the diary of antoine roquentin

Robots in Disguise – Turn It Up [I was listening to this one all day]

I must say that today was one of the most disheartening and depressing days that I’ve had in a very long time.

I really don’t want to relive why it sucked. I’ll just give the highlights.

9:40 a.m. – I wake up. With six hours of sleep. I’ve only been getting six or so hours this entire week, so needless to say I’m a bit exhausted.

11 a.m. – I get to work, and I’m immediately taken into my boss’s office where he berates me for leaving one hour early yesterday. Okay, let’s rewind: yesterday I had finished with all my tasks, and not much had been submitted, so I had to decide whether to surf the Web randomly for an hour on the clock until my boss got back or to leave, I decided to do what I thought was the professional thing and leave. That part of the tirade I didn’t really mind, but the next thing he said really got me. One of the people that I really respect there and thought was my friend (Matt) went and tattled on me. Apparently he was so busy answering my phone that he couldn’t get any work done. If he was so bothered, he could’ve just gone up to the front desk and told them that I wasn’t there and to take messages. And basically all I ever do is sit around an answer people’s phones when they’re gone. And he has to do it for one day? Boo fucking hoo.

The accusation that I was lazy infuriated me. The understatement of the fucking century. I sit there and type even though my wrists hurt. I sit there and do my work when that nincompoop Coworker of Doom is surfing the Web and playing video games. I answer the motherfucking phones, I’m polite, and I do the best job I can. I’ve come in on weekends, I’ve done all sorts of shit that was above and beyond. I quadruple-check the obits to make sure that there isn’t a single error. And this is the thanks I get. I get INCREDIBLY ANGRY even thinking about it. Let’s see that lazy videogame playing bitch type with some tendonitis instead of sit there and complain about her allergies all day.

I simply must find a new job.

I’m rarely very perturbed when I get chewed out for things that I genuinely did wrong, but this ridiculous notion of staying at the office yesterday when I didn’t have anything to do really fucking pissed me off. And it didn’t help either that I had an incredible workload that day: the normal crap plus three epic obits (They were so painfully detailed that I was half-expecting to find for each person a list of their most promising bowel movements, complete with weight and volume measurements), and a neverending file of convictions to format.

And to top it all off, there’s a stack of messages on my desk with either no name or no contact number or no information whatsoever. For future reference, guys, this sort of message is not a message:

Jane Doe called.

That tells me about as much as if you were to smear human excrement across my monitor. Come on, you inept fucks. I can do it for one dollar above minimum wage. Let’s all say it together:

Name.
Number.
Message.

Amazing! It’s taken me years to master the intrinsic complexities of phone messages. And you idiots with a four-year degree can’t comprehend it. Let me say this to you tattletaling fucking pansies:

Eat. Shit. And. Die.

And thanks for fucking up my day.