“Be Thankful We’re Still Here…”

Posted: March 4, 2009 in The Roper Files


I’m in a really shitty mood; it’s been one fucked-up week. Bad enough I have to get out of bed pre-dawn and drive through some of the worst neighborhoods in town to get to work but then just to shake us all up they fire a half-dozen people yesterday right before quitting time.

They’re supposed to be doing job reviews this very week; they’ve already told us not to expect pay raises this year and I’m pretty positive that last round of lay-offs was purposely timed to keep us afraid of complaining about it.

No raises? Fuck you. My new landlord just doubled my rent. The goddamn utilities go up every fucking month.

And if you haven’t noticed, packages at the grocery store are getting smaller. Paying more and getting less; is there anything more American?


Oh so isn’t this just fucking great.


Another year of clipping coupons. Another year of picking up aluminum cans just like a homeless person. Another year of “value menu” food. Another year of doing without little frills like going to the dentist, replacing my five-year-old eyeglasses or just about anything else for that matter. Oh fucking boy. Can’t. Fucking. Wait.

A couple of years ago my employer got wind of someone shuffling boxes of scrap metal out the door and selling them at a recycling yard for extra cash after work. There was no brilliant detective work involved in catching him; the dumb-ass was selling boxes that had our company logo on them. When aluminum cans were selling for a record eighty cents a pound they were throwing 55-gallon drums full of them in the dumpster and paying some asshole god-knows-what to do it to boot. So it’s not like they were real careful about saving any of this stuff.

But he was so galled at the idea of someone figuring out a way to make some extra chump-change off of the company’s carelessness that he filed theft charges against the guy. Had him hauled off in cuffs and his car towed. The guy was an ex-con so in all likelihood he was probably going back to the Crowbar Hilton.

For the last year chunks of two grand at a time have been disappearing from my 401K every three months or so. I can’t call the police on the crooks pilfering from my alleged “retirement” fund. I can’t have their cars towed off to the police impound lot. I can’t have them warehoused in one of our numerous corporate-run Gulags, even though they should be. If I was to walk into their offices with gun a-blazin’ and a can of gas and torched the place, I’d go to jail if I wasn’t shot on sight.


Life isn’t fair? DUH!


Beat me. Flog me. Wear me down just a little bit more, could you? Grind me into the dust with your heel. Go ahead; everyone else does. Take your turn.

Feel like sitting down and having a good cry but the tears just won’t come; dried up like everything else in my life. Feel like screaming but I have no voice.

I’ve lost my appetite. Don’t want to eat. I’ll sleep tonight but it won’t come easily. Having bad thoughts.

Is this what a tumor feels like? I’ve got a throbbing in my head that’s worse than any headache. I’ve got a knot in my stomach that hurts worse than any ptomaine.

Now I lay me down to sleep. Maybe I’ll wake up and it was all just a bad dream.



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