This is what blogs are for right? To rant about how much something makes my eyes bleed with anger? Well great, my job makes me want to kill myself but, not because I want to die. My dream situation: Mother and child wander in, mother with artsy glass jewelry made by her at some multi-cultural center in a wealthy town. Child: shaggy hair, requesting a "breeoash-o-shockolatt" (phonetically speaking) and wearing crazy, mix matched colors.
Mother: Ummmm do you have organic 2& 1/2 % goat's milk from Jerusalem?
Me: no.
Mother: oh. That's disapointing...hmmm what are we going to do now Bergeron?
Child: Mama...Par le vous cocoa?
Mother: Oiu...What about fresh air raised apples???
Me: i don't know.
Mother (says):oh, that's strange (means) you're stupid.
Me: BABOOOOOOM (as I explode into a pink mist and ruin their lives...Not because I blew up, because they acidentally breathed in my lighter than air wet remains.)
Me fromHeaven" FUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOUUUU!!!!!!
i hate my job.
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1 comment:
I found your blog!
I wish you loved your job because I love seeing you there every day. But... alas, I want you to be happy more than I want my coffee served to me by a super funny lady in a paper cup with a drawing on it...
So, EFF that lady with her stupid homemade artsy glasses and POOF into pink nothingness INDEED!
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