The Working Kind

I come in to work early telling myself I need to get things done. I have the best of intentions. Practically every day. Although I hate my job, I show up. Every day. This is unusual considering the number of sick days made available to me. For some reason, although I don’t like to work, I have the ethic that tells me I should be here just the same. However hard I work or apply myself seems beside the point.

Then someone else comes in early and perches on the side of my desk and starts asking me about my weekend. I speak in grunts and make it clear (again) that I’m not a morning person, I don’t like to talk in the morning, I came in early to do some extra work that I’m on a deadline for and no matter, they just start talking anyway. About their boring fucking lives and how their rotten brat did this or that and what their stupid alcoholic husband is up to and how they’re not really fulfilled in their marriage and anyway, have a good day. And then the next loser sidles up and the cycle continues.

I don’t understand when I openly and actively spend a good deal of time telling people that I don’t enjoy participating in life in the morning why they continue to come up to me and unload. Is it because I’m a good listener? Well, if you call not even turning to face the person talking to me, continuing to type at whatever I’m doing and barely even bothering to say yeah or wow or gee, really? Then yes, I’m a good listener.

You might chalk this up to me being unhappy with my present calling as a bureaucrat and my paralysis at not changing this situation but no, this is something more elegant and rotting. It is reality – even if I loved my job, I’ll never be a morning person. Throughout the rest of the day, I hate most people, in the morning, I hate all people. I am generally a nice, if incredibly sarcastic, person who likes people to like him but not in the goddamned morning!

Take your cheap husbands, your simpering wives, your snot faced kids who kept you up all night, that brilliant new sitcom aimed at retards that you love and shove them all up your big fucking….oh good morning, not bad, didn’t do much, how about you?


Dena said...

Dale, why didn't this post get any comments? Was it before you became a complete and utter clit magnet?

I don't care what time of day it is -- don't talk to me about your lives. If I gave a shit, I'd read your blog. See, I read your blog. ex-oh-ex!

Dale said...

I think this was before you gave me my big push out into the blogging world Dena. I was a gentler kinder man then. No I wasn't.

Totally would read their blogs if I gave a shit! haha.