I Hate Work

I hate my job. I hate my job.

I have the oh-so-wonderful joy of working at the fabulous restaurant known as McDonald's. It is a wonderful, magical place full of happiness and love. It is everything I could ever imagine in a part-time job. It is stress-free and brings everlasting bliss. It is my paradise. 

Okay, enough with the sarcasm. I have the worst job I could ever imagine. I die a little every time I have to go to work. Honestly, every day I have work, I actually feel sick. That's how awful this job is. I hate it. A job should not make you want to puke. 

Not only is this job pure torture and death, it is also killing my social life. The two days I made plans for this week just so happen to be the two days I made plans to hang out with my friends. I am missing two of my friends' graduation parties because of work. Also, I am missing out on seeing Brave with my best friends because I have work. They offered to change their plans, I said I didn't want to ruin their plans, but that was just to be polite. I don't think they realized that I was only trying to be polite and I really do want them to wait until I can go with them. We change plans for everyone else. 

I swore I would never work in fast food. Why am I then? I only took the job because I was desperate. I only applied because my mom made me because she knows the manager's mother-in-law. 

Never - EVER - work in fast food. It is the worst thing ever. 

Enough ranting about things no one cares about.