#fucks ups

My name is Jack Theodore Tomlinson, or just Jack. I’ve spent 21 years on this earth and I still have no idea who I am. It’s sad, really. 

Sometimes I feel like a mouse in a cage who’s running on one of those metal treadmill things. I can see that juicy piece of cheese dangling before me. Tempting me. Laughing it’s ass off as I run, run, and run but never quite get close enough. Not even to pinch off a small piece to momentarily satisfy my nagging hunger. A mouse in a cage. God damn fitting.

“Now Mr. Tomlinson, as I mentioned before your evaluation, I would speak with the district manager and try my hardest to get you the maximum pay increase possible at this time..” 

That’s Garth Barlis. My store manager. He’s 48 and has been the manager here at Rolland Foods for almost 16 years. Sometimes I have this nightmare where suddenly I am Garth Barlis. A short, awkward frame with hairy tree trunks for arms and a faint mustard stain on my white dress shirt. Sends chills down my spine just thinking about it. Such a terrible, terrible dream.

“..And as promised, we at Rolland’s have raised your pay a full 19 cents.” He sent a cheesy smile my way, as if he was completely convinced that a measly 8.19 an hour was what his only dependable, full-time employee was worth.

“Oh and here is the schedule for the next two weeks. I even moved your off days to Friday and Saturday as you requested. Go celebrate!”

Convenient. Now I can spend this weekend forgetting how much I hate my life while drowning my liver with rum. Maybe I’ll sing Bohemian Rhapsody too loud or something. Yeah, that’ll piss off my neighbors.