Overworked, Underpaid, Rinse and Repeat

I’ve reached the point with my job that I need to mess up enough that they stop having me train the new hires, but not so much that they sack me.

I wasn’t scheduled to work today, but the other girl who shares my desk – and one of the few people at my office whom I actually like as a human being – is fighting off a really bad cold. Like some sort of altruistic idiot, I offered to come in for the evening shift so she could get some sleep. I forgot I also had to train our most recent hire.

Ohgodhumaninteractionburnitwithcleansingfire!!!!!$^^WF%^&R%$&*T@(^##GIRW%JSYUR

I hate training. I’m not good at it. I am the last person you want teaching critical information to others. Yes, I want to give people museum tours and talk about ART, but ART is not the inner workings of a rather bizarre software program our company uses, nor the do’s and don’t’s of answering phones (seriously, there’s a lot more involved in good customer service than you’d think). I JUST WANT TO DO MY JOB AND GO HOME AND COLLECT MY PITTANCE OF A PAYCHECK EVERY TWO WEEKS IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

Every now and then, when I get too stressed or annoyed at office policies or become paraoid that they’re going to fire me (out of a cannon into the sun), I like think of ways to Nuke my office when I eventually quit and/or get fired. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to top Josie. When her last job let her go – a martial arts studio that catered to K-6 children – she taught all the kids how to say “sex” in Korean and told them when to yell it during their lessons. Epic.

Now, considering all the financial and private information I’ve got access to, you’d think I could do something. But there’s a fine line between a Nuke and an arrestable offense, and all my ideas eventually land up on the wrong side of that line.

“Hey! I could just steal people’s SS#’s and credit card account info and spend recklessly without consequence forever! Mwahahaha!” is not an option. Because no. There will be no terrible Bizarro-World Robin Hood shit going on here. No robbing the poor to give to the me. No matter how much I want a new laptop. And that sequin dress I saw at the mall today. Or a pony.

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About Morgan Maria D'Isidoro

Morgan Maria D'Isidoro has lived in Baltimore, MD for most of her life, saving a handful of failed escape attempts. Given the murder rates, she'll probably die here too. Morgan is a writer of speculative fiction and poetry, a musician of dubious quality, cat aficionado, art history fangirl, kitchen sorceress, recovering pyromaniac, accomplished liar, and an all around person of questionable employability.
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