A shit job

    Seems odd saying this, or maybe it isn't so odd really but pointedly given so much before and following, you find yourself asking this question: 'What purpose does this really serve?'  

    After nearly six months you get a phone call for what apparently either reflected a really shitty revolving door of a workplace, or that your application were cherry picked for the explicit purpose of a hire for some reason...but you hold out hope on some alternate reason:  goodwill charity, you hadn't accumulated professional references over any time, and then you think there's hardly any need for exploitation here.    

    Things seem odd about the work anyways, no one is ever there not merely a few in starting...but merely that management later makes the emphasis of clearly communicating anything but seems to know little about the operations side of things, but it seems to leave something of suspicion in mind, sure its cute hearing Thievery Corporations Mirror Conspiracy or any number of subtle drops of something, you were hear to fucking frost donuts after all, I mean how feasibly shitty could a job be? 

   A man by the name of Paul, announces, 'He hates his life.'  in the same space of hours, while he  nearly seems to be passing out at the kitchen stove.  He jokes about needing 'speed'.  At some other point, he gets doughnut frosting all over his finger, and announces that you, 'lick his finger.'  Meanwhile, as usual if you weren't tired of all the references to mega wash up hip hops having attempted to draw something of ire, after all Pandora's big brother would turn indie folk into Frank Ocean, and your sexuality were being put on trial...sort of scratching one's head, apparently this sort of pro activity might have been part of Snowden's revelations somewhere, but it never filtered through to American media. 

The upshot were that the final lame meeting assembled were enough in a way.  Surely for the head dough guy complaining about the nature of one's work, he'd in one breath talk about neither getting enough sleep and in another breath mention his excitement for going to a baseball game, the next night he arrived at work scarcely functioning throughout the night, at least insomnia or sleep walking his way through dough, but then apparently I did things too slow...scarcely any kitchen leadership to train were expressed.  Sadly one hadn't thought one were merely working for hypocritical fuck ups, but something more.  This job was a dead end, and then I were thinking to the tune of not even getting paid for work.  I called in my quit notice with an 'effective immediately'.  The manager without skipping a beat talked as though I were another customer.  I asked if she'd like some feedback as to why I were leaving.  She said 'no'.  The conversation ended there.   I quit three weeks ago, I still have no pay check for the labor..  In retrospect, glad I left that job.  Sadly for a possible script it were one of the few places ever responding back...in a way I imagined something like approvals process and the like were needing completion up until that time, seems in the way of conspiracies, being hired overnight weren't an easy rubber stamp?  All for four weekends of work...  

Years ago, when I were in to this communal farming funk, I almost took a job, maybe I should have, but I had some reservation, only if it hadn't seemed like things were in the convenience of scripting and staging altogether.  All too convenient that another prospect turned me down on the basis of in experience and suddenly it neither matters, and that this sort of response were months in the making down the road.