I'm tired of your shit.

On my last day, if you could consider it that much, I drove to work dreading going in. But this isn't the sort of dread normally surfaced due to general work. This isn't because of something new happening at that hell hole, or just a general day. No, this is a dread that if I went in that day, I'd be stuck there. I'd never exit the walls of clothes, never quit servicing people undeserving with products I know nothing about. Really, when it comes right down to it, I hardly know what the fuck a polo is, much less the different types. And you know what? I don't really care what that difference is.

Thoughts like that bounced around relentlessly. It wouldn't end. Every different form of music I blasted couldn't overtake this aching feeling not to go in through those automatic jaws. When I reached Borders and sat down to kill the time before I was scheduled, I felt that any drive stored in me since my birth would be nullified if I continued to work at that place.

And then it decked me in the face. What the fuck am I doing? I can get more hours at Gamestop! A place more dealing with my profession than anything. A place where I don't have to worry about wiping an elderly person's ass every line of hello I give. And no more magnetic name tags that get caught on things and get lost easily.

As I wrote about the scam (I will divulge that information all too soon, just give me time), time flew by and, when I looked at the broken clock, it signified my lateness by 2 hours. No regrets to this choice at all. I feel liberated, and it's something I will never fall into again. I will try my hardest to find jobs I like and not settle for a place I never wanted to step foot in.

I think myself old enough to finally start my career. To do things related to my job and not piddle around in clothing retail shops that aren't enjoyable.

And me?
Fashion?

I wore mismatched ties almost every day. Though, as one person put it: "It's okay, because you are edgy like that." Uh huh. Edgy.