Well, Ain't that A Freakin' Surprise

As you may or may not know, I sometimes find it difficult to keep jobs. My most recent bout with gainful employment through normal means (I am still 'with' Express') involved me working with another print shop. It ended when the manager accused me of wanting a long weekend , and that the medical tests I was taking to determine the source of migraine headaches was 'seriously putting her out'. (I should point out that her and at least two other people in the shop were experiencing similar symptoms but never once felt that I, EvilMister, suffered from the same malady.) When she told me that I couldn't have the day I needed off (she had a week's friggin' notice), I calmly nodded. When everyone else left (I was the closer), I completed my duties for the evening, then wrote my ex-employer a long letter of resignation, where I pretty much told her that she was an evil hag and that I hoped her teeth fell out of her nose. Several weeks later, I got a call from the alarm company that responds to calls from the shop, and after telling them to send the cops out right the fuck away, I emailed my ex-employer and told her I was still on the list.

Before that, I worked in another print shop, and by then end I was doing one of two things; either purposefully hiding from customers or intentionally pissing them off as badly as I could without getting into a fist fight. It was equally some of the most fun I've ever had, and some of the worst, because no one, not even Idi Amin or Pol Pot could maintain the level of cockholery needed to destroy all the customers. Eventually, I burst a vessel in my brain and pretty much threatened to firebomb the place if I didn't get ny vacation time right away. The boss said no. I got a note from my doctor and said, up yours, captain commander, I'm on leave for a month minimum. A day later, one of the other recently promoted drones accused me of purposefully trying to fuck him over by leaving; he'd taken on the work load of three people in an effort to suck as much ass as he could without having to have collagen implants. I told him to fuck off, and never came back.

Then there was the time I threatened the lives of all my employees, and the customers, and pretty much anyone else who came near me while I was working at a well-known purveyor of fine coffee beverages. I so frightened the girl I was working with that by the time I came back from my brisk trot around the outside of the building, she'd called the district manager, who had decided that we were going to close early on accout of my homicidal rage. Have you ever heard of one of these places closing early for no reason? When a guy got electrocuted in a crawl space four doors down from one of the shops I worked in, cutting power to the entire block, we locked our doors and waited for the body to be carted away and power to be restored. I can only imagine that I must have looked like a spector of doom, and that's pretty cool.

What brings this on?

At the end of this month, I will find myself gainfully employed once more. I'll be free of the chains of mediocrity and the sadly non-mercenary jobs I received (seriously, I was always hoping to get the call, be told to go to such and and such a place at this time, pick up this money/gun/grenade and go and do something dark and twisted. But noooooooo, it was more like, go here and then pick up little pieces of cardboard for eight hours.)

Here is a syllogism (A form of deductive reasoning consisting of a major premise, a minor premise, and a conclusion) that highlights, I think, my career:

• I get a job.
• I threaten the lives and wellbeing of everyone around me.
• I should not work.

The preceding chronology of work also showed a rapidly decreasing period of time from employment to homicidal rage (the first one took four years, the second one year, the third two months). So if all goes according to plan, no less than two weeks after being officially employed, I will end up tossing someone into one of the massive mixers. Crunch crunch mulch spurble.