The dealbreaker

Do you have a stalker? Maybe someone who is just annoying and won't leave you alone? Well, just tell them you work at wal-mart. Don't worry about any sort of contact after that. Believe me.

This makes girl number three who has asked the dreaded, "so, what do you do" question. And sure I can tell my little back story about being a newspaper editor (sort of respectable, I guess), but it doesn't matter. All that matters is what I'm doing now. Once that hyphenated word comes out of my mouth, they're gone.

I don't really get it. It's just a job. It's not what I want to do for the rest of my life by any means. It pays the bills and that's all. I don't have a giant, framed painting of Sam Walton over my bed or anything. My room isn't painted Despair Blue (I doubt that's the name of the color, but it should be.) I put shit on a shelf and they pay me. That's all it is. That's all it ever will be. I don't plan on being a "lifer." And there's not even anything wrong with being a wal-mart lifer. It's not an entirely horrible place to work. The managers actually make pretty good money. If you are a good enough ass kisser, you can do ok for yourself, but you should probably plan on meeting someone prior to your wal-mart employment. Or I should have anyway.

There's no real way around it either until I get a better job. I don't want to lie and say I do something that I don't do, but I may have to start doing that. 'Cause this is girl #3. 3! I could probably say, "Oh, what do I do? Well, I arrange unborn fetuses into swastika and pentagram patterns. It's not really a job, but it's fulfilling." That would get a better reaction than, "I work at Wal-Mart."

Oh well.