The Squealer

March 10th, 2003 at 2:03pm . 7 views . View blog reactions

Today at work, I sat across from a woman with the most hideous voice I have ever heard. Fran Drescher doesn’t even compare to this brunette. Her customers had been telling her to speak up, meanwhile I wished she would stop torturing me. If the customers only knew how treacherous her voice was on my end. Her laughter made me cringe to no end. Why did she have to torture me and ruin my day? It’s not like I wanted to be there in the first place. I was forced to hear her squeal her way through conversations three-quarters of the day. And why did I have to sit near the squealer? Aah yes, I haven’t told you how I don’t have my own desk at my job. I won’t go to deep into this daily scenario, but basically:

I was hired in October 2002 with 119 other employees. We endured a long, fairly extensive, 3 1/2 month training. Near the end of the training rumors flared that there were not enough seats for the new hires. So the powers that be (they claim it was based on a survey) decided that seats would be designated randomly and the remaining people would be referred to as a hot-seater. Lucky me, I am a hot-seater. As a hot-seater, I don’t have my own seat (obvious) and every day I have to go to a manager and get a seat assigned to me. Assigned seats are based on people who call in sick or schedule for leave. All that I have to put my files, papers and personal objects in is this:

It fucking sucks. That’s the bottom line. People who averaged a ‘C’ or perhaps lower on tests during training are sitting in there own desks. Meanwhile me, along with other co-workers, who averaged an ‘A’ push the damn carts around like idiots. I don’t even have a key for my cart, what the fuck? Very, very frustrating.

Can someone tell me why this movie was made? *shivers*

Here’s how to not dress at your Senior Prom. Someone call the fashion police RIGHT NOW: