Friday, April 4, 2008

Why don't I strap on my job helmet, and squeeze into a job cannon, and fire off to jobland, where jobs grow on jobbies?

Here's the thing.

The fact the the guy at El Pollo Loco recognizes me when I go in now...that makes me sad. There is also the tidbit of info involving the sorrowful truth that BUYING El Pollo Loco has become a luxury, due to the miniscule number of dollars that grace my checking account each month.

Don't worry. It gets better.

I get to work for 12 hours a day, every other of which I have to run 5 miles afterwards, only to be right back in the beginning where I not only realize the cashier at The Crazy Chicken knows where I live, but he also knows I'm scraping by this week to dump out enough change for a BRC burrito. And you know what's the WORST? Finishing my looooong day, and realizing that the beautful crimson and gold chicken haven is CLOSED by the time I have the 2 minutes necessary to get over there and get my share of slow-roasted goodness.

And all of this, becuase of what? MY JOB. My little jobby, that pays me shit and shits on me at the same time. How could I be so lucky?

But I do like my job. What, I do! I'm in a creative enviornment, even if that means getting creative while lying on the phone, or creatively figuring out Ron Jeremy's number for a client's 'special request.'

I wouldn't like my job. No I wouldn't. If not for my boss, who recently stated: "You can't throw a glass in my family (usually a glass filled with bourbon) without hitting a person with Down's Syndrome." So eloquently said. His tasty antecdotal delights get me through the day, along with the boys to my left that keep me laughing more than I should at a talent agency. I mean - talent is SERIOUS BUSINESS. This is entertainment, folks, it's nothing to laugh about.
So what I'm saying is, I GUESS I could think of worse places to spend 12 hours a day, just not that many.

It's just a little bit disheartening to yearn for a time when my name can be in my email at work, and I can answer my own phone and not someone else's. Maybe a time where I'm not planning trips for rich people who bitch about other rich people not footing the bill for them, but planning trips for myself instead.

Basically, when all is said and done, jobs don't grow on jobbies. So until I pay my many dues and end up somewhere I can't wait to get to, I guess I'll have to hold out for now and get someone somewhere water or coffee - and try desperately not to break my job helmet in the process.