Worked Stiff

12 05 2008

So it’s come to this.

It took defaulting on student loan payments for Flight Academy for me to seek gainful employment, if you can call it that. The temp agency sent me to what has to be the dumpiest PR firm in midtown—we’re in the basement of T.G.I.Friday’s (not a client, by the way). Forget about natural light.

Thus far nobody’s even told me what I’m supposed to be doing. All I can glean from my workspace is that I’m expected to sit and produce copious amounts of garbage:

And because they refuse to give me a building ID, the front desk security guard/T.G.I.Friday’s hostess tried to shoo me away when I came back from lunch break.

Also, it turns out I don’t get a lunch break.

On top of that, my boss, Arnie or Ernie, whatever, got up in my beak about getting feathers on the water cooler nozzle. That buttwipe can’t prove anything. He probably doesn’t even know that I lost my last job by blogging about my buttwipe boss.

—Nero

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Plucked

18 07 2008

Well, the should-have-seen-that-coming has happened.  Just got fired for blogging about my crap job.

Again.

But you know what that means!!:

INFINITE-DAY WEEKEND FUCK YEAH     

ok im getting kicked off the computer now i was supposed to leave like 20 minutes ago and anyway theres only one compu





Chexmate

18 06 2008

The indignities just keep coming.  

My temp job is so dull you couldn’t cut a blade of grass with it.  And since I don’t enjoy the comforts of my own computer or a desk to display bobble-heads on, I have only one pleasure: a daily 75¢ bag of transcendently salt-infused Original Chex Mix from the break room’s vending machine.  

Oh, believe me, I’d like more than one bag a day, but the machine isn’t restocked very often, and if I indulge my Chex addiction too much, I’ll be left deliberating whether trail mix or Juicyfruit gum would be the less vomit-inducing alternative.  Not a great selection in that machine.  But I have a system, and it works.

Usually.

The avian community agrees: Chex Mix is worth risking your life for

There are some days, however, when the ever-sadistic machine decides that you can’t have anything from Row C.  Row C, C as in the row Chex Mix calls home.  Put in a dollar bill—or exact change, which I’m always prepared with—and push C-3; a light goes on next to the phrase “make another selection.” The Chex Mix is there, begging you to free it from its coiled metal prison, but the machine thinks you might like something in another row better.  Either that or its playing dumb.  You press your forehead to the plexiglas and sigh, defeated.

And then there comes a time when you can’t let junk food-dispensing robots win.  

You see where all this is going, don’t you.

I’m still in the neck brace.  And I’m pretty sure I got fired, but who knows—after my head had been stuck in the slot for 20 minutes I sorta blacked out.  And I couldn’t pay my hospital bill, so they kicked me out a little earlier than is customary in these cases.

But not before offering me trail mix.

—Nero

 

 

 

 





Laugh Out Loud, I Dare You

16 05 2008

I confess to having LOLcat fever, despite my mixed feelings on the phenomenon. On the one hand, these pictures usually play up a cat’s alleged cuteness, and as a member of the avian community (often exploited for “hunting practice” by sociopathic felines), I can’t condone any sympathetic portrayal of said monsters. Stand together, flying V!

At the same time, I love the intimation that cats can’t spell correctly and can only string the most retarded of sentences together. I guess that’s what keeps me looking for new pics pretty much any chance I get at my temp job—this perpetually sweaty guy on the other side of the office is the only one with a computer, and when he gets up, for any reason, everyone starts bickering over whose turn it is for Internet. Usually a lot of honking and biting on my part is enough to put the rest of the underpaid white-collar mob in their place.

Well today I snagged a 3-minute block when Sweats (we don’t know his real name) was in the can. And I saw something on MySpace I never would have expected.

Too soon.

I guess the honeymoon is over … doesn’t feel too good when the shoe is on the other foot. Or drumstick. Thanks, world wide web users, for the LOLgoose. One more pointless diversion I can no longer enjoy.

You just had to take it too far.