Lets face it, most of us hate our jobs. And for those of you who don’t hate your job now, give it time. You might start out fast at the gate and then end up like the rest of us: stammering along, day in and day out, thinking of ways to euthanize yourself with a No. 2 pencil. Regardless of how we all get to this special point in life, this is why you’re most likely to kill yourself at your job:
Your boss is a giant douche bag. And for all of those people right now going “but I work for the most amazing in the whole blah blah…” please suck one. Chances are that those people you have come to know and love as controllers of whether or not you can afford underwear will someday screw you so hard that your children will be singing Lady Gaga covers on the streets for nickels, just to pay for college. So whether the head of your business is meaner than the Devil’s dick or so nice they have to be underground human smugglers, they will bone you in the end. And rather than deal with any sort of face to face confrontation, you’re more likely to die of high blood pressure under a pile of PTS reports in your cubicle.
Some places of employment are safe. Like working from home or out of your mother’s basement. Others are liable to take a few fingers or toes in the process (Wendy’s chili rings a bell). Either way, occupational hazards are thriving in the most likely or unlikely of places. Staplers, pens, hand trucks, feral children and/or animals are all nouns that can end our existence at any given moment. Sure, you’re not making Nike’s at a sweat shop in Jakarta, but instead you call people and harass them about their unpaid Home Shopping Network Platinum Card purchases. Either way, a small part of you is dying each and every second you stay with this particular employer (who, btw, is probably in the Caribbean somewhere while you’re slowly being backed over by a renegade forklift). Safety videos, safety goggles, helmets, knee guards, elbow pads and Kevlar armor are all indicators that it’s only a matter of time before you bite the big one.
You ever wonder how many games of computer solitaire it takes before someone becomes so crazy they make unconditional love to an ink jet printer? The clock is ticking. One day you will go ape shit and decide its perfectly fine to spend your life savings on authentic Medieval armor, show up to work and just throw down. And that’s perfectly fine. Everyone has different ways with coping the stress of working 60+ hours a week for sub-par compensation at a place that’s outsourced more jobs than Walmart this week (not possible btw). So when you find yourself on a cot in a shrink’s office talking about your misspent youth or in a straight jacket whistling the theme to the Andy Griffith Show, remember you’re not alone…
So what kind of shit-tastic job are you a slave to? Hit me up in the comments below. And for all of you out there living perfectly happy, fulfilling lives with your dream job, please proceed to jump feet first into a woodchipper.
Gearing up to punch my boss in the face,