Well, let me tell you, working for the state sucks. It almost made me long for the libertarian streak in me. Can you say: uptight? I knew you could. Good fucking grief. And the waste! I lost count after a while but there must have been two-dozen state employees who bitched and moaned to me, the painter, about paint fumes in their office. Oh yeah, baby, I know all about paint fumes. That’s why I’m fucking here!
The funny thing is, it was the people who seemed to be doing nothing the most who also bitched the most. I swear these people think working for the state means they get to walk around all day. Up and fucking down the halls they went, time and time again. One second they were off to get coffee and the next they were off to take a piss. And on and on and on it went, all damn day.
As a painter, they notice you at first but then they seem to think you’re just part of the wall you’re painting, unable to hear the same shit they spew to the people they pass. I swear to you, for example, that I heard this one small-kidneyed-old-bag say “getting things done?” to at least fifty different people in the morning alone. It took all my snarky power to stop myself from leaping from my ladder and saying the obvious: It’s pretty fucking clear that I’M the only one getting things done around here.
From my not-so-brilliant ladder perspective, these folks have got it pretty damn nice. They’re walking all day, chatting most of the time and, unfortunately, bitching about the obvious paint fumes to the guy creating them. And what, exactly, would you like me to do about it?
The good news is that these people and I are in on one not-so-secret secret: The state pays well. And there’s little supervision! But I’ve got to get these goddamn cubicles painted so I can get back outside where the Snarky Boy likes it best. As for them, they’ll be happy when they can trade the same boring comments to the same boring people WITHOUT the paint fumes. But I know they’ll find something else to bitch about.
