Mr. Cellophane

In a location adjacent to a place in a city of some significance, what comes out of my head is plastered on the walls of this blog.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Patience is a virtue.*

(* - I've decided, from now on, when I post an entry where I go off on some insane rant loaded with references to the f-word and the c-word, that an asterisk will go next to the title of the post. I might even do this for back entries. Years from now, when more than a handful of people read this, I just want these things to be clear.)

I realize that the title may be a little hypocritical; I, myself, am guilty of wanting things to happen now as opposed to later. However, I'm pretty capable of keeping it together and, sometimes, I manage to find an alternate solution to the dilemma at hand.

However, the same could not be said of the troglodytic twat I had to deal with at work today. My shift was essentially over and I was organizing and adding my utility payments together like always, making sure that the total I come up with matches the one in the computer (BTW, nine times in ten, it's a perfect match). I'm halfway through my count when one of the plastic machines goes off. Now, does the person using the machine wait quietly until me or my associate are finished with our respective tasks or finish the load on the other machine? Have you ever read this blog before? Of course, the corpulent cunt (who, I guess I should note, was African-American; if ever there was a reason for me to date outside my race...exhibit fuckin' A!) starts in on me liked I fucked her grandmother's corpse or something. My associate explains that I'm counting down my drawer. I doubt that she understood anything that didn't sound remotely like 'the machine is working', so she continues with this mantra of 'if you don't like your job, you should quit' in the snottiest, most condescending tone imaginable.

And yes, I have my moments where the job is a pain in the ass, but this goes beyond 'I don't like my job'; at this point, with her complaining that a spoiled child would consider unbearable, I'm more like 'I don't like humanity, consciousness or life'. And now, let me give you the punchline: this is the exact same impatient cunt that bitched at me two weeks ago about the exact same 'the machine is full' problem while I was performing the exact same 'check the figures' ritual. Now that I think about it, if she tries this again, I'm just gonna shove her nose into her brain and be done with it. Solves my problem just fine...to say nothing of the family members who had to put up with her. I'm sure that at least half of them will hail me as a god.

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