Whadda fuck.

Work drags on, leaving me ditched and still punch-drunk on the curb.

Dan's leaving. I know I already mentioned it, and I know I'm sure I've also said I have no huge amount of Love for the dude. But him leaving officially puts me in the drivers seat, or at least the co-pilot, and that's not comforting. I still know little about the product I sell, don't understand the workings of a Yanmar engine or what makes it run best, and am still so underpaid I have little care if the places goes up in smoke or turns out as one of Canada's best run companies in fifty years. (Trust me bro, it's not going to be anytime soon. Chaa.)

I put in a half hearted but well spoken job request to a collection agency for taxes and debts, but even after I got a reply from my Hail Mary I've already turned it down. I honestly could not do that, no way in hell. I get pissed off and put in a sour mood when somebody gets personal with me here, I can't imagine trying to be a hardass and taking money from people who obviously can't afford it.

For example, some guy phoned today looking for engine parts. He gave me a list at least a page long, no part numbers (Which mind you, is the ONLY way you can find and order stuff.) Without them, you have to look through a parts catalogue which is enough to make you cry.) and then told me to get them for tomorrow.

For starters, this guy has already done this. Twice. Mid July he literally blew up an engine doing fucks knows what, and then again last month. When he orders, he orders anything and everything he can think of. So after he was done, he comes back with a bucket of stuff, saying it needs to go back and walks out the door.

So when someone phones who owes us ten grand and is some sort of Inbred moron, I tend not to try and let things go his way.

He actually had to leave wherever he was just so he could yell and swear at me as much as possible.

I know it's contradictory to what I said, if I don't care, why not let him just order and rack his monstrous debt even higher? He is the sole reason we can't get Yanmar stuff, because of all his returns and unpaid bills we're 12,000 dollars in the hole with them and can't get any freight. As a shipper and a clerk, I may as well just hang myself. What's the point of advertising we are the exclusive dealers for them when we can't get anything?

Bah. Too much work related stuff on this damn blog. I need to start doing some music reviews or movie stuff. That's where more of my talent lies. But I'm just so busy...

Mayhaps when Buttsweat and Tears comes out. Fuck I'm stoked for that, I hope Chris has a bigger part than in Oh! Calcutta!

Schedule:

Monday: Work 8-5, Boxing 7-9.
Tuesday: Work 8-5, bench press 6-7, bed at ten.
Wednesday: Work 8-5, Boxing 7-9
Thursday: Work 8-5, Potential booze night.
Friday: Day off, Gym 12-2, Partying 7-2am.

I'm either going to be super jacked or dead come November.

We'll all be dead come November, four months out of every year.

Boxing.

Although I'm tired and more than a few limbs are already hurting only an hour out of the gym, I realize I'm enjoying every second of it. I enjoy getting my ask kicked doing a cardio workout and the multiple routines we're put through. I enjoy working the bag and learning how to punch harder, quicker, faster every night. And I enjoy the company, everybody there is more than tolerable and in a few cases, actually pretty cool.

I forgot how much I missed sports since I quit hockey years ago. It makes me want to get back on the ice for a Saturday evening practice or even the rush of a big game. I miss it alot.

It's going to be awhile before I step into the ring with the intention to hurt someone, at least two months, so I'm just soaking it all up right now. I'd go every day if my body could take it and I had nothing better to do. It would help if they were open that much as well.

I'm not addicted, but I'm enjoying it. Looking forward to Friday and my gym day to see how I perform there, hopefully I'll be able to get back into that after a two week absence.

It's amazing how good of therapy wailing away on a stuffed bag is.

Wow, I'm a dick? I guess.

It seems I'm alot harder to work with than I thought?

Sean got fired today, he just got sent an email telling him to hand in his keys and not bother to come back afterwards. He didn't show on Monday either, so I had the weekend to myself. It was quiet, rainy, and I had another crazy workout boxing. I'm really excited to go back again tomorrow, I'm not sore today at all; just a little tired and stiff. All in all, a pretty good way to start the week even though my weekend was a series of letdowns.

Today was such a roller coaster of a day. It started fine, came in, talked with Dan and had a few cheap laughs at other's expenses and then was just starting to move over to shipping when Kjell came in.

A little more on Kjell.

Nobody knows what the fuck he does at the Shipyard. He's been there for nearly twelve years, but in that time he's done nothing important or noticeable. He's some sort of outside salesmen who sells things to his personal clientele across Canada or other odd places. The odd times I've had to ship stuff I've noticed he undercharges people like crazy, in some cases, actually losing money for what he's selling the product for. He tells me it's for a trial run for the company, but since then I've shipped other items at the same price, which when I told Kevin he was surprised and a little pissed.

He never tells me anything, he'll leave stuff on my desk without an address or an invoice (Which he refuses to do, bothering Kevin to always do it when he's fully capable or even me.) and then fucks off back upstairs to his office. I always have to call him a few times asking what the hell any of this stuff is, or asking what he's charging this time because he's so inconsistent. He's a pain in the ass, nobody knows what he does, and he always seems to have a problem with me, whatever I do. For example, he had me order a bunch of rust converter for him (Because he refuses to learn how.) and when it came, told me to return several of the five litre cans. Not two weeks later he had me order two five litre cans, (Note: when we order bulk, we save money.) which still had our address on them from when I ordered them the first time. He then gave me shit for taking so long.

Did I mention he's about eighty and from some God forsaken country where his they apparently speak fractured English?

So he comes in and immediately starts yelling at me that I shipped some paint on the wrong courier, and the charges for the shipping would come out of my paycheck.

Here's my side.

I phoned the company he asked to ship with and they sent some retard who apparently could not fill out his own way bill, so he left it there and had me fill it out. I noticed the bill was from a different company, which is really quite common. Smaller, local companies work through bigger, across Canada operations for cheap when they need stuff done, and this was the case. When Van Kam (The cross Country courier) picked it up, they were supposed to drop it off at Comox Valley (The local company) because Kjell had an agreement with them where it's cheaper. There must have been a mistake, because Van Kam ended up taking it all the way, in the end losing us like fifty bucks.

He comes out saying I fucked up and that I'd lost him a customer over fifty dollars and that it should come out of my salary.

Fuuuck. Just writing this is pissing me off. I was so mad at the old fuck, I just about lost it trying to explain it when he just sat there telling me I had cost him a customer he had being dealing with for twelve years over a mis-shipped paint product when it wasn't even my fault.

My God. He's next man. I'm going to find out his title or expose him for not doing shit, I don't care how long he's been there. Next time he wants something shipped he better be proficient at filling out waybills and dangerous goods forms.

With all these people on me, I've got to wonder is it me? I don't get it, they all come after me like I've got a target between my shoulder blades.

Dan quit today. I don't like the guy very much, he's alright but has way too much of a little girl temper and a know it all in far too many subjects just to be knowledgeable in. What this really means is I'm now the most senior person there asides Kevin come two weeks, and I've been there for the summer. I also make a little more than a fast food attendant. As a side note, the last shipper (Who strictly did shipping, nothing else.) made four dollars an hour more than me. I do his job as well as three others, I outsold everyone last month by about five grand in till sales.

What a fucking joke.

I again find myself wondering how this company is going to stay afloat, winder is apparently a slow season and this summer we apparently came out just barely on top. Everything is so shaky, and for all the prestige and knowledge we claim to have, we're barely making it by.

I need to get out. I need to find different avenues.

Deja Vu, anyone?

Well here I am again, stuck inside in front of a computer screen, alone, staring out at the rain pound down.

I'm alone because that butt-plug Sean didn't show...Again. Come on dude, I live twenty minutes away and you live within fifteen minutes walking distance. Something wrong here. I don't even care, I know he's being put down Tuesday, so I'm none too worried. Almost relaxed, it's nice not to have a thirty four year old loser who looks like he's fifty and makes the same as me here.

Putting that faggot out of my mind, it's such a stupid day to work. When it rains it's like the place in Fight Club, the roof leaks in at least four different places so I've got buckets set up around the store. God knows why, the floor could be covered in ice and it wouldn't make a difference. I've been here three hours and made twenty measly bucks. Not even close to my wage for that amount of time. Now factor in the hydro bills, cost of wear and tear on the equipment, (the generators have to be put outside and it's pouring rain, they rust in rain..) and my wages? The owners clearly have no common sense and are losing one hell of a lot of money to be open seven days a week.

It's like everything the employees say means nothing. We complain about wages, they organize a training meeting so we'll sell more stuff. We phone next door about our purchase orders for paint, hose, and engine parts, we get cut off from buying anything. We get angry phone calls about Yanmar engine parts that haven't been in for weeks, they reduce our budget for Yanmar and continue to stall paying bills.

Again, in the grand scheme of this company, I am nothing; but that doesn't mean that I can't tell this place is going into a spiral. How can we sell anything when our shelves have so many holes in them? Now that we're not allowed to order anything unless it's special order, more than 90% of my time goes down the drain. When I'm not sending stuff out or receiving stuff, I'm making lists of what we need or helping customers. Now that we're not ordering, I won't be making lists. Now that we're not going to be receiving stock, how can I possibly receive? As a shipper, it's such a nightmare. My options for things to do in the day now consist of trying to look busier then Dan who's jerking off looking for work until Kevin comes by, at which point he drags up a purchase order or something else, or try and organize the mound of stuff sitting in the corners with no tags or place to go.

What a clusterfuck. No wonder everyone comes in here mad, this place is run by a (Supposedly, this is just here say,) a cocaine user who walks his dog more then he spends time in the office. Whoopee. I'd be pissed too, coming in and talking to a smartass nineteen year old who knows jack fucking all about resins and epoxies for a steel boat that the gelcoat is starting to blister on, or what kind of paint a 1975 wooden dinghy needs after it's already had Hempalin for twenty years on but now wants to switch to an ablative paint.

I've got to wonder how long this place has before it goes under. Until then I've got to try and learn something from all this, or at least steal a flare gun and some flares. What a life.

Carey backed out on moving out. Now I'm really stuck. Anyone want a roommate?

Friends.

Good friends are a real rarity, and I'm really starting to feel the force and truth behind that statement.

Even the friends I have now, it's tough alot of the time. We're all so goddamn different and have such different interests in life. My two base goals right now are to move out and find a way to make as much money as I possibly can. It's not that I'm overly greedy, it's just having money would give me options. Travel, school, new truck, etc etc.

Take my best friend...Carey we'll call him.

The kids a workaholic. He works five days a week, on average nine to eleven hours and on his weekends helps his dad out building a massive retaining wall in his back yard. (For nothing, his dad refuses to pay him.) He works a carpentry/ roofing job where he's outside or inside smashing drywall apart, so he comes home every day drenched in sweat and tired as fuck. Yet he chooses his hours, he by choice only has to work eight hours, but he stays just because he wants to get things done.

It's crazy, I worked with him and his dad all day and I was wanting to quit listening to his dad bitch at him. He was constantly on him, saying he doesn't trust his work, work harder, do this differently, do this this way, bla bla bla. And the kid just takes it, even though he doesn't have to help, he just does it. Takes the abuse, works the hard jobs...Man. I know I wouldn't.

I want to move out with him so bad, but he's such a mommas boy that I doubt he will. His mom still makes his damn lunches and breakfast in the morning. Plus, his dad will take the truck from him if he moves because he wants him around for the free labour and from the looks of their relationship, someone to yell and scrap with.

I don't know what I'm going to do. I want to move so bad, but I doubt I'll find someone. As well, I really need a new job... Ugh. Frustration sets in deep.

I'm really looking forward to going boxing again though, monday is going to be good. Really going to push myself hard again, learn as much as I can. I think this may be a new thing for me for the next little while.

Too bad I have to work tommorow and labour day. Bummer.

A full entry? What the fuck!

I at least owe myself a full explanation and a breakdown of recent events.

So that Dogfucking, shit-eating, fatass piece of going bald grey teeth mother FUCKING Sean is getting fired! I know! I'm excited too! Piece of shit, the whole "Let's harass the shipper WHENEVER I'm doing sweet fuck all and trying not to look like a total moron, which as a side note, IS ALL THE FUCKING TIME, game." got old. Reaalll quiick.

So how did I do it? Yes ladies and gentlemen, I will proclaim to have gotten this fucker fired; because let's be honest: I did!

It all started when he fucking shows up late EVERY weekend leaving me to open everything and be harassed by all the old pricks that come into the store. Whether it be sleeping in, or claiming his new meds are fucking him up, (Which, by the how, WHAT THE FUCK? How goddamn crazy are you?!) he always had a really, really sorry excuse. It pissed me off because he was always trying to swindle me into keeping his faggoty secret that he couldn't make it to work on time, even though he lives the closest out of any employee. It's within walking distance for fucks sakes.

Next it would be that game. A constant barrage of "What're you doing?" But not like a question, more like a demand. He's new, so am I, so at first I thought he might be trying to learn. Fair enough right?

No! That fucker is questioning me, making sure I'm working while he goes off and fucks the living shit out of the dog. Sitting, smoking whenever he can, looking around and smacking his cocksuckers lips as if he's got a fat pair of nuts to gargle between them. This fucker is making sure I'm working? Go die! I would Love to see his daily routine played through in fast motion, it would be a montage of sitting behind the counter and sneaking out behind the trailers for a fag.

This constant questioning prompted none too kind responses from me, and from there, a Lovely hatred was born. I tried to help, I tried to give him stuff to do, (Because believe me, at a clusterfuck Marine Store switching computer systems, there is a buttload to do.) or even just to leave me alone. But nooo, after sitting around to his hearts content, he would come and pester me asking me why I was organizing my shipping desk. Why I felt the need to put away the rope. Why I was selling something to a customer. Asking me a question, and then right in front of an old prick, laughing at my answer and saying I'm wrong.

Do you know how hard it is to earn the older generations respect when you're nineteen? Especially when half of them don't speak English and have already rammed their twelve foot rotten wooden boat into the rocks and need a new piece of everything yesterday? Hard enough, I don't need that fucker undermining me at every turn, it's a struggle I'm losing thanks to my ever shortening temper.

Anyhow. You get the point. He's a fucking loser.

I started by saying this faggot was always late, which was no lie in my defence. He even missed a full day of work and called in the next morning saying he was going to be late, and because we're so short staffed and cheap, we let him get away with! I then said I thought he was kind of a loonie, which he played right into my hand by calling and saying he's started to take medication for anxiety after his mothers death. It might explain why he's been such a prick, but I almost have to surmise he's always been a fucker.

I then proceeded to spread a few rumors in the underbelly of the staff which would eventually work it's way up to the man about his inadequacies, medications, and squeal on every little thing he did wrong. Wrong? Probably. Did he deserve it? Probably. Does anyone there like him anyways? No!

Just fanning the flames, speeding things up a little, you know? I don't even need to justify myself, I feel fine about it. I'll be sleeping fine when I still have a job in an economy where twenty percent of all British Colombians are unemployed. Boo fucking hoo.

Kev' told me he's gone Tuesday, and I have to work with him Sunday and Monday. It's going to be so hard to keep quiet, but oh man, so satisfying to watch him leave the door.

Fuck that felt gooodd. I'm still SO sore from boxing, what a fucking workout man! Today looks like a chill day, I was supposed to go camping and get trashed, but the weather looks hairier then my ass. Unlikely, but fear not! There's always another party afoot! I guess.

Drinking is one of the few things I look forward to in the week. (Here's a short list; Working out, boxing now, time alone with my book, time with Corey, drinking. Whee.) I've almost had to make it something to look forward to, it seems that if I don't I almost spiral a little bit. Alcoholism? Shit.

Bah, I don't even care. It keeps me sane and maybe one of my only dependants. Not even, I could go without, but at this point, I don't even care. I'm all for keeping myself healthy, but I enjoy my booze a little too much.

I'm just digging a big hole for myself here, so I'll stop. At least I'm aware of it. At least.

Breakfast time! At noon! I Love my weekends!

All good days...

...Mean one hell of a sore day the next.

I went and tried my 'hand' at boxing last night and had a blast, I enjoyed it to the point of buying a four month membership. How tired and sore I am is unbelievable though, from the top of my shoulders down to my ankles. Arms, chest, abs, everything hurts. Damn fine pain though, I haven't had that intense or fulfilling workout in months.

I'm at work, as always, so as much as I'd like to talk about developments with that fuckup and eternal buttplug, I can't. He's right beside me. Maybe next entry? Tons of fun stuff with that loser.

Bah. Boss is back, I better go. Hopefully I'll get a chance to write some more soon, I'm actually enjoying writing again.