My Day Job.
I refer to it, and don't really talk about it. I post here occasionally from there, mostly because my computer was indisposed at home. It's entirely possible that this blog can be monitored by Day Job's Corporate Offices. That's okay; I don't plan on saying anything terrible. And I'm on my lunch break as I type this, so. Yeah.
But really? The customers at Day Job are insufferable. I cannot fathom what these people must do each morning upon waking to put them into such demanding, horrible moods that they must come in here to take it out on us. I work in Manhattan. I work on the Upper East Side. People here, they're not used to being told "no". And let's be clear-- it's not my job to tell people "no". Unless, of course, they come in wanting--nay, demanding--something that either violates the company policy (which is put in place by people above me), or that we just don't have. As polite as one can be, in those cases, I tell them "no". And then! Oh, gosh, you'd think I'd just punched their child in the face and spat on their Fendi bag. All hell breaks loose.
I mean, look. I'm 29. I'm not the most adultest adult. I'm not a kid either. But these broads are pushing 70 a lot of times! You can't tell me they were all born into a life of priviledge; I'm sure some of them really worked hard to get to where they are, sitting on their giant bags of money. But along the way it seemed that they lost the ability or desire to interact with people at the ground level, still making their honest living. I'm just here to do a job. I enjoy it a lot of times, but largely, it's to make money, to pay bills, to eat. I'm just here to work. I want it to be pleasant. Everything would go a lot smoother for everyone, if people would just relax.
I want to shake some of these people and just be like, "YOU ARE AN ADULT". Unfortunately, just like it's not my job to say "no" all the time, it's not my job to help people grow the hell up.