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5:12 a.m. - 2005-04-20


I share a workplace with a bunch of public poopers.

The business is inside an old house ... probably 100 years old or so.

We have one bathroom at the back of the building.

And everyone in the place apparently saves their shitting until they get to work.

Each morning, those that show up on time wait in line outside the bathroom to use the toilet.

I'm not a public pooper.

It basically comes down to my fear of assmites.

You know ... those little mites that live on and/or in your ass that are more than likely imaginary but I am cursed with an overactive imagination.

Anyway, I AM a public pee-er and I do my fair share of peeing at work.

And I am honestly getting sick and tired of going in there to pee four times a day and having to breathe through my mouth in order to avoid choking on that aromatic combination of intestine-staining feces and expired Lysol.

Drunk-Assed Jamie is the king of the public poopers.

As soon as he shows up for work, if it's 9 a.m., 11 a.m., or even 2 p.m., he takes the daily newspaper in the bathroom and proceeds to allow his bowels to thunder throughout the building (which has amazing acoustics, by the way).

When he's done, he leaves the newspaper spread out all over the floor in front of the toilet.

I've talked to him on several occasions to let him know that we're not house-training puppies in this joint ... for God's sakes ... pick up the fucking newspapers off the floor.

He's all "Pschaw ... whatever."

I guess he thinks he's doing a public service for the rest of the employees by leaving the paper right where they need it the most.

All I know is that yesterday we ordered pizza for lunch and got jalapenos on one of them.

And that's the last goddamned time we do that ever again.

I was woken up this morning at 4 a.m. by a phone call.

It was a co-worker of Susie's who actually works in another store in another city.

She was calling because Susie hadn't yet made it to their seasonal bitch-out session in Atlanta yet and she was supposed to have been to the hotel last night.

So it was up to me to tell this woman at 4 a.m. that my wife had quit her job and wouldn't be driving the two hours to Atlanta to have upper management bitch her out and threaten to fire her because her store hadn't sold their quota of hammers this month.

She sounded as if she was being repeatedly punched in the gut every time I said another word.

I felt like saying "Look, you stupid bitch. NOBODY calls someone at 4 a.m. unless they're in jail or ... or ... or ... look ... NOBODY calls someone at 4 a.m!!"

The phone call lasted less than a minute.

That was an hour and 15 minutes ago.


Susie told her sleazy boss yesterday afternoon that she was going to be leaving in two weeks.

He said "Well thanks for leaving me high and dry."

She reminded him that if she WAS leaving him high and dry, she'd actually not be turning in a two-week notice and would, in fact, be packing her stuff up and leaving that hour.

He stood there and said "Well, I HATE that you're not going to make bonus for this year."

Susie smiled and said "Believe me ... I'll make a bonus ... at the NEXT job."

Annual bonuses are paid out every March.

So basically, all the time she's worked this April is for naught.

Ummmm ... that's 20 days as of today.

And he's all "You need to stay around 11 more months and 10 days to make sure you get your bonus."

NOBODY in the store got a bonus this year. That's basically unheard of in this corporation. The store is doing SO POORLY that not a single bonus was issued.

And his counter-offer to her new job is to entice her with dreams of imaginary bonuses.

No wonder she's leaving there.

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