I don't wanna go to work I don't wanna go to work I don't wanna go to work I don't wanna . . . dear gods I hope they fire me dear gods I hope they fire me dear gods I . . .
NO. No I shouldn't wish for that. No I shouldn't wish that they uncover some scandelous and devilishly deviant aspect of my personality or pants and make it so I can never ever work in retail in this country again.
Fuck that sounds too nice. I have to stop this. I need money, and it's easy work.
Moving myself around in that place, a lot of things are coming back to me about working in retail. Such as the extreme, inexplicable, and definitely disturbing hatred I feel for all of the customers. Such as the over the top fantasies of people's heads going explodo on the walls . . .
What's wrong with me? Am I spoiled? Or is it simpler? No. I think that regardless of my financial and/or social position, this bizarre hatred would still be there.
Usually I'm pretty serene in my acceptance of the fact that most people are obnoxious idiots. But this context makes me feel more than a little bitter about this state of affairs.
I know, I sound like an arrogant jerk. How I wish that really was the problem.
"I want to kill this killing wish." -Tori Amos