I've decided that I like everything about my new job except the job itself. The people are nice, the creepy stalker-ish dude is leaving me alone, the company is a good one, and the pay is really handy.
The job itself kinda... sucks.
I'm the number thirty-two box jockey, which means I grab the totes as they come down the line and throw the clothes into boxes and push the buttons so the lights go out before I tape the boxes shut and push them off to be shipped but I have to run back and pull down more totes or the line gets backed up and the big overhead light goes on to let the boss know that I'm really terrible at a job I don't like anyway.
The worst part? My hands are killing me! If it wasn't for the fact that I like being able to feed my kid and help keep a roof over our heads, I'd say that a job that keeps me from knitting is a bad thing.
Hey, the brownies are almost done!
Mmm, caramel pecan brownies! What was I complaining about, again? Never mind. Must not have been that important...