So I’m knocking off on Monday, turning the corner to bleed the lizard, and right as I get to the door, John, the shift manager, corners me. “Hey, Wig, you got a sec?”
I just smiled and said, “Yeah, John, what’s up?” I mean, I just finished eight backbreaking, undercompensated hours for you. But what the hell can I do for you now, John? Huh? Tell me, John, now that my bladder just prolapsed right under my smock.
It’s that time of year for him to start breaking my balls about inter-office dating. Bossie the Deli Cow started her shit again.
Before he even says anything, I know what’s on John’s mind. It’s that time of year for him to start breaking my balls about inter-office dating. Bossie the Deli Cow started her shit again, because we dated for a while last year, and she doesn’t have anything better to do.
I know dating and work don’t mix. It was a bad idea. But she kept giving me the eye every time I was over there to stock the deli kitchen, and I could tell she wanted it. So I gave it to her.
I took her out to a couple movies and bullshit dinner at the Olive Garden. I got a little hommina-hommina, but no big deal. I broke it off after a couple weeks, because she started getting all needy on me.
Now, here’s John fishing around for my balls. Look, I don’t have anything against him. He’s got a family and busts his ass, too. Pulls some doubles every once in a while. But why me? Why is it always my balls he needs to squeeze?
John says Bossie tells him I’m making her feel uncomfortable. She feels intimidated and I’m violating her personal space.
“Yeah,” John says.
I’m making her feel uncomfortable. Now I have to come in for two hours the next three Saturdays to watch sensitivity-training videos.
I took her out to a couple movies and bullshit dinner at the Olive Garden. I got a little hommina-hommina, but no big deal.
John hates to do it, but the managers feel they need to cover their asses on this one.
Wow, my porcine heart is breaking right in front of you, John. I mean, never mind the fact her name is Bossie. But I need to take a little more shit so the boys higher up the food chain don’t run into any PR problems.
Yeah, I might be toast when John reads this. But you know what? Fuck it. I don’t care. I’m a contributing member of society, and I’m a pig. You got opposable thumbs and a hippocampus, John, and you’re a shift manager at a grocery store.