I really hated working in retail. No, it wasn’t the unruly customers. Or the fact that I was a cashier with minimal math skills. It was that damned timecard. A stamp when I came into work. A stamp when I was taking a ten-minute break. A stamp for lunch. Another stamp when I came back from lunch. Stamp. We don’t trust you. Stamp. We own you. Stamp. Your time is ours. Stamp, Stamp, Stamp, Stamp, Stamp.
How demeaning.
Every time I placed that timecard into the machine, I imagined placing a pistol into my mouth. When that stamp came slamming down, I’d pull the trigger. Stamp! Blam! It’s all over.
I wanted to destroy that timecard machine. I wanted to take a bat to it and knock it off the wall, then bludgeon it mercilessly until it was unrecognizable.
So, guess what I did. That’s right. I quit that lousy job and found a gig that would pay me a nice comfy salary. Stamping The Card sucks.
8 Comments