The Office: A RetailBoy joint.

It has been a little while since my last entry. You know me as a miserable prick that hates his job and all of the people that assault me with their presence. The retail environment is like no other and I, RetailBoy, have finally left “The Shop”. Thats right. I no longer work in customer facing Retail. Hurray for life? No. I thought I hated old job, I thought I knew the meaning of the word hate but ladies and gentlemen let me tell you something…only now at 27 years old do I truly understand that word. I fucking hate this office “work”.

I have absolutely no idea why I was hired. I do nothing for long peroids of time and no matter how available for work (of any kind) I make myself the office folk seem reluctant to give it over to my desk. Perhaps there is not enough work for them to begin with? Hmmm…that actually makes a lot of sense. I would honestly clean the toilets with a toothbrush to pass the time.


This level of free time in a supposed work environment affords me plenty of time to observe the people around me and I have learned much from their ways. I am treating this office experiment like a safari. I study their every move and their bizare habbits. It is truely fascinating to see how the other side live their boring lives.

These people seem to survive purely on coffee and overpriced sandwiches. Seriously. This coffee thing must mirror some sort of sexual experience becuase there is no other reason to drink it nineteen times a day. Unless they use it as an excuse to get up and use what I can only assume are the withering remains of their leg muscles. I guess I do that to. I spend most of my day staring at either one of my two computer sceens trying to come up with another reason to stand up and wander aimlessly throughout the building, just long enough to make them think I went to the bathroom but not long enough for it to be assumed I went off for a smoke. It’s a good system. I do that at least five hundred times a day. Perhaps I have more in common with these creatures than I thought.

Another fascinatingly boring thing that I have noticed about these office creatures is that they never shut up about themselves. There is literally no end to the amount of times meaningless pleasantries I offer are followed up with actual information about their lives that I had no interest in learning. Maybe it the old school Irish mentality I have but when I say “How are you?” the only answer is “Ahhh, not too bad. Yourself?” then “Ahh, grand.” Conversation over. Right? The exchange gives us little or no information and it is assumed that despite our miserable lives and dead-end jobs neither party is considering suicide on that day. The very basic knowledge needed for everybody to get on with thier miserable existance is all I need.

I have made several horrendous errors by asking people how they are in my short time in this stuffy, artificially lit dugeon of misery. After a particuarly soul destroying one-way conversation where I was subjected to a ten minute snooze-athon about somebodys kids I resolved to stop interacting with these people. I really dont give a flying fuck what your kids like to do at the weekends or what HILARIOUS thing they did to amuse relatives. Please take your life and end it before I do. Signed, everybody else.

I have also observed a level of insecurity the likes of which I have never encountered in a work place before. The pressure on these people is honestly immense and I get that, fair enough. They complain that they dont have enough assistants (paper monkeys is essentially what they mean) but when they have them they complain that they are not good enough or are doing things too slowly. Training the young apprentice lions never seems to cross anybodys mind in here. Should, by pure osmosis, the underlings become useful to them they are still bad mouthed on front of other employees,or worse still, supioriors to keep the office folk in their sweet sweet employment even though some of their jobs could be done by a basic analytical computer programme…and some of it is. To paraphrase The Living Color. “Look in my eyes…what do you see? A cult of insecurity.”

So what do I do considering I try not to talk to the more boring members of the tribe, try to scedule my breaks after theirs and pretty much keep to myself? I do pretty much nothing. It is everything I thought I wanted but it turns out I was happy being miserable in my last job. How fucking sick in the head am I?! I kind of miss the borderline mentally challenged customers I had the misfortune of encountering on a daily basis. They ruined my life but I always got a good laugh out of telling the story later that day after headbutting the wall a suitable amount of times of course. Like the time a woman asked me if we sold water for a swimming pool. That is something you cannot make up or un-hear.

To compensate for the lack of any discernable atmosphere (other than pain and regret) in this place I keep my head down and get through my work. And how is the work? Soul destroying. It is not unlike what I imagine community service would be. Just painful enough to make you regret your actions but not enough to make you wish for prison. Although at some times of the day you would crave the sweet release of being shanked in the neck by a massively aroused, fully erect, 6 foot 5 ape covered in tattoos. Harrowing blues playing on harmonica in the next cell would never come close to masking the sound of you puking clumps of your own blood into a communal stainless steel toilet bowl before slowly dying on front of 15 other people and crooked prison guards that had a bet on how long you would last. Yip. Somedays I would pay money to be in that type of environment, or any other environment really, other this overly warm florescent tomb that I call a job now.

It is clear that I will die here. Until then I will remain steadfast in my ways and sing the songs of my people to warm my heart.



About thecityfathers

We sit around all day stroking our beards, clucking our tongues and discussing what's to be done with this Homer Simpson
This entry was posted in Are you serious Bro?, Fun in Retail. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The Office: A RetailBoy joint.

  1. Puppet-Kidzz says:

    Well hello Retail-Boy… the American gal living in Ireland here again.

    Ah, the dreaded office work…I know it all too well. That’s why I never, ever wanted an office job. Much too boring, confining and depressing. However, if you found a GREAT IT job with a great group of young people, I’d say that would be right up your alley! You’ll find those in Silicone Valley in The Bay Area (San Francisco) – they even have gyms in the workplace and you can take your dogs to work… that’s where you should look for a job. It sounds like you’re with the old folk that fear losing their jobs (and rightly so in the American economy)… sooo many injustices have been put upon Americans that spent their entire lives at a job saving for their retirement only to have lost it all! So, they’re probably a bit reluctant to “train” the young lions as you say… understandable, and sad at the same time.

    But, I hear you and I empathize with you. Have you ever thought of holding your own little meeting with all of your co-workers? Americans (normally) really relish honesty and straight-forwardness. Tell them how you feel and how you can all make it a better place to work.

    Anyway, I’d say get your resumes to the people in the Bay Area…. or you could look on Craigs List. Another option would be construction if you like that or work for places like Manpower where you can work for the conventions that come to town… it’s not a 9-5 job however… but there are SO MANY options for a young Irishman! Hang in there and go out and find something you truly like to do… you just chose the wrong environment.

    What is your passion? Figure that out and go for it! It’s SO EASY to start a small business in America. Much easier than in Ireland…. I know…I’ve been trying for almost seven years now!

    And, sadly, from what I understand from Irish friends, if you work in an office in Ireland, it’s the SAME B.S.! I’d say it’s the same all over the world.

    Wishing you the best of luck..

    An American Girl in Ireland

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