The world of TPS reports is at my finger tips. I am minutes away from a cube job, where I will have to blog from the bathroom stalls to keep you peasants entertained as I collect benjamins. I was hot today. You should have fucking seen me. Red hot. Blue hot. All of them. Literal smoke coming off the top of my frosted tips.
I was taking names and then dropping them on anyone who would listen and I just might have lied and cheated my way into minimum wage employment. More info later in the week, which means you have bathing in my failed tears to look forward to in the next 24-48 hours.
I haven't even been to the interview yet and I'm already dreading not being able to sleep in.
Dreading not sleeping in? Most bartenders don't start until at least 2pm. You'll still be able to roll out of bed at the crack of noon
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