Jesus Christ, my friends, you would not believe the night I just survived at work! All of the managers -- both the salaried ones and the hourly henchmen types (of which I am one, I guess) -- are kinda paranoid right now because two weeks ago, our store manager -- Charlie -- got fired. Charlie got fired because our store is currently making the least amount of profit of any Wal-Mart store on the entire planet. Yes, this means that the Wal-Mart sitting in the middle of the Siberian Tundra in the former Soviet Union is currently showing more of a profit than Wal-Mart store #2974 in Richardson, Texas. So, anyway, Charlie got fired and right now, Rusty -- the personnel manager who always manages to fuck up everyone's schedule regardless of how much effort he puts into not fucking in -- is our Temporary Manager until the new manager transfers over. Now, we don't know who this new manager will be and there's been a lot of rumors and a lot of supposed candidates but the one thing we all know is that this new manager is probably going to be a hardass whose going to come into this store looking to make a few examples out of the most expendable managers and to put the fear of God (or Sam Walton) into whoever he or she might deem worthy to live.

So, basically, all of us managers know that once our new boss shows up, there's a 50-50 chance that we're going to end up getting fired and everyone's pretty scared and worried. Everyone except for me because, quite frankly, I'm beyond the point of taking anything that happens at that store seriously anymore. The fact of the matter is that nobody -- and I mean NOBODY -- at the least profitable store in the company is going to have any realistic chance of ever moving up into higher management. In short, we're all pretty much stuck where we are because no matter what type of job we may do, we're always going to be tainted with a scarlett 2974. For me, the only point to even going after my current position was to use it as a springboard to move up to something that paid more money for less work. If I can't move up, than my job really is kind of pointless and, therefore, I refuse to view anything going on in this current melodrama as little more than an excuse to light up another joint, toss back a few shots of Jack, and laugh at how stupid it all really is.

Or at least, that's what I keep telling myself but I must admit that I did let all the pressure get to me this morning. Basically, Rusty and Mercedes (my immediate superior) walked into the store at 7 a.m. and both of them had a near conniption over the fact that the back storeroom was a bit of a mess. When they confronted me about this, I replied that the storeroom was in no worse a state than the state they left it in when I came to work 12 hours earlier. Strangely enough, they didn't really seem to appreciate my ingenious strategy of blaming the problem on them and they basically told me they didn't want me to go home until the backroom was organized and, to quote Mercedes, "pristine."

At which point I smirked and said, "Y'know you're full of shit, don't you?"

To be honest, I didn't even realize I had said it until I saw the look of pure rage on her face. Even then, I wasn't quite sure. Usually, I'm alert enough to prevent myself from saying outloud the insults I'm thinking whenever I talk to my bosses. But this morning, I was sick and I was also dealing with the effects of having been awake for something like 55-hours straight. In short, my defenses were down and I just said the first thing that popped into my mind.

Which led to me being given a twenty minute lecture about my "attitude" in the manager's office by both Mercedes and Rusty. Mercedes told me that I was one of the strongest middle manager/henchmen types that they had at the weakest store in the Wal-Mart chain but that I was never going to move up from working nights unless I learned "to cut the crap, stop acting like a spoiled child, and be a team player."

And, genius that I am, I again had to open my mouth and say, "I don't think I'd call myself spoiled."

Oh Christ -- Mercedes possessed one truly terrifying power and that is the ability to glare at you for an hour straight, without saying a word, while all the time narrowing her eyes until she literally looks like a serpent about to strike and poision another foolish victim.

For a very long time in that office this morning, I was that other foolish victim. Anyway, long story short, I ended up getting written up for my "bad attitude." No big deal as this happens to me about every three months or so though this time, I refused to help Rusty spell out any of the big words he may have been unsure of, regardless of how many times he asked for my help. Nor did I bother to correct him when he spelled my full name with one F and three llls. Anyway, it took nearly an hour for them to just fill in the one-page form used in write-ups and, by that point, I was fairly pissed off over the amount of my time that had been wasted with this shit and I let them know this by refusing to sign the form and telling them that if it was put into my file, I was going to call and complain to Trent, our district manager (and the same guy who fired Charlie).

So, right now, at least two of my bosses, aren't too happy with me and I'm sure they'll find some way to make me suffer for my "attitude" over the next few days. But fuck it -- in the end, I'll survive and, most importantly, I'll end up laughing. Because, Hell, when all is said and done --

IT'S JUST A WAL-MART!

And not even a profitable one at that.  ¶ 9:18 AM