I wrote this poem about a year ago, following a veeeery long lull in non-poetry writing. So if it sounds funny, it's because I had been writing nothing but fics for the past 4 years. Anyway, this is my ode to my workplace. While things are better now, they weren't so much back then. So read on and enjoy!

"Get your ass in here now!"
To be quite honest, my ass is tired of listening to your sorry ass.
And yet I sit, in the same chair that I know
Many asses have sat in before me.
How many of them had to endure your wrath
As you relax in your black leather swivel chair,
Suit neatly pressed with a color-coordinated tie,
Perfectly manicured nails drumming
Against the black marble desktop
As narrow eyes try to penetrate my defenses and catch me off guard?
And sadly, it happens every time.
Damn the man!
You yell, I endure, then slink back
To the cardboard box known as my department
Which you have so graciously bestowed upon me.
You know, the one with no window,
The a/c that says 72 but could freeze penguins,
The flickering light that makes me feel like creepy music
Should be playing in the background as some b-rate movie psychotic
Sneaks up behind me with an oversized carving knife...
And all this so your office can be big enough
For a portable massage table and mini fridge
Stocked with bottles of imported water sporting foreign names no normal person could
ever be able to pronounce,
And all because the cheap Walmart brand water may contain a few extra minerals.
It's common water for the common man and fucking Perrier for the "important" man.
Well, damn the man!
Day in and day out, hour after hour, minute after seemingly endless minute,
I find myself on the brink of insanity because
The customer's not happy, or the pants aren't neatly hung,
Or the shoe sizer is broken because some kid decided to beat his little brother over the
head with it.
Who knows; maybe his brother deserved it.
But do we blame the kids? No. Of course not!
Because it's *my* job.
Not only am I a retail worker, but I'm also a baby-sitter, cashier, banker, tailor, fashion
consultant, and an advice columnist.
Now, if I wanted to advise you on your problems, I would've become a bartender.
And believe me, I'd be knocking back the whiskey with you!
Honestly, is my split personality not enough for you?
Do I need to physically split myself in two so that I can both
Do my work and kiss your ass at the same time?
If so, just tell me. Cloning's not just for sheep any more.
In fact, why don't I just move into the store?
I spend every waking hour there, anyway.
Why not every *sleeping* hour?
You call me in on every off day,
Not to mention calling me in early on my *normal* work days.
I eat, sleep, breathe this place until it infects my lungs
Like a renegade invasion of locusts,
Choking off my air supply,
Slowly killing me breath by trembling breath...
My main goal in life is not to be a prop for you to reach your bitching quota of the day,
contrary to your belief.
And you can keep your damn problems to yourself
Because I will not be your bartender.
Damn the man.
You can kiss the ass of this woman.

Wow, i was hostile when I wrote this! While the workplace I wrote about is metaphorical, it represents the hellish environment I was subjected to a while back. I'm sure some of you can relate. If that's the case, a thousand apologies for bringing about bad feelings. But I hope it was entertaining! Please review! I love reviews. They're a little ray of sunshine in my otherwise dreary existence.