Time Honored Extraditions

Survived another week.

In the interval between this post and its fore bearer, Ive had almost a month of learning how to run an MW Tux location. It's not rocket science, but its far from simple numbers. And as much as it rots in the core of me to an almost unbearable degree, I find myself in a job where once again the most important thing I spend my time doing is MAKING THE FACELESS MASSES HAPPY.

'The customer is not always right. In fact, often the customer is a complete moron' - Dogbert

*shrug* It pays the bills and in no way requires anything that is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike effort. There is a brutally medieval restructuring happening within the company and already district managers have been cannibalized, entire positions drawn and quartered and at least one entire store that I know of beheaded. That's right, the position I was hired to fill (Ast. Store Mngr) no longer exists. Anyone already in the position is apparently safe, but when it comes time to cut costs again, I see us as being the closest to the chopper. Store hours were drastically reduced across the board, causeing our store to lose our part timer, and forcing us to run the store with the third highest volume in THREE states (our district) to operate with THREE employees total. Man, the hits just keep on comin.

On a lighter note, tomorrow my little corner of nowhere is going to be shut down to enable knick knack hawkers and assorted other barkers to invade and set up shop thus luring old ppl from across the country to come see the color of the leaves and buy useless wicker shit. Yes folks, welcome one and all to COLORFEST WEEKEND.

Having lived for as long as I have in this, my personal hell, I have come to loath and detest Colorfest and every one of its myriad trappings. The vendors, The million senior citizens, the fuckers who INSIST I park in thier yard and pay them 10 bucks no matter how loudly I explain to them that I live JUST BEYOND THIER BLOCKADE, The traffic jam that is all routes into and out of town, and of course : me. I KNOW that I hate this 'holiday'. I KNOW that I hate everything about it. I KNOW how much self loathing is in store for me after I go wander around town like everyone else looking at all the utter shit for sale. AND YET I ALWAYS GO.

Take my wife... Please.

This Sunday is the Men's Wearhouse Holoween Party for our district. Im'a go as Nixon. Tricky Dicky Represent! My two female associates are going as various flavors of generic slutty somethings. I believe another store manager is going as Reagan so I'll hang with him. Open bar, lots of food, slutty slutty sluts. Should be a good time.

HOJO Gonna Make You: Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!