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Tuesday, Dec. 11, 2001 - 3:11 p.m.

Today's my day off from the sucky new job. I already can't wait to quit. I'm working as a customer service representative for a clothing mail order company. Their primary customers are old people. Most of them are very nice, some are pretty cranky. I wouldn't mind the job so much, if it wasn't for the fact that we're required to try and sell them magazine subscriptions at the end of the call, and each operator has a quota of magazines to sell (22-25%). I find this to be pretty sick. I don't mind giving the spiel about the magazines at the end of the call...they can just say no, I don't care, but when the company is pushing you to close these sales (read: bully little old ladies into subscribing to magazines that they don't want, although the bosses would never put it that way) I kind of start to hate myself for doing the job. I would quit right now, but I really need the shitty paycheck that comes with the shitty job. I'm hoping that other work options will pan out and I can quit at Christmas. That's probably about the time that I'll end up getting myself fired anyway. I should start working on my resignation letter now, complete with my take on just how sinister their business practices are.

Heather and I had a party on Friday. Thankfully there wasn't a lot of people, but folks had a good time. I've got a lot of booze left over, since many folks brought their own. Most of it is stuff that I'll consume eventually: gin, vodka, a couple of bottles of wine. But then there's my impulse buy from the liquor store: a 12 pack of Smirnoff Ice. I saw it and thought, "Hey a lot of these people seem to like this stuff. They'll be excited that I bought them some!" At the end of the night, one bottle had been consumed. Great.

 

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