Velouria (velouria) wrote,

Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe

Wednesday. Post-promotional interview at my sister's prison (where she is employed, not incarcerated) that I pretty much blew. I'm like hurr dee durr I have zero qualifcations for this job hurr dee durr. I looked nice though, I think. All the people going in and out of the john I was sitting directly outside of for upwards of an hour were staring at me. Not necessarily for any GOOD reason, I suppose. I had tried to tone down the eyeliner but tripped over a bottle of ChinaGlaze nail polish in my Hoarders-esque bathroom that morning and created a wing I then had to flesh out on both eyes. The panel probably referred to me as "eye makeup" whilst discussing not hiring me.

When I got back to the land of Procurement, I wrote them an email thanking them for their time and consideration to which the main guy replied, "take care." Everyone knows that "take care" is the international translation for GFY.

Today, as I sat quietly typing up request for quotations for handcuffs and leg irons, I listened for my boss's distinctive phone ring. Would they call him to confirm that I was the fabulous employee I'd said I was? I would go stare at him to make sure he said yes, but first he'd have to receive the call. As the day wore down, so did my self-esteem. No distinctive ringtone. No emails following GFY.

I slumped over in my seat and rubbed my fingers against my temples, surely smearing eyeliner everywhere. A headache had been slowly overtaking me since my breakfast of McDonalds about 8:00 AM. I was starvos now, but refused to eat McDonalds's twice within an 8-hour period. My other option was KFC, but I was always finding beaks and webbed feet in my chicken bowls (of failure).

Through my suffering, I could hear the office Golden Boy explaining to the girl next to me what a shit employee I was and how I shouldn't be trusted to train her. She should come to him, he said, because every single thing I'd showed her about the amendment we'de done was wrong. I could feel myself start to dry heave. Really, shithead? I can't fucking procure? You mean every document I've completed the past 3 years is completely null and void and no vendor had been paid and no staff at the prison had ever received their rebar or handcuffs or gasmasks? Pretty sure they had. Pretty sure you're being a shithead.

When I finally got home, I cocooned myself in my pink depression blanket, told God I didn't believe in him any longer, and went to sleep for 5 hours.

Now It's Thursday and I'm back here again with my piss poor attitude anticipating another crippling migraine. Hoo fucking ray.

Oh and bee tee dubs, my hair looks like shit.

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