:Grumble:

I hate my job. I know, I know. What the hell else is new? But we've sunk to even lower depths of bullshit than ever before.

It all started a few days ago. One of the other cashiers, Jenni, cam back from break. She was crying. It seems that she had run to the restroom before heading back to her register and one of the co-managers, Tom, wasn't too keen on this. He tore her a new one over it. Here's the problem: None, and I do mean none, of the head cashiers had a problem with her doing this. It was Tom who threw a massive shit fit over it. As she put it: "If it was such a problem, why wasn't I told a long time ago?"

But it gets better. We're no longer allowed to talk to any of our co-workers. Well, certain cashiers, it seems. If you kiss the right ass, you can talk for hours and not get into trouble. If you don't, you'll get yelled at. It's favoritism, plain and simple and it's pissing me and a shitload of other people off severely. I'm to the point where I'm ready to turn in some of the heads and their friends for chit-chatting excessively. And to hell with getting in trouble. I just don't care anymore.

I need a laptop. Like now. Then I could cobble a manuscript together, sell the fucker and get the hell outta Dodge. If I don't, I'll probably be dead of a stroke with 3 years.

--Weasel, "I just love my job. Really I do."