Bullshit Job Diary
I discover with disgust that I am genuinely quite good at the job. Old people trust me. I remind them of their most sexually ambiguous grandchild.
Still, nothing can prepare you for watching punters fight over their losses or throw away a weekly wage in an hour.
"I’m angry, despondent, frustrated, tired, and none of this is good enough."
Inbox: 263. Water bottle: full.
Anytime someone in the service industry has been rude to you, it's actually been your own fault.
The first instalment of a weekly diary about stupid fucking work.