My girlfriend hates her job. She’s unlucky enough to be good at it. Her colleauges are lazy and stupid, so she ends up doing most of the work. Her supervisor in complicit in making things harder for her. She has reason to gripe, and does so often. I listen sympathetically, offer advice where appropriate, and do whatever I can to console her.
This is one the reasons why she thinks I’m the Best Boyfriend in the World. She’s a smart lady.
Yesterday, she had a very bad day. Due to an attack by the Nookie Monster the night before, she was forced to deal with the obnoxious pricks at work on only a few hours of sleep.
Last night, she bitched about it to me.
I was my usual Amazing Boyfriend self.
Yesterday, I had a sorta bad day. The server upon which most of my websites are hosted were down all day due to a bad router, and a couple of bands were unable to get the CD templates needed for artwork that needs to be submitted to the printer by Friday. As I was making some templates on my laptop to email to them directly, ME crashed, taking a couple of hours work with it. My mistake, sure, but naturally I wanted to throw my computer across the room.
Her response?
“Well, it’s not like you don’t have a choice. This is something you do in your free time. You could find a different webhost. You could install XP. You could get a Mac. I, on the other hand, can’t do anything about my job.”
Not, “That sucks.”
Not, “Sorry.”
Not, “Poor baby. Let’s watch some TV instead.”
As I was steaming over the computer fuckup already, I decided to let it slide, yet she kept coming back to harp on the point that my problems are nowhere near as grave as hers.
Maybe because I bitch about things so infrequently, people get the impression that I don’t actually get angry every once in awhile. Maybe because I’m willing to lend a sensitive ear to their problems, they think I really want a critique of my reasons for being occasionally pissed off at something.
Maybe I should tell her to get another job. Maybe not, I’m not suicidal.
Lame rant, I know, but she’s been pouting about that fact that I asked her if she could not list the reasons why I have no right to get my dander up during the rare moments when something manages to get my goat.
Grrrrrrr…
