Dog Crap for the Soul

Last week, I received a notice that my status had been changed from a temporary employee of Staples to a regular part-time employee. What this meant for me, the letter read, was that I must enroll in part-time benefits or say what the fuck until whenever. Essentially.

Tonight I get to thinking. I hate that notice and I hate everything it stands for: permanence in a position I hate and resent, yet must be grateful for thanks to a shit economy. After a fair quantity of gin and wine I think that it would be a good idea to incinerate said notice, as a cathartic measure notifying the universe that I will not put up with its bullshit.

It takes almost half a box of matches for me to light a single piece of paper, due to the freezing cold and wind.

But I did it. I burned the fucker. And I laughed to myself, thinking that this felt good and signified something.

I went back inside and walked through the house, when something caught my eye on the dining room table. Where the recently incinerated letter had been, there now was an envelope with suspiciously red lettering on the return address space.

Staples was confirming that I had declined to enroll in benefits and would not be eligible to change this fact until June 2010. I would have burned that letter too, but I had run out of matches. Also, my house is made of wood, so a drunk depressive trying to change her fate with fire is nothing but a bad idea.

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    • Aj
    • February 27th, 2010

    Sorry you didn’t let them pay for some health benefits. Sometimes you have to eat shit to say alive, so you can get even later.

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