DAY 168: Now If Only My TV Could Pay The Bills…

As I’ve been bitching about the past few days, my work is now enforcing a strict dress code… which means that I am seriously considering quitting, or better yet, getting fired.

Monday I showed up in my usual attire (sneakers, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie) and got a verbal warning. The next time I show up looking so unprofessional(!) I get sent home without pay. The third time I choose to defy the corporate gods, I get fired.

In order to buy myself some more time before making a stupid decision that I might regret, just to be able to say that I held my head high and took a stand for what I believe in… I’ve decided to burn up the rest of my vacation days. So now I have today, Wednesday and Thursday off. Friday I’m safe because it’s “Casual Friday.” But come Monday, I have a big decision to make.

I told myself that I was going to take these next three days to start looking for another job. Yeah right. These next three days are more like a sneak preview of what my life as an unemployed slob is going to be like. I didn’t think it was possible for me to spend even more time on the internet and in front of the TV. But somehow I managed to get even less things accomplished, with 8 extra hours added to my day.

In my defense, I did clean the kitchen today. But I think I only did that because Biggest Loser was on, and I made a promise to myself at the beginning of the B.L. season that I could only watch B.L. if I was doing something productive at the same time. (How else could I justify allowing myself to watch a two hour reality show about people working out?)

Once the kitchen was spotless, I rewarded myself with half a pot cookie, some American Idol, a little Big Brother, and a few classic episodes of Arrested Development.

So basically, I sat around all night and watched TV like it was my job. Which right now… it sort of is.

DAY 164: The Only Place I Want To Wear Khakis, Is Around My Neck.

As much as I hate my job, I’ve always tried to stay (somewhat) positive by saying, “Hey, it could always be worse… at least I don’t have to dress up.“

Unfortunately, I’m now going to have to come up with a new silver lining.

Remember my old boss? The one I said some pretty mean things about on this blog eons ago, and almost got fired for after one of my shit-head coworkers ratted me out? Well my old boss, the one who used to wear sandals and ripped jeans that were so loose you were treated to a shot of hairy crack every time he bent over, is now our regional director. Ironically, he who used to be such a big talker about how “The Man” can “kiss our (hairy) asses,” is now the poster child for Corporate America, and is enforcing a strict dress code.

I want to die. No sneakers. No jeans. No t-shirts. The new spring fashion at the pharmacy will consist of dress shoes; a belt; a button-up, collared shirt; and two of the ugliest words I have ever heard: slacks or khakis.

Did I mention that I want to die?

I’m now faced with a dilemma. Do I stay or do I go? After I quit my job at the hospital pharmacy I was working at back in MN, I vowed never to wear khakis again. Except for my niece’s baptism, I’ve now kept that promise for 3.5 years. I own one pair of slacks and one dress shirt, which I’ve worn at total of once.

Dressing up makes me want to crawl out of my skin and die. Dress clothes never fit me properly, and wearing them gives me violent flashbacks of high school when I had to wear a tie and suffer physical and emotional abuse.

I know it seems kind of silly to quit because of a dress code. But honestly, at this point, it’s sort of the straw that’s gonna break this camel’s back. Besides, I wouldn’t quit. I would break dress code repeatedly and make them fire me so that I can at least collect unemployment.

As I see it, I have two options:

1. Wear the same outfit every single day and be even more miserable at work than I already am… but at least have financial security.

or

2. Let them fire me, collect unemployment, and look for a new (non-pharmacy) job.

Right now I’d say I’m split 50/50 on which route to take. In my head, I think I’m romanticizing unemployment. As my imagination sees it, I would use my free time wisely to get a lot of writing done. And as a result, I would be really proactive about looking for a writing related job. Even if I couldn’t find my dream job right away, maybe I could at least find an office job where I’m able to sit in front of a computer all day and g-chat with my friends. I mean, if I’m gonna have to dress up for work I’d rather be at a job where I have little responsibility and free range over the internet.

But the reality of the situation is that I’d have to take a major pay cut, and if I didn’t find a job right away I’d be screwed because I have absolutely no savings. And something tells me that my unemployment checks won’t even cover the rent, let alone any of my other spending habits.

Obviously, I have a lot to think about this weekend.

Any advice or job leads would be greatly appreciated.

DAY 107: These Are A Few Of My Least Favorite Things…

Yesterday over g-chat, I typed the following message to Jeffrey:

me: god, i feel like i’ve been in MN for a whole year already
i’m going crazy
must get back to NY
except i’m not looking forward to our bathroom or work

Boy howdy, did I sure know what I was talking about!

When I stepped into our bathroom this morning, I might as well have stepped out into our backyard to take my shower. For some reason, our bathroom is an arctic hell. Jeffrey is convinced that it is built on top of an ancient Indian burial ground, and we both like to joke about how Time Out NY has rated it one of the “Top 5 Worst Bathrooms in Brooklyn.” Seriously, I’m going to have to start dressing like this, just to use the shitter.

(Interesting sidenote: When you google image search “arctic hell” this NSFW image is on the first page.)

As far as work went today… Uff Da! (Sorry, MN lingo still fresh in my mind.)

Work was much too painful to describe in detail. So instead, below are my tallies to give you a good idea of just how god-awful my first day back at the funny pharm was.

Number of hours worked: 12

Number of Grande Mistos: 3

Number of TastyKakes: 6

Number of breaks: 0

Number of times e-mail was checked: 0

Number of times I candidly discussed quitting: 2

Number of Saturdays I agreed to work this month: 2

Number of idiots who work too hard at a job they don’t even like: 1

DAY 85: Ten Things That Suck.

(WARNING: Do not read ahead if you’re not caught up on your Wednesday night reality TV.)

1. Work

Tensions are running high at work right now. In the past two days, two out of the three people that I work with in the basement have cried. I think we’re ready for our own reality show.

2. Trader Joe’s Frozen Roasted Corn

Do not buy this unless you like your corn to taste like you’re eating it out of an ashtray.

3. The End of Kid Nation

Long live Pageant Princess Taylor!!!

4. The Final Two on ANTM

Probably my least two favorite girls of this cycle. The only thing that sucked more than they did was…

5. The “Fashion Show” on ANTM

Hey ladies, have fun walking for the judges, some people on stilts, and a bunch of paid extras dressed up in traditional Chinese garb. Ooh, can you feel the pressure?

6 & 7. My Boyfriend Going Home / Ricky NOT Going Home

Sigh. Life is so unfair.

8. Steven’s Dress

Or is it? The judges finally sent the right person home this week.

9. Crowned: The Mother Of All Pageants

This show sucks. But what sucks even more is that I’m probably going to watch the entire season, or at least until it gets canceled.

10. iTunes

Apparently, on iTunes you’re only allowed to burn a purchased song 7 times before it stops you. So now, unless I can come up with a better plan, I have to pick my 7 closest friends to receive my “Making the Yuletide Gayer” mixed CD.

DAY 55: Just Another Manic (Depressive) Monday.

This morning I woke up feeling great. (Odd for a Monday, right?) Whilst scrubbing myself clean in the shower, inspiration struck and I got to thinking about my Top Secret Winter Writing Project. (I set a goal for myself to write something, anything this winter. I’d tell you what I decided on, but then it wouldn’t be top secret anymore, now would it?) Anyhow, the point is… I was in really good mood, and I had all these exciting, creative ideas floating around in my head. I wanted nothing more than to grab my laptop, my writing journal, a handful of loose change and head down to my neighborhood coffee shop to write all morning long. Unfortunately, the reality of the situation was that all I had to grab was my Metrocard so that I could get to work this morning.

As they day wore on and the pills got counted, I became more and more depressed. And I’m not talking a sad, pensive depressed. It was definitely more of a angry, hostile, I’m-gonna-fucking-kill-someone-possibly-myself depressed. One of my co-workers noted that I seemed “more gloomy than usual.” It was sweet of him to notice, but instead of thanking him for his concern, I shot him a look that said, “I’m gonna cut you and step over your half-dead body as I leave you to bleed to death in this dingy basement/hellhole I call work.”

Needless to say, I was no longer having a good day. By the time the work clock struck 2pm I had come to my weekly conclusion that one day I am going to wake up and suddenly be 45, and not only will the fame and fortune that I secretly and desperately seek have passed me by, but I will also still be working at a pharmacy and not even be able to be making a living off of what I really want to do with my life, which is be a “professional” writer. Melodramatic much? Of course. But that’s just they way my unstable brain works. I start out with these really great ideas, and then, by the end of the day I have convinced myself that my ideas are stupid and that I shouldn’t even bother with them anyhow because I don’t have the determination or self-discipline it takes to get what I want out of life.

I of course blame a lot of my shitty attitude on my job. I feel most creative in the morning. I do not feel very creative after 8 hours of working with customers and co-workers and insurance companies that more often than not, test my patience. By the time I get home from work, the brain power that I would have liked to devote to my writing, has already been exhausted… mostly on coming up with creative ways to stay sane and not try and kill anyone during the workday.

So why not just quit my job? Because $800 in rent money is not gonna grow out of my ass. You see, it’s a Catch-22. While my job may be slowly killing me, I also need it to survive. Now more than ever. I can’t even get money out of the ATM right now because there’s not enough to withdraw and still have the minimum balance there.

SO DEPRESSING!!!

Now that I’m at home, I am feeling a little better. But that’s mainly because Jeffrey has opened a bottle of wine for us to share. (I love having a roommate that will drink with me on a Monday night!) However, I still don’t feel like writing. Yes, I know that technically blogging is writing… but at this point it’s so second nature to me, that labeling it as “writing” would be like calling breathing “working at staying alive.”

Honestly, what I really feel like doing right now is the dishes. And that’s a sure sign that I’m depressed. Whenever life seems too impossible to clean up metaphorically… I clean up litterally instead.

DAY 37: (re)Tardiness.

I’ve been late to work every day this week. And not just 5 or 10 minutes. 20 is my minimum. Yesterday, it was almost an hour. Partially, I blame my job for being so lax about it. And partially I blame my brain for tricking myself into believing that even though I moved further out and I have to take two trains to work now, my commute isn’t any longer.

Tonight I went to go cheer on my teammates the Halster and RoboRob as they performed as stereotypes (college activist girl and Scottish lad, respectively) against a team of mentally retarded characters in the UCB’s “Offensive Fest” Cagematch. I was slightly disappointed in the retard team because A.) Only one person was wearing a helmet. B.) No one drooled on stage. C.) No one dressed as this.

After the stereotypes kicked some retard ass, we all went out to ye ol’ comedy bar for a post show drink… which does not bode well for me getting to work on time in the morning, especially as the hour of 3am quickly approaches. And tomorrow night I have a show, which I know we’ll all go out after, which does not bode well for me getting to work in a timely fashion Saturday morning.

I guess it would help if I ever stayed at work late, to make up for the hours that I missed. But honestly, I have a hard time staying at work until 6:30, when I’m actually scheduled to leave.

Seriously, why does work have to get in the way of everything?

God, if you’re out there and you’re listening to my prayers (or reading my blog) tonight, please make me rich so I don’t ever have to work again.

Amen and good night.