I have had a horrible time at work the past few weeks. The kind of thing that makes you cry, want to drink, and fall into bed at ungodly hours and then lie awake brooding, we’ve all been there. Luckily, it appears to be almost over, and I think I have convinced our boss to reward us with pizza. We’ll do anything for pizza, apparently.
I suppose, though, that I should be grateful to have a job. After all, I could be in the same boat as these people, and be facing the horror of having my 5-digit bonus be cut in half so I couldn’t afford to go to Paris.
On the other end of the spectrum, I could have been shot at work while rescuing a woman from her attacker, and then been denied worker’s comp.
If I had gone to a bar to drink away my sorrows, I could have been beaten up by bouncers for not using a coaster.
But I am comforted to know that if I lose my job, I could give blood, or make my husband donate sperm, for money AND career advice. Too bad I’m too old to donate my eggs or ovaries.
And if I do get fired, I certainly hope it’s not for having cancer.
Nonetheless, I am somewhat bummed I don’t work for this guy.
Okay, I have to go to my second job, namely taking care of my sick and prostrate husband before he dies of malnutrition. Hope you all have a great week.
February 23rd, 2009 at 4:48 pm
At great risk of being flippant (and I’m not), sometimes I feel like the guy who gets beat up for not using a coaster.