It’s 8 PM. I have been here since 8 AM. It’s fuckin’ friday. Why the hell am I still here?
I’ll tell you. At 4:46, as I’m slowly packing my desk, my boss wanders out and tells me, by the way, before you go, I need something printed.
Turns out to be four different color documents (2-4 pages apiece), at 500 copies each. They’re damn adobe PDFs that won’t print coallated, so I must then coallate (however the fuck you spell coallate-- god damn it I shoud be getting drunk by now!) and then staple all of this. He needs them by tomorrow morning.
Why the fuck do people abuse their assistants? You pay us dirt, you treat us like shit, and you expect us to be fucking smiling all the time.
Generally, I like the guys I work for, buy they’re all high-paid execs with stay at home wives and sometimes I swear they think woman=servant. Or maybe they just don’t realize that I’m a person, not a piece of office equipment (The All In One Desk-- with automatic mechanical secretary! Just $299.99, by Whamo!), or that I don’t, in fact, sleep here. (I’m always here, right? I’m here when they get in, I’m here when I leave. I must live under my desk.)
Fuck! I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten anything since noon, but if I order in dinner, I’ll be giving in to the inevitability of my fucking night gone down the tubes. I feel like I’m in college again-- oh wait, in college I did nothing on friday. Late nights were suplemented by sleeping till noon.
So I’m just stapling and coalating away here. Look! Cyan toner empty! Cocksucking printer.
Off to storage room to hunt for cyan toner. Will return soon to kill myself.