Worse Jobs Than Yours and Jeans in Critical Condition (6/25/18)

OUR WORLD:

Was I the only one to mutter “fuck this world with my whole heart” this morning? My Monday morning routine has come to include vile self-talk followed by a sad march to make coffee before sitting on the couch and hugging my dog until she gives me the “are you actually about to start crying?” pull-away. (Are we sure that hugging your dog can’t turn back the clock until it’s Sunday morning again? BUT ARE WE SURE?!?!) It’s quite the scene in the Pomerantz household. (Household? You live in an apartment, pal. Quit fibbin!”) Now that I’ve finished shaking my head at nothing in particular, I’m ready to put my energy into finding perspective. This section is somewhat twisted. I’m aware that making myself feel better by thinking about the misfortune of others isn’t exactly the most noble of pursuits. GOOD THING I’M NOT NOBLE! Faithful readers, lets take a trip back to…the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job list.

Biker Gang Organizer:

I was in the burgeoning metropolis of Rockford, Illinois for a work event at a big sports bar this Saturday. Unbeknownst to me, Rockford is home to large biker organizations (I don’t know if it’s a gang and if they read this and saw “gang” would they get mad and come find me? Oh who am I kidding? Bikers can’t read!) GANG! In the middle of my event, a biker GANG (still kinda’ scared…) pulled into the parking lot of the bar. This gang consisted of about 60ish large humans wearing leather vests and bandanas while sitting on OBNOXIOUSLY loud motor vehicles. The bar hosting my event was also the second stop on a Biker Bar Crawl. I felt so lucky! (Lucky? Or that feeling when you’re terrified and sad and annoyed at the same time but you act excited because the people around you think bikers are cool? Yeah, the second one.)

Once all of the “I’m tough because I bought a leather vest”-people had parked their bikes, however, a leader emerged. A fleshy fellow walked to the middle of the lot, did that super loud whistle thing where you put fingers in your mouth, and yelled to the crew “WHAT DOES SINGLE-FILE MEAN?!” I confidently raised my hand, but I guess I didn’t count. (Fucking bullshit.) If we’re being honest, he didn’t seem to genuinely care if people did know because he continued with his loathsome rant pretty quickly, “IT MEANS SINGLE FUCKING FILE!” Ohhhhhhhhh! But I thought, it meant…double….file. The gang looked to each other with knowing nods, shared some chuckles and said things like “I’m glad that Larry is so willing to share what he knows with the rest of us!” Seeing education live is inspiring.

But then I watched Screamy Larry head over to his clique for a few aggressive fist bumps and backpats. It was clear he was not the leader of the Biker Gang. Instead, he must’ve been the organizer guy; which makes sense because a Biker Gang leader doesn’t have to do stuff like look behind him while riding to make sure everyone is in single file. Jax Teller never looked back, only ahead (Sons of Anarchy reference. If you don’t get it, watch the show NOW.) So I started thinking how much it must SUCK to be the guy in the biker gang in charge of making sure they stay in single file while riding around towns. Further, there’s no way that the single-file thing is all Screamy Larry is responsible for, he must be like the Head of Organizing for the biker gang. So the screaming made sense. Can you imagine how frustrating it must be to have to organize a biker gang?!

Aside from the whole single-file fiasco, he’s probably in charge of: figuring out how much each biker owes when they go out for a big group lunch; making sure everyone has the right patch on their leather vest; scheduling the chores at the biker gang clubhouse; AND, Screamy Larry also probably has to keep track of all of the members’ birthdays, ensuring they don’t forget to sing “Happy Birthday” and have cake in the break room. Remember the time they forgot Knuckles’ birthday? Knuckles and Screamy Larry do. Simply can’t have that.

Today, when you’re staring at your computer screen while telling yourself not to say what you really want to say to your boss, be grateful that your job doesn’t entail having to send Venmo reminders to bikers who still owe from yesterday’s team lunch at Longhorn Steakhouse. Screamy Larry knows that half the gang doesn’t even have Venmo, but asking a biker, in person, for money is something he’s just not up for on a Monday.

Money People:

This is broad and general because the whole “money management” universe is foreign and supremely intimidating. I have friends and a brother who work in this world and I cannot imagine the stress of it. Heading to the office on a Monday in charge of managing someone’s retirement or life savings or couch change would fill me with the type of anxiety that necessitates a 3rd martini on a Sunday night (NEVER a good idea).

What do their voicemails sound like? “Hey Jimmy, Mr. Perrywinkle here, I saw a report on the news that the market is taking a dive. Is that the same market you just passionately convinced me to put my life savings into? Just checking, let me know!” There have to be calls like that, right? And then you’d have to call back to remind the person whose bank account you just decimated that the market is, ultimately, unpredictable. I’m sure they understand…

(I always feel impossibly ignorant when talking about money stuff….BUT LETS KEEP GOING!) When I see reports about the stock market doing well or not doing well or doing the same, I think to myself “that should probably interest me more than it does.” In reality, I’m just annoyed that the news put the ‘Market Report’ ahead of the story about ‘Chicago’s Best Mozzarella Stick.’ (The answer is “Roots Pizza” FYI. You’re welcome.) The money guys, though, probably feel their phones seizing during any report about THE MARKET. I can imagine a money guy or gal taking their dog for a walk on a nice day when, out of nowhere, their phone begins vibrating so much that it starts a mini friction-fire in their pants pocket. “Uh oh, THE MARKET!”

Aside from having to be the face of market fluctuations, Money people have to make a lot of spreadsheets and graphs and presentations to really smart people in suits about spreadsheets and graphs. Decimals and percentages and JESUS H. CHRIST it’s hard to breathe while wearing a tie in the summer. If I were a money guy, all of my presentations would just be titled “We Should Invest in ______ Because My Rich Grandpa Said We Should.” That would be the entire presentation, actually.

Rich Person’s Assistant

Most of us work in jobs where we’re surrounded by co-workers who earn about the same amount. Today, when you’re having a mild panic attack re: the $74 you spent on brunch yesterday, you can look to either side and see co-workers also nervously typing in their online banking passwords. The Monday money check is a trying time, but we’re all in it together. That is, of course, unless you work as a personal assistant for a super rich person. While you’re scrolling through the 14 separate charges from “Louie’s Pub” on your Chase Mobile App, your boss is tasking you with picking out a new Monday watch for him. “Something that’s not too flashy, but enough to where people will know that I use the word ‘summer’ as a verb.” That means the assistant gets to go into the jewelry store with a security guard!

Who do these assistants relate to at their job? Who is the friend they can pull aside for the “you know, I hate to complain, but…”-chats? The housekeeper’s are not on your side because they know that you get to ride in the fancy cars. You can’t whine to the spouse because YOU KNOW they’re just going to tattle on you the next time they feel like having a “you can trust me”-convo with your boss. The kids just think of you as the person who gets them the things they want. So you’re left to text your friends who are too busy pretending to not look at their phones on Monday morning. YOU ARE ALONE AND POOR IN A BIG, EXPENSIVE HOUSE! If I was a rich person’s assistant, I would have a designated time every Monday morning where I would just stare at a mirror while crying. I’d also probably steal little things like toilet paper and the little dog poop bags.

MY WORLD:

I’m a one-pair-of-jeans-for-6-to-8-months kind of guy, and it appears I am nearing the end of the road for my current pair of jeans. This always happens and it’s never not sad. The crotchal region of my jeans, having been stretched for months on end, begins to wear…and then a hole appears. This hole gets large quickly and I am forced to retire the jeans. My current jeans are hanging on by mere threads. Upon close inspection this morning, we’re looking at another 3.6 days tops. This means that for the next two weeks I have to wear pants that I don’t really want to be wearing. It also means that I will be a little depressed because as hard as I try, there’s no way around thinking that the jeans died because my thighs got fatter. If you happen to catch me staring down at my thighs over the next two weeks, do me a favor and feel free to mention that my legs don’t look chubbier than they did 6 months ago. A simple “it’s gonna be okay” would suffice too.

And you think you’re having a tough Monday.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I’m seeing Dave Matthews Band this weekend and I am so excited I’m going to talk about it to strangers this week!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you get up at 4 A.M. on Monday morning and think “is it even worth it to try to go back to sleep?” Next time this happens to me, I may just buy a ticket to Yugoslavia and start a new life.

GAMBLING WENT HORRIBLY THIS WEEKEND, THANKS FOR ASKING! TURNS OUT, BLINDLY BETTING ON A SPORT YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT (SOCCER) IS NOT A RECIPE FOR SUCCESS. LIVE AND LEARN.

K bye.

Worse Jobs Than Yours! (4/30/18)

OUR WORLD:

It’s a Moody Monday, and even though it’s sunny and kinda’ warm outside, it still STINKS. When I took Belle out for a walk this morning, she barked at an older woman on a bike. The bike woman replied to the barking by immediately stopping, shaking her head in a disapproving manner and saying “that is quite the reaction.” So my Monday started with a judgmental stranger. I wanted to be like,”was it worth stopping your bike and going through that whole dramatic routine?” I didn’t say anything, but I hope she gets hit by a truck carrying grenades.

If you can’t tell, I really need to make myself feel better by getting into today’s “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job list.

Grocery Store Pianist: I guess you can call yourself a professional musician if you get paid to play the piano at a grocery store, but that’s not going to take away the disappointment coming from your parents and the $65k they WASTED on your college education. (That was a really mean way to start this section. MOODY Monday is ALIVE!) Have you ever had the moment on Sunday when you’re wandering through the pasta aisle, talking yourself out of buying all the pastas, and you hear music that sounds live? Then you’ll glance around and see that someone thought it would be a good idea to put a GRAND FUCKING PIANO by the paper towel section and there’s a dude in a big dumpy suit ACTUALLY PLAYING IT!

You know that guy has to be nervous the whole time he’s there that someone he went to high school with is going to recognize him and ask “so how’s the music thing going?” That’s not to say that these pianists are bad, actually I’m normally impressed (not many bands looking for piano players?) but when your job immediately elicits “why do they pay someone to do that?”-responses, you’re in a tough spot. Seriously, what is lost if the grocery store just…I don’t know, put the pandora piano music station on? Would there be people that would ask for the manager and be like “where’s the paper towel section piano concert that I was promised?” ALSO! the tipping situation is a no-win for everyone involved. You can’t ask the pianist if he accepts tips because that’s super awkward. The baggers and cashiers have no idea. Then if you do tip the pianist, maybe you’re making him feel worse (like a beggar!). But if you don’t, and he was expecting it, then he’s not making money. BUT WHO BRINGS PIANIST TIP MONEY TO MARIANO’S?!?!

The only people who genuinely appreciate this person, the ones who applaud at the end of the songs, are looked at by EVERYONE ELSE IN THE STORE like real weirdos. They’re the same people who applaud pilots when the plane lands. We get applauded for doing our jobs now? And the pianist probably doesn’t like it cuz it draws attention to him and raises the chances that someone he knows will recognize him. I’m sure they play it off like “I just love playing music,” but that’s garbage because they probably had to apply for that position. It’s not like a Mariano’s manager was just taking a stroll, overheard someone playing a GRAND FUCKING PIANO, and asked if they’d share their gift with the loyal patrons of the paper towel section.

Auntie Anne’s Pretzel Maker: Ever feel like you’ve eaten only carbs for an entire day and then you retrace what you’ve eaten and YOU HAVE ONLY EATEN CARBS?!?! Then you get sad and look in the mirror and suck your cheeks in and tell yourself that “diet starts tomorrow.” If you’re an Auntie Anne’s Pretzel Maker, you are surrounded by delicious smelling, buttery salty carbs all day, everyday at work. Don’t tell me “oh, you’d get sick of it” either. There’s no better smell in the whole wide world than the pretzel stand in the mall food court.

If that’s your job, though, and you’re trying to be frugal because…I mean because you work at Auntie Anne’s…then you probably get a free lunch as part of your shift. Which would be nice unless you’re just starting your diet and all Auntie Anne’s has are BUTTERY TWISTED CARB LOAFS! Has anyone in the history of the universe ever ordered anything OTHER than a pretzel at Auntie Anne’s? Pretty sure they don’t have salads, so the pretzel maker’s free lunch is either “with salt” or “without salt” (who in the fuck get’s “without salt” btw?)

So you’re just sweaty, probably covered in a thin layer of butter, not making that much money AND unable to EVER start a proper diet. I bet the pretzel makers look over at the salad stand in the food court and ask for trades, but the salad people are like “nah, I just cut out carbs. Smells great, though!”

Old Timey Shoe Salesman: The old guys in the suits who are super sales-y and try to talk you into trying shoes on and then treat you like you’ve never put a shoe on in your life. They have that real shiny shoe horn thing, and their WAY too comfortable handling your feet. Once they’re at that level, there’s no turning back because those skills don’t translate to other industries. Not like a pharmaceutical sales company is gonna be like “now tell me about the time you shoehorned that coalminer’s swollen foot into the penny loafer.” That’s just your job forever.

But what about the process that desensitized these people so much? Nobody is just automatically comfortable handling strangers feet, right? (There’s gotta be one guy reading this who just looked over his shoulder and is like “I mean…sounds good to me…”) How about the first time a woman with smelly, scabby feet came into your section? You could see that she wasn’t wearing socks, but it’s not like you had to see it because you could DEF smell it. You get fired if you refuse to help her, and I don’t think you can wear surgical gloves. We’re talking skin-to-smelly-scabby-skin contact here, folks.

MY WORLD:

The VP of Ops is back in town after being gone most of the past 2 weeks, and it has been somewhat of a rocky readjustment period. Is it just me, or when your spouse leaves do you IMMEDIATELY revert to your single ways and then kinda’ fight when they get back because you’re used to living like a bachelor? The VP took my car to Trader Joe’s (a place I’d rather NEVER SEE AGAIN) and came back all “Don’t worry, I threw out your chewing tobacco tin.” Then she walked past me all nonchalant with a little smirk to make me feel REAL small. So I hit her back with a “so happy you’re back!” but I didn’t laugh because I was going for something deeper. Counter-punching, ever heard of it?

Then our spring cleaning turned into me watching The VP just create bigger messes while rearranging furniture to “open the room up.” Maybe just crack a window next time instead of dumping all our mail over the floor? But then I’m not allowed to be mad because I wasn’t doing anything (because it was Sunday and I was in full-on do-nothing mode). So we just kind of didn’t say anything to each other for a while except the occasional “I love you” to break up the silent-fight we were having. Being married is fun.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I could not be more excited about the Bears drafting Roquan Smith and I spent the majority of the weekend looking up videos like this…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When parents talk to their kids like adults in public in an effort to sound funny, but their kids don’t understand it so they keep crying. Confused? Think of a parent saying something along the lines of “I am not understanding your viewpoint on this issue” to a crying kid. It’s not that funny and it doesn’t help settle down the kid.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

I got absolutely demolished this weekend. I’m telling myself to take tonight off…but that probably won’t happen.

(My account currently at $108.14)

K bye.

Jobs Worse Than Yours and Hateable Celebs (4/16/18)

OUR WORLD:

It’s Monday and, guys, it’s only gonna get better. Keep that in mind as you trudge your weekend-fat ass through the snow (yeah, it is snowing in Chicago) to work today because it can’t get worse than a bad weather Monday AND you have food poisoning (just me? I’m not really sure what food poisoning is, but anytime I have real bad stomach issues I think “must be poison.” Could it be that I ate like a pig for the past 72 hours? Nah. Poison.) By now, you should be making your own “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List to help you get through Mondays like this. If you haven’t, I’ll let you use mine:

-Mid to Low Level Drug Dealer: This is NOT a chill job. Can you imagine if selling drugs was what you had to do to pay your rent? You would have to say things to yourself like “I didn’t sell a lot of drugs yesterday, so I probably shouldn’t buy this J.Crew shirt.” And, unlike most sales-based jobs, the days of super low sales probably wouldn’t even crack the Top 100 list of “Worst Days as a Drug Dealer”. There would be at least 37 “time I got a gun pulled on me”-days, some “got a knock at my door at 3AM”-days, and, DEFINITELY, a few “the drug kingpin accused me of wearing a wire”-days. Talk about NEVER being able to just coast though a workday.

And what are the good days like? I know in the movies there’s like a big drop of drugs in the dark and like a fancy briefcase filled with cash, but that can’t happen for the mid to low-level drug dealer. The lower level dealers don’t get the mansions and lambos and cool sunglasses; they get knock-off Oakleys and a Dodge Neon with an AC that doesn’t even work. I guess a good day would be if they got promoted to deal drugs to rich people, but then the chances of going to jail for a long time go up too. Promotions in the drug dealing world just mean that now, you have to do MORE serious crimes. And you definitely can’t tell the Druglord Boss-guy that you don’t want the promotion. You think Scarface is gonna be cool when you explain that the whole “transporting cocaine on boats in the night”-thing just isn’t what you had in mind when you started with the company?

If you do a bad job, the worst thing that can happen to you is getting fired or, maybe, scolded by your boss in a way so personal that you cry alone in your car later that night. If a drug dealer does a bad job? Something WORSE THAN DEATH could happen…JAIL! (Jail is worse than death times a billion. I’ve talked about this in the past, but jail is my number one fear in life.) With the constant fear of death/jail, is a drug dealer ever in a true state of relaxation? Are there any days where they just watch Netflix for 11 hours and not freak out about a sound they just heard? And don’t forget that there’s no getting out of this life. Once you’re a drug dealer, there will always be people that are planning to do something bad to you and cops that remember not being able to catch you in the act.

-Prison Guard: I got in an Uber last summer with a guy who told me that he just moved to Chicago to become a prison guard. He voluntarily moved from Nevada to Chicago because he looked at a prison guard opening as a GOOD OPPORTUNITY. Thank sweet baby Jesus that there are people like this guy, cuz I can’t believe the government doesn’t have to draft people into these types of positions. Yes, socioeconomic factors greatly impact who views what as a “good opportunity”, I’m aware of this, but I’m also aware that discussion is heavy and serious and not appropriate for the FUN BLOG! Carrying on…

To be a prison guard, you not only have to be big and scary, but also smart enough to anticipate problems arising from places you didn’t expect. If you’re big and scary and smart then shouldn’t you be the head of like a steel-workers union? I’m pretty sure those are the qualifications to head a blue collar union: big, scary, smart. But no, you’d pass up the opportunity to shake calloused, meaty hands to break up fights over why the head of the Aryan Brotherhood got an extra milk? (The Uber-driver/prision guard told me that most of the fights he dealt with in his Nevada prison were over milk and juice.)

I’m sure there are days without fights where maybe you’d connect on a personal level with one of the inmates. Maybe you could help Larry deal with the misery of being behind bars and watch as he evolved into the person his parents always told him he wouldn’t be. You’d talk about meeting up “outside of these damn bars” one day, and complain to your wife about how corrupt the judicial system is. And then that one day would happen, and you’d go meet to meet Larry at the Outback in the nice mall. Larry would smile when he saw you waiting for him at the table, and walk over slowly while shaking his head in disbelief that he was able to survive incarceration. Before you ordered, though, your wife would send you a text saying that she “can’t keep worrying about your safety all day, everyday”. Larry thinks your wife’s worries are a sign of a sweet relationship, but you didn’t tell Larry about the following text where your wife admitted that she had “met someone.” So now you’re having dinner with an ex-con who required the attention that it would have taken to save your marriage…and your steak is overcooked because you’re at a fucking Outback inside of a mall.

-Hair washer at a salon: As a resident fancy-boy, I get my hair cut at salons as opposed to a barbershop. Everyone knows that the best part of getting your hair cut at a salon is when they wash your hair and give you a head massage. If you don’t make purring sounds while they’re doing this, you’re probably offending the hair washer. You’ll try to remember the head massage tactics they used so you can attempt to recreate it on yourself during your next shower, but it won’t be the same. When the hair washer is done, though, think about how you’re probably the least gross person they’re going to have to deal with that day. (Real talk, if you’re reading this blog, you’re not gross. Welcome to the not-gross club.)

People have weird heads and nasty hair and gnarly things on their scalp. These hair washers can’t refuse to wash the head of some dude who hasn’t showered in a week and has a BAD case of scalp acne. I think they can wear surgical gloves, but what about the days when they didn’t realize they were low on those gloves and now they’re all out? I also think that LEGIT hair washers look down on the ones who wear gloves; like, they’re not dedicated enough and probably aren’t spoken to at the Hair Washer Happy Hours.

You ever go to get your haircut after wearing a hat all day? How bad do you feel? Like, MUCHO BAD, right? Well, that’s because you’re a normal human being. Unfortunately, there’s another kind of human being out there that thinks subjecting a hair washer to that is “not my problem.” AND! The hair washer doesn’t get tipped. What the hell is that all about? I’m guessing they get tipped out by the stylist (term for hair cutter person at hot salons), but it probably isn’t NEARLY enough. I contend that it’s way harder to give a good head massage than give a good haircut. Listen, you can learn how to cut bangs. You can’t learn how to have magic hands. Now that I think about it, next time I go to get my haircut, I’m going to tip the hair washer person more than my stylist AND I’m gonna make sure the stylist sees it. I’m sure the stylist will be annoyed, but then remember that she doesn’t have to accidentally pop strangers’ head pimples for the rest of the day and go back to being thankful that she’s not a hair washer.

MY WORLD:

Do you love or hate some celebrities for no discernible reason? ME TOO! It usually comes down to their face, which is scary to think about because I’m sure strangers have walked past me and hated me just because of my face (my mom VEHEMENTLY disagrees with this btw). So what celebrities do I hate for no discernible reason (but maybe it’s just their face)? Here’s what I’ve got:

-Michael Strahan

-Josh Gad

-Nick Kroll

-Angelina Jolie

-Helena Bonham Carter

I started writing some more fleshed out reasoning behind hating these celebs, but…I really think it’s just their face. So let’s leave it at that. This is such an internet-y thing to do, but everyone has these thoughts…right? RIGHT?!?!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I went to High School with Beck Bennett (SNL star, no big deal, he probably has no idea who I am but whatevs) and this was from his college comedy group.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Snow.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

This was a surprisingly even weekend…which is a win in gambling terms. “Even” = “Lost a little” = “Didn’t lose a lot” = “Win”. Get it? Anyway, I put some sweet cash on an NBA playoff parlay where I picked all the favorites to win their first round series (Rockets, Warriors, Thunder, Blazers, Cavs, Raptors, Celtics, and Sixers). If that parlay hits, which I really can’t see why it wouldn’t, it pays out at over +660 so…I’m about to be super rich again. ALSO! We’ve discovered that one of my friends is a savant at NHL Playoff gambling. He went like 6 for 7 this weekend and has earned the nickname ‘Chel Jim. Love ‘Chel Jim. Aside from rooting for NBA favorites tonight, I’ll be patiently waiting for ‘Chel Jim to text me his NHL picks.

(My account currently at $219.55)

K bye.

At Least You Don’t Have That Job and Bad Purchases (4-2-18)

OUR WORLD:

Boy am I excited that it’s Monday AND it’s absolutely freezing outside! This is the best! LIFE IS MEANT TO BE LIVED!!!! If you happen to see me before 9AM this morning, do yourself and walk the other way because NOT TODAY! On days when I catch myself being extra bitchy and pouty (oh, so everyday Jimmy?) I’ll try to come up with people that have it worse than me. In all honesty, my job is like 87% good stuff and the rest isn’t stuff that is worth bitching about the way the rest of the working world gets to (but I wanna pout too!!!! Also, maybe I said that so co-workers don’t give me a side-eye, like “so…if working here is so bad maybe you should just quit!” jk guys lol omg ttyl!) REGARDLESS! Some Mondays I find myself running through what jobs have it way worse than I ever had and, hopefully, ever will have. If you’re having an especially rough Monday, roll through this list and I think you’ll begin to feel thankful. Let’s call these the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List…(if you happen to work one of the following jobs then may God have mercy on your soul.)

–Anything having to do with outdoor construction: Aside from the 6 days of the year that are in the perfect temperature range, construction workers have to either be freezing or hotter than hell. Aside from that, they have to wear the big heavy boots FOR SAFETY! They have to wear hardhats that would def mess with your hairline, and the bending and lifting and digging and hammering and what if you slip? If you’re a full-time construction person, you definitely have a story about slipping and “that’s why my hand doesn’t really work anymore.” Aside from the actual work itself, keep in mind that the general public is FUCKING annoyed with construction sites because they’re loud, hold up traffic and “like, is it EVER gonna be done?!” How many angry drivers do you think these people have to deal with per day? If you’re working road construction, there have to be at least 8 times a day where some douche in a foreign car lays on his horn because construction has created a traffic jam. Does the horn help ease the jam? Of course not, but Mr. Audi Douche would like everyone to know that he HAS A FUCKING MEETING!

The combo of backbreaking work and a generally ungrateful audience is a ROUGH work environment. The only upside is getting to eat whatever you want because you just worked so hard. Like, if I’m jackhammering a sidewalk for five hours (that’s a thing they do, right) you better believe I’m not gonna worry about how many carbs are in the BIG sandwich from Potbelly. You’re getting that big cuz you earned the ever loving shit out of that big. So that’s nice…but then it’s back to the heat and hard manual labor and, you know what guys? I quit. I just can’t.

-Starbucks Barista: You are immediately SLAMMED busy earlier than the entire world on Monday morning dealing with Monday people who have yet to have their coffee. Seriously, how have their not been more Monday morning Starbucks shootings? Having worked in a restaurant that had a cappuccino machine (whatever, yeah…it’s, not even a big deal) I know first hand that making those foofy coffee drinks is a BITCH. Thankfully, I only had to make like one per 6 hour shift. These Starbucks people have to make like a bajillion all the while an angry pre-coffee mob is waiting off to the side wondering why the fuck their mocha gabba jabba is taking more than one second to make! You think your job has pressure?!?! GET REAL BROTHA!

Also, how many times have you been behind that person at Starbucks who seems to be trying to invent their own personal drink? Like, there’s no way Starbucks has a “virgin, half caf, pseudo-mocha, almond butter infused cafe ole easy foam heavy bubbles”…AND THEN THEY DO HAVE THAT THING! But, the person who ordered it isn’t even impressed! Instead, they just go back to their fucking bluetooth phone convo and you just wanna be like “aren’t you AMAZED with that barista?!?!” But they’re not. Nope, the barista will carry on like the Van Gogh of coffee drink makers and Barry Bluetooth won’t even think about dropping a buck in the tip jar. If I were the barista? I’d just make everyone a black coffee and then shrug my shoulders and say NOTHING when they’d complain.

-Meter Maids: I always always always think about what a meter maid says to his/her spouse when they get back home and are asked how their day was. Is there ever a good day to be a meter maid? Hand up, I am SUPER mean to these people and I don’t even feel that bad about it cuz I’ve become a master of justifying it (I have effectively convinced myself that the only people that could work this job are people that legitimately enjoy ruining people’s days.) When I have a little distance from it though, they are definitely working that job because it pays the bills and they’re just doing their best. Talk about a thankless job. A Meter Maid has never heard someone say “good job!” I bet even their bosses are just pissed they didn’t assign more tickets.

I would love to be at a table next to a bunch of meter maids at a happy hour. Can you imagine the “this is why my job sucks”-stories that they get to share with each other? All day, everyday they are dealing with people who just missed moving their car by 4 minutes. Oh! And, they have to be outside all day in a uniform which mucho stinks. Please, don’t tell me about how it would be “nice to be outside” in the summer. Why do you think air conditioning was invented? Because being outside is nice for a minute and then “it’s actually kinda’ hot.” PASS!

As I’ve written this, my big huge beautiful brain has been flooded with other jobs that would be mucho stinko so….guess what guys?!?! I’m gonna make this a jimmyschair Monday staple. From here on out, FOR THE REST OF TIME! The Monday edition of jimmyschair will include a list of “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-jobs. I’m excited.

MY WORLD:

I spent too much money at the bar on Saturday night. I opened up a tab, turned into JimmyGoodTimes and, quickly, morphed into JimmyIGotThis for the proceeding 4 hours. Closing my tab included the “it’ll be okay” self-talk followed by hating myself all day yesterday, with a few “it’s just money, Jimmy” mixed in to try to calm myself. It wasn’t THAT bad (I’m a pouty baby, remember?) but, like, DAMNIT JIMMY! Much the way I do with other jobs on Monday mornings, I tried to remember back to a worse purchase that I have made, in an effort to make myself feel better. That’s when I remembered…I bought a recliner from Costco when I was in high school.

I worked at a golf course in the summers during high school, and since I was too scared to make any actual friends, I turned my bedroom in an ultimate hang-zone (you talkin’ ’bout a Hangzone 5000? Yeah guys, I am.) I bought a mini-fridge, a big tv, XBox and…all I needed was a big comfy chair. My bedroom was small and my parents definitely had caught on to my blossoming loner-den, but I lied to them about all the friends I had so, I SAID I’M FINE MOM!

Anyway, Costco had a put-it-together-yourself massaging recliner for like $400. I told my dad that I was going to get it and he rolled his eyes so hard he def saw his brain. Look, I was a stressed out lil baby and NEED MASSAGES DAD! GAH! My bedroom was 1,000,000,000,000% too small for this chair, but I was determined to be comfy at all times instead those four walls. So I saved up for weeks and bought the friggin chair. It took me FOREVER to put together and would slam into my dresser every time I leaned back. The “massaging” felt and sounded more like loose pebbles being thrown at my back a little too hard, and the plug sparked whenever I put it in the wall outlet. Did someone order a fire hazard?

Whenever my dad would walk past my room, I would sit in the chair and make purring noises because I was very weird and thought that would make him jealous that he didn’t have such a chair. He was never jealous. Disappointed? Absolutely. Jealous? That’s gonna be a “no”. After a few weeks of pretending to be comfortable in a not-comfortable-at-all-massaging-recliner, I dug the box out of the garage, dismantled the chair, and returned it to Costco. They gave me all my money back and….WAIT!

That didn’t work at all. Now I don’t feel better about my weekend bar spend because I can’t throw the 19 Tecates I had in a box and return them to the bar. Great. Well, I hope you enjoyed my exercise in not-making-myself-feel-better. GODDAMNIT!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This scene came up at our Easter dinner and we all laughed like maniacs. Enjoy:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you open up your refrigerator on Monday morning and see all the Easter candy you stole from your parents house is sitting right in front of your dumb, fat face but you can’t have any cuz it’s Monday morning and you were gonna get back to eating healthy this week. Thissss isssss jusssssssst GREAT!

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

I’m not gonna lie to you guys. I know that I bet on Kansas and Michigan this weekend. I also know that JimmyGoodTimes made quick friends with JimmyGambles and, next thing I know, I had like a billion little bets going on the two final four games this weekend. What were they? I absolutely do not remember and, no, I will not check my betting history to see what they were. All’s I know is that I only lost like $9 which is less than $10, so I’m basically even. I’LL TAKE IT! Tonight? I’m probably gonna bet on Michigan because my friend went there, but my brain thinks Villanova is gonna chop Michigan’s head off.

(My account currently at $64.82)

K bye.

Mondays and Oscar Recap

MY WORLD:

I think companies should have “Monday rooms” in their offices. They should with big bean bag chairs and mirrors so you could go in, dramatically drop to your knees, curl up and watch yourself gently cry as old Carole King songs played softly over the speakers. Mondays really are for the birds and, guys, I am no bird. I’m a man! A HUMAN MAN! (If my brothers are who I think they are, they better text me a socially unacceptable joke about me being a man. Clock’s ticking, fellas. Also, if they don’t text me, I will convince myself that they don’t read my blog, hold it against them and probably tell my mom that it bums me out that they can’t find the time in their day to support a brother-me-WHO HAS BEEN NOTHING IF NOT SUPPORTIVE OF THEM SINCE THEY WERE BUT A TWINKLE IN MY PARENT’S EYES!!!)

At least I’m not starting a new job today, though. Aside from a Hangover-Monday, Starting-A-New-Job-Monday is mos def the worst version of this wretched wretched day. I don’t have an absolute nightmare story of a Starting-A-New-Job-Monday (thought about making one up but I respect the 18 readers of this more than that) but I’m going to do my best to remember as much as I can about the first Mon-Fri job that I had. I’m hoping that remembering this day will put today’s Monday in perspective so that I won’t be a pouty baby at my desk and say things like “I said I’m fine!” later.

I was 28 years old when I started my first 9-5, Monday through Friday job. (See? You’re better than me!) Now, chill out. I’d had jobs since I was like 13, but they were all restaurant jobs that didn’t make a day of the week feel like a 9-5 Monday. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of I-hate-my-life moments when working in restaurants, but there isn’t a whole day where the entire staff returns after getting 3,2,1 BLASTOFF DRUNK for the past 60 hours.

So I was 28 years old. Restaurant jobs, grad school (cue the crippling debt tremors) and a general fear of well dressed people in tall buildings kept me away from the 9-5 path up until then. I had been dating the VP of Ops (known then simply as “Hot Fire Sexy Baby”) for about 4 months and was beginning to feel…feelings…oh boy oh boy oh boy! (Hey Erin, that was cute, right? Pay rent today. K, Thx) The sting of having dissimilar hours as HFSB along with the paralyzing insecurities associated with being a grown man whose work uniform consisted of a t-shirt reading “Fresh Pasta & Seafood” had pushed me TOO FAR! It was mostly the insecurities.

I thought I should work in advertising because I live in Chicago, had a lot of good friends who worked in advertising, and I had seen commercials before. That, my friends, is what you call a Natural Fit! My good girl friend, nicknamed “Trone”, had become kind of a big-wig at one of these agencies, and posted something on Facebook about how her agency was looking for people for some entry-level position. In my basically empty head, working at an ad agency probably consisted of me getting to write commercials for major companies who were too busy doing those secret hand-signal things on Wall Street. Business stuff. So I e-mailed Trone and probably made her cry with my well-worded, deeply personal plea for help.

She set me up with an interview, and I went shopping. I had to buy cool, business pants because the loose, pleated khaki look that I had been NAILING on Easter Sundays for years just felt a bit pedantic (callback joke. Comedy term. Comedy mind.) So I went to The Gap. I think that’s supposed to be embarrassing, but once a Gap kid, always a Gap kid. So shut up. I nailed that fucking interview in those cool pants and proved, once and for all, that lying about being excited to work for a company you’d never heard of before getting an interview with them, WORKS!

I was hired to be a “Search Analyst” for an advertising company that I’ll call “Buttlicker Digital”. (Good luck getting that burn to heal properly!) I started in 3 weeks…on a Monday. Would have been cool if I started on a Friday at 3:45PM, but GAH FUHBID A COMPANY DOES SOMETHING THAT CREATIVE!

The 3 weeks leading up to this career change were V scary for me. I quit my restaurant job in a professional way because I was about to be professional and that’s what professionals do. I went to the J.Crew outlet mall with my parents so my mom could help me pick out cool clothes like any mother would with their 6 year old. I paid for these clothes by opening a J.Crew credit card because that I figured I’d have to be in J.Crew a lot going forward to keep up on hot trends. (Instead, I paid off that initial $350 spend like 3 years later after making minimum payments until I got a bonus big enough to cover the remaining like $307. I make money, guys). Clothes bought, restaurant job quit, hair cut. All that was left was this fuggin’ Starting-A-New-Job-Monday.

I drank more than I had planned in the weekend leading up to this SANJM because I was supes nervy and drinking’s fun! Thankfully, my constant state of worry, kept me up most of the night, so getting up was not an issue. I was thinner than I am now (we’re all doing our best here) so I looked pretty sah-weeeet in my new clothes. Before I left, The VP wished me luck and was encouraging and comforting and…DEAR GOD, JUST GO FOR ME ERIN!!! YOU DO IT!!!

I took an Uber because I was paranoid if I took the train I would immediately black out and somehow end up at a Cracker Barrel in Southern Arkansas. (I’m also the guy who has to get to the airport like 9 hours early just to be sure we have enough time to get through security. This is not the VP of Ops’ favorite quality of mine.) I got to Buttlicker Digital plenty early and took the elevator up to my floor. Real talk, I went to the building the day before and mapped out where I was going to go so I wasn’t having a panic attack searching for an elevator on THE Monday.

I was starting with like 8 other people that day, so we gathered in the lobby together and said stuff like “I’m excited” and “I hear good things about this place”. We met our new boss, an absolute self-centered douche who enjoyed flirting with me and wearing suit jackets that were 2 sizes too small. But, I didn’t know that yet as he led us to our “pod”.

I was put in basically a large cubicle with 3 other nubes. I had my own desk, nameplate, laptop and…wait for it…CHAIR! I was given a schedule of “webinars” to take for the next 3 hours, until we would meet for lunch. I remember ABSOLUTELY ZERO of the skills these webinars were supposed to have taught me. I put my headphones in, went to the websites and thought about whether there was a military job looking for a scared 28 year old who DID NOT want to see combat, but did want to tell people, years later, that he was a “military man”. Webinars are cool though.

After kinda doing what I was supposed to for 2 hours and 38 minutes (subtracting 22 minutes for at least 4 trips to the bathroom where I’d sit in a stall, take deep breaths, go through Twitter, and text the VP so she could remind me how brave I am. I’m so brave.) AND THEN IT WAS LUNCH TIME. Douchey flirty boss was taking us to PF Changs because midday diarrhea is even more fun when it’s the first day at a new job! Bossman ordered like 19 apps for the table to show us that he was important enough at the company to waste their money. V chill move. I ate practically nothing. I think I had a lettuce wrap with some chicken because brave boys like myself do need protein for their brave boy big muscles.

After we finished, Bossman let out a lot of deep sighs and eye-rolls as he typed on his phone. This, kiddos, is a passive aggressive way for insecure people to remind you that they work hard and are constantly insulted because they are smarter than everyone who has ever sent them an e-mail. I don’t like people like this (even though I’m sure I’ve pulled a move like this to impress people younger than me but…ME! ME, DAMNIT! ME!)

The day continued with my 36 other bosses calling us in to big empty conference rooms for meetings that didn’t really have to happen. They’d talk about goals and synergy and Excel and, surprisingly, not why the Bears couldn’t find a franchise quarterback in the 30 years since their only Super Bowl. I went to the bathroom so many times that I’m sure my co-workers thought I had IBS or a coke problem (IBS. Come on, Jimmy, you’re not cool enough to pull off the “coke problem?”-look).

5 O’Clock came and we all had to play the game where everyone knows it’s 5, but doesn’t want to be the first to leave so you pretend to type e-mails while praying to the Lord Our Savior that you hear someone drop a “see you guys tomorrow!” Months later, I had learned to leave my jacket and bag in an empty conference room so that I could walk away from my desk at 5 (ON THE DOT!) and my co-workers wouldn’t know I was leaving for the day. By the time I got to leave on the first day, I knew I was going to get many promotions during my sure-to-be-long-and-impactful stay at Buttlicker Digital. Jk lol guys, I hung on by my fingernails and ended up quitting in a very cowardly way.

Really, in hindsight, it was a completely normal, not-that-bad day. (Whoops). BUT! It was a worse Monday than I am going to experience today, and I ate a bunch of bread and pimento cheese yesterday so there. will. be. stomach. issues. Which reminds me that a close third to Starting-A-New-Job and Hangover-Monday’s is the, all too familiar, I-Ate-Like-Absolute-Shit-All-Weekend-Monday. Tell the people my story.

OUR WORLD:

The VP of Ops and I were driving back from Nashville all day yesterday, so we only got to see the final hour of the Oscars. “The Shape of Water” winning for Best Picture is something I want to get angrier about, but we’re in the honesty business on this blog and, honestly, I’m not mad, just disappointed.

If you haven’t seen it yet, don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin it for you. “The Shape of Water” had Michael Shannon and his big chin doing big chin things and a secretly V sexual mute woman who develops feelings for a fish that, no lie, was a pretty hot fish. I’m guessing hot fish guy goes to an underwater gym for at least an hour 6 days a week. You’re not just born with pecs like that.

This movie wasn’t one where I was excited to text my dad abut after, or one that I brag about seeing to people who doesn’t see movies as often as I do. That’s the “Best Picture” test. Are you excited to text your dad about it? Are you telling your co-workers that they’re basically uncultured neanderthals for not having seen it yet? (The only reason I’ll ever go to a museum is just to then have the ability to tell people that I went to a museum. That’s a fun thing to say, but you have to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Like, “yeah, I went to The Art Institute because it was a Saturday and that’s a thing we do on Saturdays.”)

In the final hour of the show, the Frances McDormand speech is what stands out to me cuz she had a hairdo that I had never seen before and said a thing I had never heard before “inclusion rider”. I’ve come to learn (shoutout google.com) that an “inclusion rider” basically says moviemakers can’t be racist/sexist dickheads when staffing their movies. This sounds reasonable. Her hairdo, along with Christopher Walken’s high-waisted pants were off-putting though, right? I can say that, right? (Why are my female co-workers glaring at me? Is that a knife? Seriously Keli, why do you have a knife?)

Real talk, my favorite part of the final hour was that you could feel how uncomfortable white, American males in the audience were. That’s fair. The rest of the audience has had to have that feeling on movie sets, in conference rooms, at award shows, and everywhere else for the past very long time because those white dudes and their dads were too busy being cocky to realize that the rest of the room felt lesser than. Fuck having to feel like that. I’m a white dude, but I’m poor so I don’t get lumped in with the bad ones, right? (Being not-rich but not-actually-poor is the best!)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Omarosa

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

I made a $50 deposit on Saturday night while secretly vaping in a bathroom stall. I then IMMEDIATELY bet on 3 NBA games that included a parlay. I won 2 of the 3 games and lost the other and the parlay. Overall, that means I lost $5.72, but it’s basically even which is basically a win so….I AM SO FUCKING BACK IT HURTS. GET ON MY BACK PRETTY BABIES CUZ WE ‘BOUT TO GET DAT PAPER!!!!!

Tonight’s sure fire lock of the century is Milwaukee (+2.5) over Indiana.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.