Workers’ Compensation #9

God, we haven’t even been in the new rotation two weeks and already all hell has broken loose. 

Of course, since we have Fatty McFattycakes and The Okie-Doke running things, it’s natural the checkpoint is on the fast track to hell.  So last week, the brilliant geniuses of headquarters decides to send half the supervisors to a training class at the start of a brand new rotation.  They leave behind new supervisors who can barely tie their own shoes let alone run D-Block.  Naturally, I stepped up to help out, not because I gave a damn but because I didn’t have to be on the lane.  I’m so over the checkpoint it’s not even funny. 

So this week, Okie Doke just has everything all screwed up.  I don’t know what is going on underneath the mat of two-ply hair but he just swears that all of his ideas are brilliant and he is the Savior to All of TSA.  May we bow down to his superior intelligence.  Not.

I had drill this weekend so that reduced the number of days I worked this week.  I wish I could go to drill every weekend.  In fact, I think I’m going to start pretending like I do, indeed, have drill every weekend so I only have to come to work three days of the week.  Since I don’t get paid for drill anymore, that probably isn’t a smart idea.

At any rate, I got banished to E pier yesterday with Rosie, David, and Peter.  Is there something wrong with this picture?  Rosie is on light duty, David isn’t trained, and Peter, well, he’s Peter who doesn’t seem to respect women in authority, women who speak their minds, or women who don’t put up with men’s bullshit.  I got into it with him on the checkpoint in front of the supervisor, in front of passengers because he made this woman take off her skin-tight painted on suit jacket and she was basically titties-out all over the checkpoint.

Personally, I don’t think he’s interested in women, so he didn’t have some sexual motivation to getting her down to her aureolas, but he seems to think that because he graduated his training class that he’s Super Screener of the Year already.  So I cussed him out about telling women to get naked and sometimes when people try to tell him something it’s not because they are trying to tell him how to do his job but because he’s only been working there for 3 and a half minutes.

I guess he thought that Chuck and Cookie were going to protect him, but sorry, boo, they weren’t on E Pier yesterday so he got an earful.

Then I heard that two other screeners, two otherwise nice screeners, got into a shouting match on the checkpoint.  I heard they were wrote up. 

Speaking of write ups, how about this rotation is scarcely two weeks old and there’s already like 5 write-ups!  You, and you know who you are, you got wrote up on some dumb shit!  You got to watch out when those two are on the prowl.  It is like they want to write someone up.  I told you that Okie Doke was on E pier bragging to Peter about the things he likes to write people up for.

It’s just a misery.  How about that?  Five months seems like an eternity when you are unhappy.  I dread hearing the lane assignments everyday.  I want to be on a lane with “cool people” but at the same time there are 3 people I really don’t ever want to work with again, and so I have to either settle for working with Rosie and David Boysel or swallow the jagged little pill and work with them

As I walk to work each morning I give myself pep talks about having a good day at work.  I tell myself, “It doesn’t matter who I work with, just have a good day!”  But as soon as I walk into the checkpoint it is like a dark cloud surrounds me, and as soon as they read the lane assignments the heavens open up and it starts raining on my head, and as the day drags on endlessly, it’s like some surging storm drowning me.

People who exercise and eat chocolate are supposed to be happy.  Exercise increased endorphins or something and chocolate creates seratonin, or something medical like that.  I just remember reading that somewhere.

I hate my job.

I hate my bosses.

I hate my co-workers.

I hate myself.

I hate my life.

My life is an abortion.


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