Don’t flatter yourself. This is not a career. You choose a career. You make a career move. A career is deliberate. It’s on purpose. It involves thought. This is a job. You take a job. You lose a job. Jobs are like pennies. This job is a bad penny. And getting worse.
Your enthusiasm is beginning to piss me off. I thought it was for show. Like a peacock fanning its tail for the new guy. I was wrong. You’re no peacock. You’re an over-zealous, annoying hick with a fat ass. You never let up. It’s like working beside a moving freight train. The phone calls, the slamming drawers, the dramatic sighs, the mumbling, the fingernails on the keyboard. It’s too much. Give it a fucking rest.
And why must you race walk to the fucking printer? Slow the fuck down. Seriously. Printing is not a competitive sport. You click the button. You go pick it up. It’s pretty fucking simple. That whine is not a starter’s whistle. It’s warming up. Because it’s a machine. It’s a printer. It is not giving birth. You are not witnessing a fucking miracle. Your presence is not required for operation. So stop it. Stop running, you fucking dim wit.
You like your job. Good for you.
Keep it to yourself.