 an hour yesterday for grief, to be cold, hungry, tired, cranky, and listen to atrocious country music and screaming uncontrolled rugrats, while getting grief from my boss because I was wearing jeans (No, not JEANS! Lookout, we got a badass over here!), Instead of writing a few articles for the other job I just picked up.

 Why?

 Because I was trying to be nice. I'm trying to not saunter out on my part time job with no notice. At this point, however, I say fuck it.

 For the record, Fridays will typically be a more lighthearted (though still angst filled) rant, rave, or reflection on the past week. I'd rather start your weekends off on a light, amusing note, than with a downer. So kickback, relax, and laugh at my pain.

~So sayeth the Mofo.