24 June 2006

I am not an oak

I haven't been sleeping lately, which is starting to affect my life. Or what passes for it, anyway. I get sleep, but nothing more than four, five hours. Last Tuesday I got six hours down, and I celebrated by not sleeping the next night.
I'm in one of those phases of the moon, I guess. Speaking of phases, how cool would it be to be a werewolf? It would suck, actually. I hate cleaning up pet hair. But I could be my own best friend, like Barf from "Spaceballs."
I wonder if my working for retail is having an effect on my soul. I hate the whole marketing thing. "Wear this or you'll never get laid! If you don't smell like this, then you stink! And by the way, you can always lose a few pounds, fatty! So drink our beer, because it will wash the bulimia puke smell off your breath, and you're only fun when you're drunk!"
And then we have to pimp credit cards on our customers... Nothing distances a customer faster than being asked to open a credit card. You spend this time, lying to them about how much better they are if they wear your clothes (which, BTW, are made in the same sweatshop that makes shit for every other clothier out there) and they start to buy it, and then you drive a wedge between the two of you by saying, "Hey! How would you like more debt and increasingly poor credit ratings?" Who wants another credit card that can only be used in ONE place? And if the chain is nationwide, it's still seen as only one place, just in different cities.
So maybe that's keeping me up a bit. I feel like I am just making the world just a little bit worse by working in major chain retail. Don't get me wrong, there are good people who work in retail, and much better than me for being able to make a career of it. I love and respect 95% of my co-workers. But the whole marketing and sweatshop thing weighs on me.
When that new position opens for me at the other place I work at, I will walk from clothing retail without an ounce of regret. Wait, that's a lie. I will regret ever working in clothing retail.
Moral of the story: just because your girlfriend feels guilty is no reason to get a job.

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