Usually they ask about the delivery charge (with which I buy gas and which is therefore not a tip). I’m not sure who she thought the tip would otherwise go to.
(Photo taken pre-burninating. I have since developed PTBD: post-traumatic bacon disorder.)
My new job has me running into old bosses at an alarming rate. Today was the second time in a week.
(Blah blah real life depression blah work unstable sorry blah also camera is acting up wah.)
I quit my job today.
…
Because I got a new one yesterday.
…
Which I didn’t tell my boss about.
…
I managed to leave the building without calling the junior shift manager a nagging, micromanaging little harpy who is the primary reason for my leaving, because I am fairly certain she already knows it in the depths of her dessicated little iguana heart.
…
In conclusion, yay!
I hoped the protocol was to take the rest of the day off, but no such luck.
Not even a piggybank. Sadface.
If they make a movie about this, I will totally be played by Morgan Freeman.
Oh, good. I’m glad you have your own number in case you need to call yourself sometime. If you ever lose it or forget it, feel free to call your local pizza place.
“Working at a dollar store will be easy,” I said. “Who could possibly find something to complain about where everything costs a dollar?” I said.
Service with a smile (at your expense)!
Not pictured: Me, flashing my brightest rictus of a smile throughout.