Until one of my managers knowingly called me on one of the days I requested off a month ago today to tell me how I was, “screwing them over,” by not coming in. I tried my best to get all shifts covered for the week even though she barely posted the schedule a week ago. I put up notes, I sent out notices, and she even said if I get most of the days covered, she would put the rest up as House Shifts.
I am happy with my normal schedule. I'm okay doing what I do. I barely covers the bills, but it covers the bills, and I love where I live. I have plenty of time to have fun, if I make it, and my puppy is well fed. I could make more elsewhere if I applied myself, but I'm okay. I get by.
I overwork myself most days. I do dishes when we need them and are short staffed, I stay late when I don't need to, I try my best to make sure everyone is having a good day as much as I can; it helps everyone else out, and it's usually no skin off my back, so why not? I live only 5 minutes from the restaurant, and my baby gets plenty of adventure time. ().
I pick up extra work on the side to pay the bills if I'm behind or it's slow, for extra cash for something special, maybe to better myself, or to do something different. Idfk.
I ALWAYS give them enough time when requesting. I tell them when I'm offered a job that is helping me out financially, and need time off, and they have always been okay with that. It's been 5 years.
New manager, new year:
I could find work in a heartbeat. I'm fucking GOOD and SMOOTH at what I do. I just want to be left the fuck alone most days. Don't come at me with your problems because all I want to do in this life is pay my fucking bills, drink whiskey, and get a good night's sleep until I die. Its fucking easy. Maybe travel a bit, see some stuff and things, but generally I want TO BE LEFT THE FUCK ALONE. That's why I chose this job.
I don't ask for much, but don't fucking call me on a day I requested off over a month ago, and get pissed at me when only a fucking week ago, I asked you TO MAKE SURE if it was okay to have this one fucking week off, so I could make more money working a side job instead of coming into work for you with the possibility of only making a portion of what I was GUARANTEED to make with this other job… AND YOU FUCKING SAID YES.
How fucking dare you call me and tell me I was screwing you over today. You know how much I feel. You know much I care. I wouldn't have fucked anyone over on purpose. I know how it feels, and two fucking wrongs don't make a fucking right.
How fucking dare you send me bad fucking vibes today when I fucking hear you say so many inappropriate things behind closed doors. I record shit. I'm not fucking stupid.
HOW FUCKING DARE YOU TELL ME YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO WRITE ME UP FOR THIS.
I'm fucking trying to get back on my feet after my best friend of 13 years crossed the rainbow bridge back in December. I still have yet to be able to pick up her ashes. Her paw print. Her. $640 for her last X-rays, ashes, urn, paw print, nose print, hair clippings from her tail… I haven't seen her since December fucking 27th. I can't afford it right now. I miss her kisses. I miss kissing her soft spot just above her nose. My baby.
This fucking life sucks sometimes. I want to work. I want to have a job that pays the bills for me to survive and maybe a little extra for when shit happens. Just fucking leave me alone, world. Fucking let me be. I didn't ask for any of this. I never even asked to be born.