Friday, May 28, 2010


Driving home today I was thinking, "Oggy, what the fuck in the world is the use of cars if they take you to and from a job where you walk for 12 straight hours? You're quietly desperate, working more for a few nickles than you would ever work if you raised food in Guatemala. It's all backwards and it's all a bunch of bullshit. Cash the next check, buy some tires for El Conquistador on credit, and get the fuck out of here. You are working for absolutely no material end. America's economy is a fraud because you're getting paid inflated wages for a job that serves no purpose. Do you really give a fuck if a kid in Michigan has brand new adjustable hockey pants? Get your bag and walk away from this dead end job. You've got 20K worth of credit and if everyone else is declaring bankruptcy and then keeping their swimming pool and Porsche then get on the wagon. You can't have less money than you have right now. Bankruptcy would probably be a good financial move. Go to Labrador, live with the wolves, they're the only sensible animals left. You're going to die anyway, so at least do something interesting."

This conversation came about because a coworker's grandmother died of a stroke during our shift. As he told me I heard someone behind me say, "On the pack and hold orders can I put all the delivery numbers on one sheet?"

Then the guy went home and I went back to looking for hockey pucks. My job would go so much better if someone just told me, "Pretend there are no consequences for anything you do and you're never going to die." Ah! That makes sense! Otherwise, this is pure fucking industrial suicide.
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.