A Case Of The Mondays

I’m so sick of the assholes at work. Over. It. Every Monday (and more often than not, most other days), I come and the two managers in my department are assholes. Straight up PMSing, unnecessarily snappy assholes. Short with everyone around them. And for some reason it’s OK. I can’t figure out why. I get called a bitch. And that’s apparently OK. I’m expected to be pleasant to everyone and not be short with anyone, no matter what happens. And yet, they can be assholes. And it’s OK. I assume because they’re men.

And the more infuriating thing about it is one second they’ll be dicks to me. Straight up dicks. And the next they want to talk about basketball and grocery shopping and drinking beer. WTF. Bi-polar? I have no idea. All I know is there’s something seriously wrong with their personal lives if they’re treating everyone at work like shit. And it’s NOT OK.

I really need to start buying lottery tickets. I feel trapped. The only way out of this place is to win the lottery. And trust me, if I did, no one here is getting a penny from me. Nope. I’m out. See ya on the other side!

In fact, I’m not sure I’d share my money with anyone. I’d retire and live the dream. No big flashy cars. Maybe a house on some land where it’s quiet. Travel. But mostly, I’d just hang out and be thankful to be free of “the grind.”

I can’t believe I was in such a hurry to grow up.

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