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.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Yet another day of work has gone by. Like a lot of them lately (perhaps, too many), I've made comments about people. Not just those that piss me off, but everyone. Sometimes, they move too slow. Sometimes, they're just minding their own business. I have a remark for all of them. I find myself using language and expressions I would never, in a million years, have used had I had a different line of work.

I really think I've been working this job for too long. The fact that, even with my moodiness, I've been at the store for ten years can only be attributable to the fact that I don't exist. People stand in my way. I put up signs telling people how to use the machines. No one pays any attention to anything I do.

This has brought up a question that is as fascinating as it is frightening: am I being so snappish to everyone because I suspect, in the back of my mind, that I'll never be punished for it, or am I just a genuinely unpleasant person?

I get the feeling that I'll soon learn the answer. Even more, I get the feeling I'll be unhappy with it.

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