I Hate my Fucking Job

            This is a rant. My job costs me too fucking much. I don’t even know where to begin.

            Lets start with the easy target. Hailey. She’s a co-worker. I’ve worked with her twice this month, and good lord is she dumb. Seriously. We had a three girl call a week or so ago and we were hanging out in the living room shooting the shit, and she starts in about how she watched this show that was saying that they’re finding evidence that perhaps dinosaurs and people lived at the same time.

            “No.” Was my counter argument. She wasn’t worth the energy for me to explain to her just how dumb she was. I was just going to leave it at ‘No’.

            “No really!” She said, excited that she could back up her claim, “They found ancient pictures of the three horned ones on walls of a cave”

            “The triceratops?”

            “Yeah!”

            “No.” I said again. She was going to push it, but I interrupted her. “If this is the time line of the planet, dinosaurs are here, and we are alllllll the way down at the other end.”

            She decided to change the direction of her argument, “So you don’t believe in God then?”

            “What?”

            “Well you can’t believe in God if you believe in dinosaurs.”

            Are you fucking kidding me? I hate this girl. She’s such a flake. And she’s done to the nines. Fake tits out on display, fake nails, fake eyelashes, fake tan. She looks like a prostitute when she’s walking in the mall. I will never look like a whore. I don’t even think I own a skirt that is higher than my mid thigh. I am not my job. I could go on about her, but what’s the point?

            Rant Part 2: Fucking guys. It was a two girl call, and Hailey was setting it up, but the woman at the agency had me call them too. And he starts haggling with the price. When I didn’t budge, he said, “I’ll call you back, no, you call me in two minutes.”

            That means that he’s just going to ignore the call. Instead I called the agency and told them what happened.

            “Can you call them back. They just need someone else to tell them the same thing in different words.” She did and the call got booked. It was in ghetto. I haven’t been out there in a long time.

            The call went alright. My guy was just a sweet guy. He didn’t really want to have sex, just show me pictures of his girlfriend and tell me how kinky she was. Then his cousin wanted to switch. I have no issue with that, but it’s not free. He asked me to join him in his room alone to talk about it. Once there he told me that Hailey had agreed and they were already going at it. So I went into the other bedroom and she was just sitting there having a smoke. I cleared things up with her, and we agreed that no fucking way that was the case, and idiot face wanted to have another whisper party with me.

            “Divide and conquer isn’t going to work here,” I said to him as followed him back into his bedroom. He offered me $60, then a trip to the bank. It was a bullshit conversation. He had no interest in listening to me. He just wanted what he wanted and he didn’t want to pay for it. There was going to be no trip to the bank. When I was arguing with him in my sweet joking but slightly firm voice, all I could think about was how much I wanted to deck him. I have such a fantasy (and I think I have it with all clients) of just cold clocking them. I have never punched anyone, but the idea of just pulling my arm back like a coiled spring then bring it crashing down onto their cheek bone… well, it just warms my insides. It’s my favourite work fantasy.

            Hailey hates “pakies” (I don’t even know how to spell it… and these guys were from Iraq anyway) so it wasn’t long before she was at the door telling me it was time to go.

            Unfortunately I didn’t get that $60 he so sweetly offered.

            Rant #3. Fuck this job! Seriously! Fuck it all to hell!!! I’m seeing this guy. No, it’s not a real relationship. I don’t get the luxury of a real relationship. It has fuck buddy status. And I thought I could pull it off. He’s only here until early February, then he’s gone for… forever? I don’t know. So I thought I could get away with not telling him. When asked what I did for a living I told him I’m job hunting, which lead him to assume I’m unemployed. But after a month of no visible income we were texting and he asked me what I was doing that night and I told him I was dropping something off at a friends house. Which was mostly true, if I told him I was dropping off cash that I owed to my mechanic, it would have sounded way more suspect. Anyway. He made a joke about being a drug dealer, and well… I have integrity! I came clean. That’s right. The prostitute didn’t want the boy she was seeing to think she was a drug dealer. Such a high ethical standard. Fuck you. Whatever.

            We talked about it for a bit… well I talked, he listened. I asked if he had any questions. He said no. He just needed to ‘process’ it. I asked that if he decided to decline, to spare me the “it’s not you, it’s me speech.” I just didn’t need to hear it again. But sure enough, he had to do it. Around midnight the long text, that read exactly like November 3rds post did, only extended, came.

            But we’ve been talking, and I think things are going ok. And by talking I mean texting. I called him tonight to tell him that we need to sit down and have a verbal discussion about it because I know where I think he is with this, but I don’t think that’s where he really is. I like being optimistic.

            Rant #4, I actually got hassled by the cops tonight. First. This is what happens when you’re in the ghetto. Hailey and I left idiot-face’s place, and our cars were parked half way down the block and around the corner. As we start out on the sidewalk, a cruiser and a ghost car drive by. She’s wearing a tiny little winter jacket and tight jeans, I’m wearing a long black trench, and knee high boots with stockings.

            “Wait for it….” I say to Hailey, and sure enough both cars pull a U-turn up ahead. They pull up to the curb next to us and roll down their window.

            “Have you two girls seen a white guy in a plaid shirt running by?” He asks.

            “No, we just left our friends house.”

            “Ok, well this is a sketchy neighbourhood, be safe.”

            “Yes officer.”

            There was no guy in a plaid shirt, he just wanted to see what we were up to. Whatever. Could have been worse.

            I can’t wait until I get a new job.