Emms
I only have 70 days left to live, but I'm looking for a job anyway.
I only have 70 days left to live, but I'm looking for a job anyway.
I knew I was at a low point when I became jealous that my friend's unemployment checks were bigger than mine by two dollars.
The irony that I had taken a day off from my job collecting horse urine to go to the doctors and have to provide a urine sample did not escape me at all.
While driving home and contemplating what my father said to me, I realized how terrified I am by the idea of doing anything for 30 years.
I was so nervous my dog would eat my resume that I printed out five of them and hid them in various places around the house, only to come home to my dress shoes in pieces sprawled across the floor.
None of us realized how loudly we were talking until the word "vagina" rang out into the hallway and seemed to just hang there like red neon.
I knew I'd chosen the right career when I got my first check and my initial reaction was, "What's this for?"
In the month since I've started my new job I've been paid more then I ever have in my life but have yet to be given anything to work on.
The job interview was really over when I complimented her speech impediment as a "sexy little accent."
On his last day of class, the middle school foreign language teacher concisely summed up his opinion of the year with the words, "Fuck off," then left the room without looking back while his co-teacher translated what he just said into Korean.
On the day I miscarried, I drove to a job interview, and when the Misfits came on the radio, I wondered if I'd still be able to listen to songs about killing babies after I'd lost my own.
The bruises around my throat are fading but the rage in her eyes is still bright.
My first job out of college was writing one sentence summaries of books for library catalogs.
In high school I cleaned banks after hours and enjoyed it more than almost any job I've had since.
After checking his email for the 437th time that day, he realized his love for his job was like most people's love for feces.
They were very polite people, posh offices and nice desks and we all knew there was no "second stage" for me.