Sunday, 9 September 2012

She Works Hard For The Money

I work. The part about working hard is subjective.

I would much rather work in a hospital with terminally ill people in a gown someone died in yesterday, who knows why, but I would. But what do I really do?

I have a very mindless job. I endure terrible music, grueling nine hour shifts and bananas at every turn. I work at No Frills.

There are some sketchy people whom attain very questionable items. A cart full of pop, toilet paper and dishsoap? Typical grocery store adventure. Not to mention we sell very weird things. Quail eggs anybody?

Some customers ask for some weird stuff that I've never heard in all my years of existence. Such as canned gravy. No thanks. They also think that while I have a box that weighs 5470 pounds on my shoulder its a good time for me to get something for them.

And the name No Frills enatils we don't carry extra random junk. Some man came in and asked for staples, "No, no sir. That is a frill."

But hitting my coworker with my cart is always the highlight.

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