I’ve always seen myself as the hero of the story. I’m flawed, obviously, but I’m far from the villain. I was the one that stopped that alley mugger from taking out 8 year old Bruce Wayne. I’m the reason the third little pig built his house from bricks. I was the guy that led Mario to the correct castle to save the princess. I’m THAT guy. At least that’s what I thought. This month has taught me different.
I often romanticize the details of my day job for the readers, but truthfully it’s nothing more than a mundane array of meaningless manual labor for the benefit of the ARMY. There isn’t much thinking required in my line of work. Pick that shit up, put that shit down, tell this asshole to go speak to that asshole, write down that prick’s name, and show that dumb ass where the bathroom is—its all pretty elementary. But for some reason, I tricked myself into thinking that I meant something.
I pride myself in knowing everything. I guess that’s not the best way to put it. It’s not pride, it’s more like an incessant need to know everything so I never have to ask anyone for help. So yeah, when it comes to my job, I know the hell out of it. The gravity of my knowledge is so powerful, that it attracts the knowledge of everyone else’s job around me. It’s not even an exaggeration for me to say that EVERYONE comes to me. Peers, team leads, supply techs, and supervisors all come to me when they need clarity. This is what made me feel like a Superman. I’m the protector of all these people who are running around aimlessly as the world of mediocre monkey-ass tasks burns down around them. Without me, the mission fails. They need me. That’s what my dumb ass thought.
As it turns out, I’m less like a Kryptonian deity and more like a multipurpose cleansing wipe. Theoretically, everyone should have the capabilities to do what I do, but my presence alleviates the stress of personal responsibility. They’ve become so reliant on me knowing everything, that they have justified their limited knowledge of their own assigned jobs. They allow themselves to mess things up, knowing that I will be there to clean and fix every mistake. Instead of wiping their asses with their bare hands and then playing a full open palm drum solo on the work area counter tops, spreading shit matter around to the tune of “Computer Love,” by Zapp, they could just use toilet paper and hand soap to keep their hands clean and not spread poop everywhere. That would be the responsible thing, anyway. But no, that’s what Jae is for. Jae the Clorox wipe will come to the rescue and prevent the impending E.coli outbreak. Fuck personal responsibility. In case of anything, break glass, and get Jae’s ass over here.
My job is a shit show and I hate everybody attached to. If you work with me and you read my blog, fuck you for being ass at everything. Don’t worry, you don’t have to say good morning to me tomorrow. Go to hell…lol. Nah…just kidding. Have a good day…you worthless piece of shit.