As a writer I find it harder to stop smoking, stop drinking coffee, stop fucking randoms. Yet, in the big scheme of things, I will stop doing all of these things.
I have found love and I have found that I am, unfortunately, disabled by a phenomenon. Yes, I have something of a phenomenon, which, is a disorder involving blood vessels and stuff that I can’t explain, that is effected by caffeine and nicotine. Boo. You fucking whore.
Recently I quit my job of 3 years and I am doing this writing thing seriously now. I don’t have a second job, although that is bullshit, and I don’t know how I will create enough income to accommodate my accommodations. The digs I live in, basically a flashy pantry, are cool. I bring, or brought, girls home here. Now that I can no longer drinking coffee I will drink tea. Now that I can’t smoke I will inflate my lungs with oxygen. I will take every breath as though it is good for me and as though I look no cooler than the dork walking across the street towards some D and D thing.
I quit my job and I quite like it. People are hating because, well, they are jealous. I got out and I did not serve 10, 20, 30, 40 years in a corporate grocery store. The sickest thing I have ever come across is capitalism, yet I wish I was rich, and it is sad. I think that people that control others and oppress others are full of shit. THEY HAVE LOST CONTROL OF THEMSELVES. I choose not to work that and everyone looks at me like I am quitting, leaving them, or fucking them over. I think that there is more to it then that. I realize what I do when I work. I take orders, I collect a check. I want to do something more than just collect. I was robbed three weeks ago, I have no money, and I am better off than I have ever been. I realize that I no longer need to do something because I need to do something. I will do something, anything, whatever I want to do whenever I want to do it, because I want to do it.
For three years I climbed the ladder…
As a young adult I thought I could make my way up to the top of this line of work. I thought I could make it to top-dog, much respect, no one above me only below. I soon found out fast that working in a grocery store in Minneapolis, especially a corporate change grocery store, none the less, would make it impossible to achieve my goal of grand-master boss player. I failed. As of now I have maybe 5 days of official work left. I have quit this job twice before and I took my two weeks notice back. This time I am serious. I didn’t tell anyone, I mean, I did, but it was done via note to management. I had been told so many times that the “door is right there, walk out if you don’t like it” that it doesn’t really matter to me. I am not thinking about it because it is sad that I am leaving I am thinking about it because it is sad I have stayed so long. Like so many other started out I thought it was a decent job. The job paid so well it made you wonder why. I am, was, in a labor union. Unions are bullshit. If you want to do all the work for people who have been there for 30 years and don’t do shit join a labor union. Don’t talk about getting fired. Don’t talk about other people not doing their job. Fuck, if I run a store and someone doesn’t do their job or something doesn’t work right they are fucking getting fired. I suggest this and people laugh. It is a labor union.
As I walk the store I notice things made of plastic hanging from the shelves, these items serve no purpose at all but to be paid for, played with for five minutes, thrown into a garbage can to be moved to a waste dump, so a seagull can slowly choke to death on them.
I don’t cry. I think, who could do this? Do they know what they are doing? Lining their pockets? Are they buying presents for their family members while the poor starve to death with bellies full of malnourishment of which they purchase at the formers’ very store?
I don’t know. I will no longer think of it. You are named after something that comes after the rain yet you are as ominous as a storm cloud. Sorry, you are named after color and symbolic of homosexuals, yet you are nothing like the two. You have no color but black, you have no gay you frown daily and make others frown in the process. YOU ARE PROCESSED PRIDE.
I feel sorry for the 50 something, 60 somethings, that are “trapped”. Governments should take action and shut down such waste dispensaries. I highly doubt they will even take a look, there are other problems.
escape while you can. I wrote on my lunch box: Get out while you still can for motivation. For months I would walk in the back room and look at that. I said fuck it. I said fuck it. I dislike security when you pay for it in self-disappointment. I am ashamed. 3 years of being ashamed and I am done with it.
I feel sorry for those of you that lost your balls and your self-worth at the door. I think collecting a check in exchange for my soul, my sanity, and my passion is ridiculous. Move along little doggy. I am here. I am back bitches…