I am unemployed currently, so I don't have much right to gripe about capitalism these days. But in true Bukowski fashion I must celebrate my refusal to work. I won't even write a new post. I am just going to repost a blog entry from when the "Man" used to be able to keep me down.
My work blog for Labor Day 2006
I only celebrate 2 religious holidays a year. May Day and Labor Day.
I will be working my religious holiday this year. I don't work Mondays normally, so I didn't think to ask for it off. So of course I get scheduled on Labor Day.
"I just treated it like any other day."
That's what the boss said when I asked her about why I was working on the only day working people shouldn't have to.
Of course you did. Why not? I thought.
Just like I treat the fact that I have been disfigured* and disabled** as just a "regular part of working for the capitalist pigs."
Lucky for me though, this is PalmGhetto. So a regular workday here is never just another "regular workday." Instead of spending my holiday trying to chant pro-union songs all day (I don't know any lyrics), I can spend the day trying to avoid white trash conversations at my lunchtime locker.
The following conversation is not verbatim:
After informing me that the "Bitch in the register next to me better watch her ass" because "she is talking a lot of shit," I overhear the middle aged cashier on her cell phone telling her drug buying prospects that she "had a little something if you are interested."
I try to change the subject from violence and drugs to my aching back. Crazy cashier girl busts out with her "tabs" and asks if I need any. I politely decline and mention I'd rather continue to vomit up my own blood from taking all that Aleve instead.
* I hesitate to place a picture of the hideous scar on the lower half of my thumb which I received from scraping it against the trash can bin.
** I've been vomiting liters of blood from all the Aleve I've been taking for the back pain I incurred whilst mopping an entire bakery floor with a kitchen sized mop.