Euclid, OH

There are some people out there who are perfectly happy with their current state of employment. The mind numbing work. The status quo paycheck. Company cook outs... These people are fucking weird. (ed note- Yes, there are actual jobs out there that are fun, pay well, and don't require pants. But they make up approximately point oh three eight percent of the job pool, and statically don't fucking count. It's a fact. Look it up on Wiki.) Those people can go find another piece of the internet to read (and not on Company Time, motherfucker!). This is for the ninety six percent of us that whore ourselves out to The Man on a daily basis, clutching at whatever personal time and bits of soul we can scratch and tear back for ourselves at the End of the Day.

Would you rather have a Twenty Five percent raise, or have an extra day off each week?

I...yeah, this is not that hard of a choice. Well, for me. Fuck money. I mean, I'm sure my answer might change if I was wondering where my next beer was coming from, or if I couldn't scam my way outta the red for two more weeks. Or just plain greedy. I'm not trying to say I make big bank, or even above average, but I've gotten to the point in my life where my modest paycheck allows me to be an overweight male with a full calendar and a thirst for scotch and beer (please, no hate mail about how I consider my position in life. You can go hang out with rejects that like the Mouse Wheel. Now get the fuck off my lawn.) Not that I've always had this luxury. I've been broke, broker, less broke, comfortable, broke, and now back to comfortable. It's...been interesting. I appreciate what I have now and for what I've lost. You can feel the edge that comes from having a negative account balance for more than four days. It...definitely heightens the senses. Brings out the wolf. Improves the taste of blood.

But it's never the focus; it's the dramatic score in a tense scene. It's the short breath before getting punched. The scene, the hit is the goddamn job. It's the piece of shit boss, the one that has such a hard-on to wear a white collar that he's indecent to be seen by children. It's the all-too-important customers that all-too-often have all-too-little an idea about what the fuck they're even asking for. It's the grossly incompetent co-workers, the ones that cause you wonder what kind of employee are you if these are your contemporaries. And to get a day off from this? A day off from ten hours of self-loathing? A day off from throwing a temper tantrum like a toddler, stomping my feet and screeching, “I don't wanna go!” as I drag myself to my car? To keep the same money and save my soul from the jaws of that machine for one day would be...fantastical. Like, finding a unicorn that shit gold and pissed Jameson.  Fantastical, man.  Shit, I'd pay some money back now if I could get a freebie a week...

That's enough hate to segue nicely into the next post: Five Signs You Need A New Fucking Line Of Work.