Part time NHSLC workers are today's migrant workers. Desperate, downtrodden, exploited workers who go where the work is. Bouncing from store to store within the system devoid of pride, full of need, in search of hours.
The almighty hours. Got to hustle to get as many hours as possible within the limits the liquor commission will allow. That's all you get. Hours. No security, no respect, no peace of mind. No reward.
Hours, gotta get those hours.
I believe working on Sunday sucks. It sucks royally, it sucks absolutely. It sucks in a way that redefines sucking.
You work on Saturday you can rationalize it. People run around on Saturdays. People are busy. Food shopping, hardware store, errands, taking care of business. It still sucks but its not quite as bad.
People slow way down on Sundays. Its a lazy day and it should be. Working on Sunday is a huge contrast to what most people are doing.
I have reduced myself even more by agreeing to work on some Sundays. For the money. I can't even see myself in the mirror anymore.
Working in another store yesterday and it was so slow I started banging my head against the wall. I had to stop when blood smeared the wall and I had to clean it up. I really didn't want to work that hard on a Sunday.
The woman I worked with was a mouth. That's all she was. A mouth. She talked for seven straight hours about anything and everything that could not possibly, in any lifetime, ever interest me.
I wanted to dismember her and dispose of her body parts in the dumpster.
Seven hours felt like fourteen. It was unadulterated, horrific torture of the most unbearable kind.
I buzzed home to catch the end of the race only to come face to face with a depressed wife who had just paid some bills. Lifeless, quiet, oozing hopelessness.
It floored me. Tortured for seven hours for the questionable opportunity to earn time and a half, to come home to a financial reality that makes me want to quit. Walk away. It is such a waste of time to sacrifice everything you hold dear just to pay some shithead who would be happy to see you dead.
Got home tonight after crawling around half the day on my hands and knees cleaning shelves and rearranging bottles of booze to find out my wife is applying for a part time job. A second f***ing job.
Over the past year I have had crystal clear visions of my life off and on. Because I am working the vibe. Visions where I see my life as if I was an outsider.
I am going through that now. My commute to work is a new ride; I look around and wonder why I am making the trip. At work I look around the store and everything looks weird. How did I get here? Why am I here?
It happened yesterday and tonight. I saw a me who worked a Sunday for the money even though I despise working on Sundays. And I have volunteered for more.
I saw a wife who can barely function out of fear The Mortgage Vampire will sink his fangs into our necks as he evicts us mercilessly.
I saw a wife applying for a second job when she should be planning on retirement.
I saw a man applying for jobs in good faith and being screwed by asshead cretins playing out agendas.
I saw a life I f***ing hate and cannot tolerate for much longer.
Everything is wrong. No breaks are coming our way. Our lives are becoming smaller.
My anger is becoming HUGE.
I could walk away from all this shit. I cannot stomach the idea of wasting the few remaining years I have left living like this.
You want to rig the game against me? I will rake your eyes out with my fingernails and feed them to your pets.
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