You know that thing I couldn't talk about? The one thing in my life that I had very little control over, but I managed to change it exactly how I wanted? I think it's time for the details.
After nearly eight years, my job as a conference operator is nearly over. It used to be the best job I ever had, but things changed a few years ago, and I became pretty hateful. Rage ate at my soul on a regular basis. I started referring to work as my eight hours of daily hate. That's no way to live. I was going to leave the company and get some other work, maybe something with a commute time of ten minutes.
And then an opportunity revealed itself. Most of my friends at work were either let go, fired or they quit. Of the few left, most of them moved to another department, and now this department was looking for more team members. I put in for the job as soon as it was posted, and after a long time of waiting and wringing my hands, good news came from on high: I got the job. I start on Monday, and I anticipate being a lot happier. I won't have to deal with many of the things that ate away at the good in me.
Tomorrow is my last day as a conference operator, and it isn't even a full day. At 11:30 am, I will be a free man.
The only drawback is that I have to work from 5:45 am to 2:15 pm. I am not a morning person, and this means I'll have to get out of bed by 4:15 am at the latest. But aside from what I already mentioned, there are some positives, namely that I won't have to deal with traffic anymore. Also, I won't have to park in Timbuktu. I'll probably have one of the best parking spots in the lot, even better than the ones Xerox has reserved, despite the fact that they're no longer in our building.
But I will miss listening live to my radio show on the commute. Still, it'll be nice to see sunlight again when I get out of work. Probably.
So yeah. This is why GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS is coming to an end. Bedtime for me is going to be 10:00 pm at the latest, and my shows are usually ending at that time. I can't justify staying awake long enough to put one of these out. I guess I could cheat and write them earlier and send them out at bedtime, but I don't want to betray the spirit of this nightly blog.
This means there are only two GF's left, at most. I might be too drunk to put them out tomorrow or the next day, and I certainly won't put one out on Sunday, the beginning of my lifestyle change. I think I'll be conscious enough, so I'll say tentatively that there are two posts left. I might surprise you all with a post every once in a while, like on a weekend, or a holiday, or if I'm on vacation, but for now, I'll only commit to one, maybe two, GF posts.
I should mention that it wasn't just my anger that drove me out of my department. I've been doing the same thing for eight years, and I couldn't improve my career any further by staying in the department without becoming management. It was time for a change, and I think this is the best change I can imagine.
Special thanks to Fitz for planting the seed that led to me saving my soul. "I had strings. But now I'm free. There are no strings on me."
*ahem* I meant that as a reference to the new AVENGERS movie, not PINOCCHIO. Just so we're clear.
Showing posts with label fitz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fitz. Show all posts
Friday, December 12, 2014
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
FIRST TANGO WITH FLEISCHMANN'S
[NOTE: THIS IS ANOTHER SONG FROM THE JESSE RUSSELL/JOHN BRUNI DRINKING BAND THAT NEVER HAPPENED. THIS ONE IS BASED ON THE TRUE STORY, AS SOME OF YOU MAY RECALL. ENJOY!]
It was love at first sight.
1.75 liters of cheap whiskey.
For only twelve bucks, you get me?
A doorstop bottle of amber delight.
It was a dry period in my life,
And I couldn’t afford my own booze.
Fitz gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse
The hooch clove my guts like a knife.
It was only supposed to be a pre-game,
I drank half the bottle on Fitz’s chair
I blacked out, and I woke up there
And I barely remembered my name.
I was told we went to the bar
And nearly drank the place dry.
My antics drew all the attention, and I
Was the funniest person there by far.
Hearing these tales of my splendor
Made me wish I’d been there
But all I remember is this stupid chair
I wish I was worthy of this bender.
That’s the trouble with Fleischmann’s, an American tradition since 1862,
It’s cheap and it gets the job done, but good luck remembering what you
Were up to the previous evening, even if you’re told
This Kentucky bourbon is only for the brave and bold.
I shuffled out of Fitz’s place
Still holding the half-full bottle
My body could only move at half-throttle
I felt hung-over, a fucking disgrace.
I stopped at a Dumpster to urinate
When a voice screamed at me,
“What the fuck? Are you taking a pee?”
I jumped and sprayed, I was irate.
“Is that you, God?” I said.
Or perhaps I was on the X-FILES
“I’m in here looking for Marlboro Miles,
And I’m not God, I’m Fred.”
A bum poked his head out of the trash
And he offered his hand to shake
I packed away my trouser snake
And apologized for being so brash.
“That looks like some good whiskey
And it’s been a while since I’ve imbibed
Nothing in my life has since quite jibed
Would you mind sharing some with me?”
What the hell? I thought. Why not?
Alcohol this good should not be hoarded
Even if the fellow looked slightly sordid
I handed it over to the old sot.
We passed the bottle to and fro
For a while, but it got late
Tonight I had a date
So I said, “Have a good one, bro.”
That’s the trouble with Fleischmann’s, an American tradition since 1862,
It’s cheap and it gets the job done, but good luck remembering what you
Were up to the previous evening, even if you’re told
This Kentucky bourbon is only for the brave and bold.
I went home and got dressed
And called my girl, but the date fell through.
What the hell am I going to do?
I still had the bottle, and I did what I thought best.
One minute I was knocking ‘em back
And I was watching TV
Then all of a sudden I lost me
And all I could see was black.
When I woke up the next day
I was naked and bleeding
And, of course, I was needing
Some hair of the dog, or I’ll pay . . . .
I remember seeing a naked man
In my bathroom late last night
It gave me a hell of a fright
And I had to go to the can.
I yelled until my face was red
And lashed out at his form only to hit
The smooth mirror, and the glass bit
Into my hand, and I said:
HOLY SHIT, THAT MAN IS ME!!!
That’s the trouble with Fleischmann’s, an American tradition since 1862,
It’s cheap and it gets the job done, but good luck remembering what you
Were up to the previous evening, even if you’re told
This Kentucky bourbon is only for the brave and bold.
Now the bottle is empty
So I go down to my liquor store
With twelve dollars for more
And I pour new whiskey inside me.
It was love at first sight.
1.75 liters of cheap whiskey.
For only twelve bucks, you get me?
A doorstop bottle of amber delight.
It was a dry period in my life,
And I couldn’t afford my own booze.
Fitz gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse
The hooch clove my guts like a knife.
It was only supposed to be a pre-game,
I drank half the bottle on Fitz’s chair
I blacked out, and I woke up there
And I barely remembered my name.
I was told we went to the bar
And nearly drank the place dry.
My antics drew all the attention, and I
Was the funniest person there by far.
Hearing these tales of my splendor
Made me wish I’d been there
But all I remember is this stupid chair
I wish I was worthy of this bender.
That’s the trouble with Fleischmann’s, an American tradition since 1862,
It’s cheap and it gets the job done, but good luck remembering what you
Were up to the previous evening, even if you’re told
This Kentucky bourbon is only for the brave and bold.
I shuffled out of Fitz’s place
Still holding the half-full bottle
My body could only move at half-throttle
I felt hung-over, a fucking disgrace.
I stopped at a Dumpster to urinate
When a voice screamed at me,
“What the fuck? Are you taking a pee?”
I jumped and sprayed, I was irate.
“Is that you, God?” I said.
Or perhaps I was on the X-FILES
“I’m in here looking for Marlboro Miles,
And I’m not God, I’m Fred.”
A bum poked his head out of the trash
And he offered his hand to shake
I packed away my trouser snake
And apologized for being so brash.
“That looks like some good whiskey
And it’s been a while since I’ve imbibed
Nothing in my life has since quite jibed
Would you mind sharing some with me?”
What the hell? I thought. Why not?
Alcohol this good should not be hoarded
Even if the fellow looked slightly sordid
I handed it over to the old sot.
We passed the bottle to and fro
For a while, but it got late
Tonight I had a date
So I said, “Have a good one, bro.”
That’s the trouble with Fleischmann’s, an American tradition since 1862,
It’s cheap and it gets the job done, but good luck remembering what you
Were up to the previous evening, even if you’re told
This Kentucky bourbon is only for the brave and bold.
I went home and got dressed
And called my girl, but the date fell through.
What the hell am I going to do?
I still had the bottle, and I did what I thought best.
One minute I was knocking ‘em back
And I was watching TV
Then all of a sudden I lost me
And all I could see was black.
When I woke up the next day
I was naked and bleeding
And, of course, I was needing
Some hair of the dog, or I’ll pay . . . .
I remember seeing a naked man
In my bathroom late last night
It gave me a hell of a fright
And I had to go to the can.
I yelled until my face was red
And lashed out at his form only to hit
The smooth mirror, and the glass bit
Into my hand, and I said:
HOLY SHIT, THAT MAN IS ME!!!
That’s the trouble with Fleischmann’s, an American tradition since 1862,
It’s cheap and it gets the job done, but good luck remembering what you
Were up to the previous evening, even if you’re told
This Kentucky bourbon is only for the brave and bold.
Now the bottle is empty
So I go down to my liquor store
With twelve dollars for more
And I pour new whiskey inside me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
