Swing-line

Ok so I’m at my desk fighting with my stapler once again and my mind trails off to a conversation with Hubby just a few days ago.
I was telling him about one of the dancers asking me to rub lotion on her boobs. – yes this really happens - a lot. Oh and yeah, it’s the same one I got fired over – yeah that one. She’s got boobs like mine… But Hers are REAL. Anyway, I told him about that and I finished the sentence “damn I wish I could work there more.” He replied “well, you know…. If you can get everything sorted out with school and bills I don’t see why you couldn’t quit your real job and work at the club more.” My jaw dropped. Oh the titillating things running through my head.
I’ll tell you what, I would soooo love to do that! I come into this place every day already pissed off from the 1 hour bumper to bumper traffic I battle. And now I have yet another superior I have to take care of… who seems to have SAND IN HIS VAGINA. Remember that letter I wrote a while back about how far behind we’re getting and how we really needed help? At least they considered looking at the Memo before they said “no, oh and by the way… we’re hiring another person for you to work for.”. As frustrated as I am with this place, the job and everything that comes with it, I know that I cannot quit. The income is not as stable at the club and I would no longer be doubling my income. But just the idea makes me want to through this stupid fucking stapler through the window.