They invited him to a midnight premiere of Avengers.
But knowing that he would need a ride, they simply balked out.
Fuck you, guys.
Fuck you so much.
If you really want him out: go ahead and do it.
So, you know what I did? I drove him to the premiere myself.
And I've dumped him off on them.
Really, Eric? You had to take your Dad to the hospital last minute?
I'm sure your girlfriend drove herself to dinner with friends.
Oh, how nice!
You happened to make it to the premiere?
WONDERFUL. You fuckers can drive him home :)
On today's episode of "This Middle-Class Life."
My work takes a dramatic turn.
So, the boss is down from Rhode Island this week.
As much as I kinda wish I could dislike him,
he does a really good job of motivating to work hard.
There's some new bits coming in:
He has confidence that we might get some traction
follow this next release... once the customers are happy,
once the customers are buying - good things are gonna happen.
And he didn't hint at a raise, he explicitly told me that he would try to get me one...
Of course, I told him I wasn't expecting anything,
that I would continue to work hard, to move the product forward.
I make MORE money if I can make the company money.
So, if the product stays alive, I make more money in the long-run.
Besides, I'm taking lessons from a world-class engineer.
That's worth the pain I'm going through.
But still, pain.
I get some bomb-ass benefits.
So many nice things, all kinds of great shit.
But the work is painful, and the responsibilities are huge.
This whole thing rides on 2 other guys. And me.
Today I learned that we have something like 500 customers
waiting to find out what's going to happen with the software.
Really? That many licenses are gonna come out of this?
Jeez. We're still alive and kicking!
We're talking stores that generate hundreds of thousands,
some even in the millions of dollars in revenue....
We are DEFINITELY gonna get a piece of that.
Not only that, but it turns out my bosses don't hate me.
If anything, they're pleased I haven't run away.
And this is no carrot-stick thing, apparently,
the only reason my raise hasn't come in is the budget.
It's not like they don't want me to have one...
It's that they literally can't get it approved.
That was pretty amazing to me.
Here I thought I was some shlub,
that the only reason I was still around is because they need ANYONE.
Nope, turns out that they see me as a more valuable asset with time.
And they're willing to offer me more money to continue to do what I do.
I'm actually worth something.
All my life, the world telling me I'm not worth shit.
Telling MYSELF that I'm hardly worth anything.
God, what fucking pain seeing how these casinos run.
Kissing rich people's asses for a living has a soul-crushing effect.
I thought I wanted to get in on that.
Like, I could handle the whole "I'm worthless without you" bit.
But everyone and their mother is a fucking promoter.
There's no money.
And my coworkers? Shining examples of Dunning-Kruger.
My supervisor Daisy.
She once insinuated that my career wasn't worth much.
And how her job (insurance salesman) was much harder.
Really? What the fuck did you get your degree in, cunt?
NOTHING? You just floated through life?
You work 3 part-times, and you're in your 40s?
You can't tell me my choices are bad ones.
Just look at the ones you've made.
The hours you work, it's service work.
I could literally be drunk, and still be able to perform at a nominal level.
Hell, I'd enjoy my service work if I could be drunk. At least I wouldn't get so
goddamned bored, my hyperactive vigilance dumbed down to
good enough and not noticing how excruciatingly slow doing NOTHING is.
Well, that's hard for you?
I do your job, I do it better.
And I do another job: I validate your dumbass opinions,
and I play a careful game of letting you do your job however you want.
You know why? Because you're a dumb cunt who takes the stress
of working a service job the ENTIRE WRONG WAY.
And there are two benefits for me:
Keeping you in check keeps me from outright calling you a dumb bitch.
I don't even try to say "Hey, we could do things better"
Because you get offended, you think I'm saying I'm smarter than you.
No, I'm being efficient, I'm trying to make both our jobs easier.
But since we're going there.
Yeah, I AM smarter than you.
I have a degree in solving problems.
My knowledge domain is in making things more efficient.
You're just too fucking stupid to realize it.
Secondly: I don't need YOU giving me a bad review to the big boss.
She doesn't fucking care, but you have her trust.
She keeps me around because I do shit well.
Don't tarnish my reputation, you dumb bitch.
If you think I'm overstepping my responsibilites, you get angry.
And if you think I should be doing more, you get angry.
You're unable to determine where you want the boundaries to be.
That's the sign of a bad manager. And you're a fucking terrible one.
So, fuck you, Daisy.
Eat a fucking cock. I'm better than you. Period.
Everything about me is better.
Everything I do is better.
I don't say it very often, but you are shit compared to me.
I'm faster, I'm smarter, I'm handsome.
I'm an average height, too... and I'm young.
I've got a great smile, a vocal range from high baritone to mid-alto.
And I know how to welcome the bros, and flirt just the right amount with the ladies.
You're a short, fat woman in her 40s. And you're mean.
Nobody likes that combo.
And I'm friendly.
I don't shout at the top of my lungs.
I don't treat our GUESTS like fucking cattle.
I make small talk with them in line.
I make myself part of their experience.
I'm the goddamned model.
Why you got that supervisor position?
Only because Lori could count on you to work anything.
She knows you're desperate.
Being supervisor doesn't make you BETTER than me.
And the fact that continuously keep feeling personally attacked...
The fact that part of my job, when working with you,
is keeping you feeling like YOU'RE IN CHARGE?!
Fuck you, cunt.
Seriously, fuck you.
That shouldn't have to be part of my job.
Suck. A. Fucking. Cock.
You know what happens to me?
People stop me in malls, in grocery stores, at Wal-Mart.
More often than not, in the parking lot of HRH...
And even though I'm out of uniform.
They recognize me. And they want to talk to me.
Apparently, I had enough positive impact, that they remember me.
You know what happened when I told this to my coworkers?
They were like, "Really?" No one else has had that happen to them.
That kinda shit.
That's EXACTLY what's been killing me.
And I'm out of it now.
And, I'm slowly starting to feel like I'm getting out of it.
Sure, maybe the company's in bad shape.
But every day I don't work for a fucking casino.
Every day I don't have kiss some douchebag's ass to make a dollar.
Seriously, just a dollar at a time... every time I don't have to do that... I win.
So what if I'm thrashing emotionally.
I've had a lot of crazy feelings in the last two months.
But it's growing pains from going from shitbag to not.
From climbing the ladder and watching my contemporaries falter.
And all of the people who I worked with, all of them are not my equals.
And in many cases, I am completely superior to them.
I can actually say this for the first time.
I don't always have to be the lowest common denominator.
And it's okay if people treat me like I am, sometimes.
Because Daisy may not think I'm shit...
But you know what? I'm not behind shitbagged as someone's assistant.
It's also a bad case of YOLO.
I don't know how it'll end up.
I have no clue what's going on with me.
I can't restrain myself.
I'm also having a serious case of nihilism.
Nihilism and loss of control of my id.
The only things that keep me in check are fear of losing my job,
and fear of not having Natalie taken care of.
I just want her happy...
The end result is that whatever I do to myself.
I'm putting Nat on a pedestal.
I'm taking care of her. I can at least do that.
Regardless of what happens, she's taken care of.
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