I got a job.
That’s right, I randomly accidentally didn’t-try-very-hard got a job. A real 401(k)-toting grown-up job. Oh dear.
I’ve had office jobs before, but they were all during school. I was always an intern. I always asked for my own business card, I never got one because I wasn’t important enough, so I printed my own on Office Depot business card **smooth edges** paper that–of course–always had a faint sign of perforated edges that all but sang JUST AN INTERN JUST AN INTERN. No more of that. I won’t even have to beg. My desk won’t be in the Marketing section. They won’t ask me to work the phones during lunch while the receptionist is gone, and I won’t have to assert my forthright independence by putting Sweet N Low in my boss’s coffee instead of Nutrasweet!!
But this folks, is a REAL job. Not only will I not be an intern, but I’ll be expected to work my ass off so I can get a promotion as soon as I learn not to cuss when I talk on the phone. That means I get R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y. And RESPECT. Sing it with me, sisters!
Fuckfuckfuckfuck. I’m not sure I can handle this. I still can’t even remember to feed myself regularly.
——-
(that was me, passing out)
Although of course now that I’ve publicly stated all my big grand ideals about how I won’t be Coffee Bitch, I’m sure as soon as I start on Monday they’ll put me on the dusty 486 computer that only runs DOS and I’ll spend all day punching out my new INTERN business cards from their perforated edges.
