Saturday, February 25th, 2006
Yeah, jobs suck. But I bet mine suck more, crybabies.
Everyone works some shitty jobs to pay for college. Right now, I work at a glass factory. The job is hard, but it’s not as tough as my spare time, most of which is spent getting tetanus shots. It doesn’t help that my supervisor, named Jesus, doesn’t really speak English, except for cuss words. An average work-related conversation goes like this:
Me: How do I use this machine?
Jesus: Fuck! You’ve got to do it in reverse. Don’t be pinchy, or you’ll cut your finger off!
Me: Wait, what??
Jesus: Pinchy, man! Don’t be pinchy. Now swing the blade towards your face.
Me: Huh!?
Jesus: Jesus! Fuck!
This isn’t the only job I’ve tried. In fact, at my college, Student Services will provide almost every student with some sort of job. If I didn’t like the job, I felt encouraged to get fired in some creative way. I could just go to student services and get a new one. With the Internet, it’s almost too easy. Once I sent out an e-mail to all 250 people in the engineering building:
Attn: All
Sadly, I have genital herpes. If I had sex with you at the office party, please get tested. Unfortunately, I can not remember who I had sex with, so you’ll have to figure it out yourselves. If it helps, I usually get with fat broads when I’m wasted. So, if you’re a loose fat broad who had more than three mimosas at the office party, go ahead and check-in.
And, then, there’s this little number I have in my trophy case sent to my former boss describing the day I was fired:
Tue, Feb 24 2003 17:02:14 (CST)
From: jsilveras@untexas.edu
Subject: Registration Help Complaint
To: chiefadmin@untexas.registrar.edu
Dear Mr. Jackson,
This is the transcript you requested as per our phone call. On January 26, 2003, I called the university’s phone registration system to register for classes. I encountered some difficulty entering my password. I called your help desk, where I spoke with a gentleman who did not give me his name, and would only refer to himself as “that nasty old dog.” I explained my problem, and he asked me my password and waist size. After I gave him the requested information, he told me I had a “shitty password” and that, “the system probably won’t register dumb students.” I could smell the alcohol on his breath through the phone. When I expressed my offense, he told me to “loosen up,” and suggested I “smoke a ‘load.” I then asked to speak with another administrator. He then started talking in a deep voice, and told me I was now speaking with “Big Poppa, systems analyst.” In disgust, I hung up the phone and immediately called my sister.
Sincerely,
Julianne Silveras
I’m awesome at getting fired. I can even do it sober. However, one of my more interesting jobs I’ve been fired from was as a spy. I’ve been a paid spy on several different occasions. The first came when I was a frosh. I had an interview with my future boss, who wanted me to spy on the head of my college’s athletic department, named Gordon. During the interview, my future boss claimed that Gordon wouldn’t let him participate in martial arts classes, because he had an anger management problem. Then, my future boss said, “There’s something wrong with my chair,” stood up, picked up his chair, and slammed it on the ground. The chair bounced, like, six feet in the air. That job was awesome. I pretended to be good at martial arts to gain entry into Gordon’s classes. Unfortunately, my “martial arts” were really breakdance moves that I did in my opponent’s face. I was “rooted out” on the fourth day.
I’ve also slopped it as a bartender. That’s a cool job, except late at night, when drunk skeez-os want to hit on you, and you can’t leave. Also, if you’re going to bartend, master the headbutt. It’s the only way to take someone down from the other side of a bar. This one time, I caught this guy stealing cheet-os, so I head-butted him and his friend to the floor. There was orange dust and blood everywhere- it looked like someone poached Chester Cheetah.That was cool, especially because I think one of the guys I head-butted was Russian. The old-skeezos were all over me, that night.
So, as you can see, my life is a 40-hour hellhole rife with sin and disease. Think about that the next time you have to pause your game of Halo so you can go file at daddy’s office. Honestly, you make me so sick, I can barely stomach the drinks I sneak at the glass factory. I hate you.
Drunk Links
- Dang, I wish I found a drunk girl in the park
- Hook me up with some Super Mario III! Motherfucker I need my fix!
- “I thought I was drunk.”
- Drunk teen linked to robbery. Oh my god the insanity.
- The Gay Governor tries to deny his obvious gayness
- If you want to kill people, get drunk with this instead
- Random hot chicks getting naked on Spring Break
From fraternity row to the county morgue, everyone’s raving about binge drinking. It’s definitely the ultimate way for a guy to say, `I may not be able to hold a stable relationship, but I can sure drink a lot.’ But it’s not just for the men, anymore - for girls, binge drinking is a surefire way to say, `hey, I’m fat.’ But getting started can be difficult. Actually, that’s not true at all, it’s really fuckin’ easy- just drink and don’t stop - way easier than dealing with any of your “real” problems.”I remember, Freshman year at UCSD, me and my friend pounded a fifth of J&B. Then we went to the Electronics building, what’s it called- EBU? That building has seven floors of unlocked offices- we went through each one causing mayhem. Not only did we leave each floor trashed and flooded, we used some guy’s computer to send obscene e-mails to everyone on the company mailing list - That’s destroying with your mind! Finally, we froze every elevator on the top floor.
