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Disgruntled, Depressed, and Downtrodden

I kinda envy call center employees right about now.
Sure they get screamed at by callers, work at ungodly hours, and being human answering machines isn't on the list of world's most glamorous or intellectually challenging jobs, but at least they have cool lounges with PS2's PC's cable TV's and comfy couches, and they get paid twice as much as me.
There we go. I have half of their salary, get unpaid for overtime, get almost unreasonable deadlines (recently because of some other lout's wishy-washiness), and there is no lounge at all. I don't even think I can take a decent crap at the local comfort room. The only thing I have is the prestige of working for one of the biggest networks in the country, but the thing is, I don't give a rat's ass about prestige. It's absolutely worthless to me.
So now, you'd probably tell me, "So why don't you switch jobs?"
To tell you the truth, I don't rightly know why. Maybe it's because I didn't get put through school by the Filipino people and graduate from the state university just so I could take calls from stupid Americans, Europeans, or whoever race has us reduced to a bunch of mechanical idiots. Well-paid, of course, but idiots nonetheless. Or then again, it's maybe just because of some mundane thing I can't seem to put my finger on; well, probably not.
But that of course, doesn't change the fact that a lot of times I wish I was paid better, had a lounge I could go "lounge" in, and that I didn't have to suffer from someone else's wishy-washiness. Sometimes I also daydream of picking up a magic lamp on the street with a genie inside who's going to grant me anything I ask without any catch.
Life - it really has a way of killing someone. Slowly.

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