Note to self: add “karate-chop heads off” to CV skills

I am working for the Devil. His human name is Chris and pretends to be a fourty-something year old woman, eventhough she dresses like a man and is the size of a dwarf.

The best part is that she hates me. And she does anything in her power to make me feel miserable all the time. I don’t know why, I guess my personality doesn’t suit hers. Probably because I have one. I’d love to go into detail about all the ways she has systematically -through her own uselessness, lazyness and incompetence- screwed me over the past 6 weeks just because she has the “manager authority” to do that, but I should save some of it for therapy.

The only reason she is still alive is that somebody thought about locking the storage room, where all the knifes are, and I couldn’t find one in the icecream store (yes, I work at an icecream store). But I found another solution, and I’m pretty sure the next time she decides to get bitchy on me, I’ll do something insane, like karate-chop her head off.

The only thing she does when she decides to drop by is locking herself in the backroom and watch the security cameras. And after 15 minutes going out for a cigarette. And coming back when she’s done, then lock herself again in the backroom and talk on the phone.  Meanwhile I’m cleaning the machines, moping, serving icecream, making icecream and so on. After an hour she usually comes to point what I’m not doing good enough. And she gets paid twice as I am.

If her friends don’t answer the phone when she’s calling from her “office”, she usually sends me in the back to make wafflecones, while she just seats there and complains about her “busy and stressfull career”. If I’m in a good mood and I answer with the appropiate “Yes, Chris, life is so cruel to you and you DO deserve a week off, because things here are to stressfull for a manager from time to time”, my ass is saved for the day. If I, however, don’t feel like ass-kissing that day, it’s going to be rock’n'roll.

Last week she reached out for the bleach. And she “twisted her hip”. I was like “YOU’RE KIDDING, RIGHT?!”. Wrong. She insisted that she had twisted her muscle and needs a week off. Today she “cut her fingers” while cleaning the icecream machines. Then applied some plasters on her very damaged fingers and amazed me with the remark “Look, these plasters are pink and match my nail polish. Wasn’t it smart of me to buy the aid kit with pink plasters instead of white ones?”. I was about to say something rude, like “YES, CHRIS, you are brilliant, why don’t you give yourself a raise?” but I didn’t. I was in a good mood today.

Instead I just said something stupid with a bored face, something like “I’m sorry for your fingers, Chris”.

And what does she reply???

“I cut my fingers in that stupid machine and that’s all you can come up with?! I’m sorry Chris?!”.

And I’m like…”Oook…I’m sorry, did you want a poem? Cuz if you like, I can compose a song about it later. Bitch.”

Anyways…Does anybody, by any chance, have a knife?