who were you before the fall?

I officially hate my work.
Why? Well, let me tell you why...
I'm sure I mentioned the whole "Having to Pack and Move a Storage/Former Bookstore Extension Area in 48 Hours." But John came into work drunk as a skunk this morning at 11 and was driven home shortly afterward by a customer to whom I will be forever indebted. I was going to have to tell him to go home when it got slow. I really wasn't looking forward to it. And the customers don't help. If one more customer comes in with shit books and acts like they're bestowing a gift upon us and then gets mad when we don't take them all, I might have to relocate some teeth. And of course nothing relates to the destruction of moral or the skunking of John more than not getting paid and having the owner seemingly disappear. Working seven days a week for a non-existent owner who does not want to pay overtime and yet has a lack of wanting to hire anyone else isn't so hot on the not becoming frayed.
I'm not even twenty. I shouldn't have to feel worn thin by my work already. Unless I was a Doogie Howser, I guess then it'd be understandable.
[/rant]
Sheesh, I can't not complain, eh?
(i was a singer, saw the future laid out in dominoes; now i hunt the buffaloes)

Holy crap, Steve Irwin, so the preview for the news has just told me, is dead. Crazy. And not by crocs either.

That's right, my blog: come for the complaining but stay for the slightly morbid announcements of celebrity death.