For those of you who are interested, and don't know, I work retail in a casino. Well, today the place made me more miserable than ever, which resulted in the following passage being jotted down on scrap paper. It felt good to get it out of my system....
Jolted awake while sleepwalking through another day among the sheep, I'm disgusted with where I find myself. The seat of American greed. The armpit of the Earth. The lowest common denominator of every imaginable stereotype is drawn here like brainless moths to a bug zapper. They pound their heads against a brick wall over and over and over, and it's my job to sell them their petty comforts and provide them with someone to blame besides themselves, as well as a target for the frustration that self-distruction breeds.
What's that? Our cigarettes are too expensive? You find it an outrage? Hey jackass, you just blew twice what I make in a week on NOTHING inside the casino. But you're OUTRAGED by the notion of spending an extra TWO DOLLARS on a pack of cigarettes? Fuck you.
Meanwhile, I try to keep my cool. My reactions to these reality checks tend to adversely affect the morale of those around me. Plus, I become a miserable prick.
"I need a pack of Marlboros." The fuck you do. You have no idea of what it truly means to need anything, PIG, or else you wouldn't be here in the first place.
I once realized that I receive roughly as much respect from the patronage as your average stripper. In both cases, the businesses cater to peoples' piggish tendencies, and in both cases, you become dehumanized to them. At least strippers make enough to support their outrageous drug habits.
Jolted awake while sleepwalking through another day among the sheep, I'm disgusted with where I find myself. The seat of American greed. The armpit of the Earth. The lowest common denominator of every imaginable stereotype is drawn here like brainless moths to a bug zapper. They pound their heads against a brick wall over and over and over, and it's my job to sell them their petty comforts and provide them with someone to blame besides themselves, as well as a target for the frustration that self-distruction breeds.
What's that? Our cigarettes are too expensive? You find it an outrage? Hey jackass, you just blew twice what I make in a week on NOTHING inside the casino. But you're OUTRAGED by the notion of spending an extra TWO DOLLARS on a pack of cigarettes? Fuck you.
Meanwhile, I try to keep my cool. My reactions to these reality checks tend to adversely affect the morale of those around me. Plus, I become a miserable prick.
"I need a pack of Marlboros." The fuck you do. You have no idea of what it truly means to need anything, PIG, or else you wouldn't be here in the first place.
I once realized that I receive roughly as much respect from the patronage as your average stripper. In both cases, the businesses cater to peoples' piggish tendencies, and in both cases, you become dehumanized to them. At least strippers make enough to support their outrageous drug habits.
I kid.
In any case, it's pretty fucking scary to wake up and see what's really around you, isn't it? It's a depressing, narcissistic world we live in, and you get to deal with the people who inhabit one of the smarmiest slices of it.
Sorry, yo.