God, fuckin' piss shit fuckers! �Pinches gueyes culeros hijos de perra putos mamones maricones pendejos!

So I didn't have a great day at work today. Everything was fine, but by the end of the night, I don't think any of us had a good time. Aaron, my man, as usual, didn't seem to give a shit and went on to complete his five hours anyway. I left with twenty minutes to spare without giving a fuck. After all, I work tomorrow, so I'll get the overtime. Aaron's working too.

There weren't any overwhelming amounts of packages today, just seemed that way a bit due to a few multiples. Multiple shipments, I mean. And then, most of the shit we did was not EDI, so we had to key in everything by hand, Zamira and I. But it was still not enough, so we didn't leave any packages for Aaron. (God, I hate pop-up ads.) Even so, I only had 20 shipments to process. 20! That would've taken me 40 minutes to finish, if they had all not been in the system. So, like any other good UPS-er, my coworkers and I nos pusimos a cagar palo. Just for a while, y'know, 'til break. Just so we could at least get our three and a half. During break, Cat and I smoked our cigarrettes outside in the light rain. It was bliss; I felt so relaxed. A bit lightheaded, too, 'cause I hadn't smoked in a while. But it felt good. Fuckin' good. Then we get to work, and Ruben calls, the fucker. Wants us out by 10:15, he says, because "someone" told him we'd been doing jack shit back there, and not really processing packages.

"Bro, we're almost done," I told him, gritting my teeth.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. We were sitting outside, but we were on break. When they said break was over, we started keying in. And that's what we're doing now. And we're almost done."
"Ok, good job then."

He hung up. My blood was boiling. No more nicotine to keep me calm, either, because no smoking when you're not on break. Then George the Marine comes along and tells us all that we've gotta leave. He tells Aaron that he's gotta clock out NOW because there's nothing for him to do, and Cat too. To Zamira and I he says nothing, but glances our way to make sure we're really working. Pendejo.

Aaron came over when George walked off and shook his head in a disbelieving way. "Ruben told me he wanted me off the clock by 9:45!" he exclaimed. "I was like, ��Que chinga'os?! That's fucked up, man!"

I agreed, and I gave him some invoices to take back to the scanning office. Inwardly, I smirked. Aaron sounds so funny when he tries to speak spanish. Then Zamira and I were alone and tried to finish our neglected work as fast as we could. We still finished with time to spare. It wasn't even ten yet. The lack of nicotene in my blood left me ready to punch someone in the face, and that someone seemed very likely to have Ruben's features. I mean, I understand he wanted us gone, but as Zamira said, there's ways to say it. Everyone was subdued when I went back to the scanning office with the last of my invoices. Aaron was still there, peeling an orange to eat. Ivan was there too, the fat fuck. And Cat had snuck back into the building, even though she was off the clock and was not supposed to be there. Cat kicks ass. She gave me a cigarrette to calm me down, which I gladly accepted, even though it's a Marlboro Light, and I go for stronger shit. Camels are more my style, or Marlboro Reds. Still, right now, anything will do, and I already decided I'm gonna drink my night away. Presidente and Hornitos, hell yeah, so I can show up to work tomorrow with a cruda, and bitch at people like they deserve. Still, if I wanna do that, I better get my ass to the store now, before I go for mom at work. Not that I hide the fact that I drink and smoke from her, but I don't wanna have to stop that late at the store for liquor.

To Ghost, I hope all goes well with your brother. I've felt the sharp pain and hot anger towards ignorent fuckin' people myself. My best friend growing up was mentally retarded and the fact that people don't understand still chews on my nerves. I'll think of you tonight, if drunken prayers count for anything.

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