A. Keep track of your own shit: I am not your mommy, your banker, your accountant. Do it your DAMN self. If you aren't prepared for a $3k bill at the end of the month, maybe you should keep that in mind while youre having diareah of the brain all over your ad copy for the weekend. If you dont have the money to spend, don't waste my time. I'm not going to keep track for you all damn month long, making you some pretty spreadsheet so you can present it to your boss as your own. PUH-LEASE. Give me a break. I've got enough asses to wipe around here without adding your's to the bunch.
B. We aren't friends, stop acting like we are: I dont like you. There, I said it. I pretend to like you because that's my job. You calling in asking for "a favor", doesn't make anything happen any quicker than it would if you were a random off the street. Trust me, you are not first on my list for anything. I've about had it with the shmoozing, and the *wink wink* salesman talk. I'm not on your showroom, looking to be financially raped by inflated costs, I'm a business partner, and should be treated as such.
C. You ALL have horrible taste: Honestly, as a consumer, in the untapped age group of spenders, I wouldn't buy something from you if threatened me with a red hot poker in the anus. Wouldn't happen. There are a select few I would consider doing business with out of sheer obligation, but for the most part, your ads make me queezy and they do not make me want to do anything but wipe up my own vomit with the paper. Thanks.
Overall, I think I've hit my cynical breaking point. I want to do MY JOB. Not everyone else's. I've earned the right to do this cake-walk for a while. Instead I've been running a triathalon for months, and damn it, I'm tired. I'm 22, feel like I'm developing an ulser, and I can't afford to keep up with the new grey hair's that seem to have taken over my head. It's like I have a degree in ass-kicking, and instead I'm only doing ass-KISSING.
