"Reflections"

Every now and then yours truly likes to reflect, if you will. And tonite's the night for refelecting.

I think I've had enough of this freakin' job. I see no future, unless you classify working 60-70 hours a week; every weekend; every holiday; every night; a good gig.
Me? I've had enough of the rat race. I would like to sit back and truly watch the wheels go 'round and 'round.

The food biz sux. And it's for suckers who want to give their lives up. The g.m. at my store is a living, breathing example of such servitude. He gets his willies off by increasing sales and being the big man on campus. And what kind of life has it afforded him? He just worked 3 weeks in a row without a day off. And he was whining and moaning-albeit proudly-how tired he was for his dedication.

Dedication shmedication. Speaking of such: working in the food biz WILL cause [ she ] medication. Like prozac, lexapro, wellbutrin, etc. And what for? I have no freakin' clue.

There's no personalities out there any more. Everyone's programmed to be a robot for the company. It's all scripted. It's all laid down. Don't deviate from the script. It's like we've all been turned into "Stepford Wives."

"Hello. Welcome to Dingleberry's Casual Dining Experience. We hope you will enjoy the experience. And we're hoping we exceed your expectations. Then we will know if we've been suckcessful."

"Have a nice day."

"If we don't smile your fuckin', er, freakin' experience is on us."

I've had enough. Kaput, fini.' Take the stepford wife and cram it up yer ass.

Gimme shelter, v.c.

P.S. I can't do what ten people tell me to do!! Or can I?