If my employment situation does not improve, I'm going to hurt someone.

Okay. I've reached the point where, if I don't get out of doing cruddy minimum-wage jobs in the next two months, I swear I will commit some form of physical assault. Yes folks, it has finally happened: the unending hopless drudgery, the lousy pay, the condescision, the titters, the fact that people who know damn well the kind of work I am forced to do for a fucking living and who profess to be my friends will still use the concept of "works for minimum wage" as an indication of someone's stupidity in front of me and yes I did get all those little sidelong glances my quondam buddy oh yes I did, have finally got the better of me.

I know I won't have to do this job forever. In fact, I'd probably only have to do this job for another four months, because I'm leaving town. That's not the point. The point is that the crunch has come, the camel's back is broken, the end of the tether has been reached. It's over. Either I get a better job, or someone gets hurt.

Pain is an ugly thing. I'd like to avert this if I could, but it's just the way things have to be. We'd all like to belive that this person deserved what's coming to them. We'd like to imagine that the person who will find themselves on the business end of the monkey-wrench is and abusive parent, or that the individual who cops a facefull of oven cleaner works in advertising. But life's just not that simple. Bad things happen to good people every day and in two month's time, if I don't find some non-insane making form of employment, it might be a completely blameless soul that ends up in a crumpled bleeding heap, dragging in gurgling lungfulls of cold night air as the sirens wail. You don't know. You just don't know.