cofined My family business was slow this winter so I picked up a job with the Post Office until things picked up, and this isn’t just the worst job I’ve ever had. It’s the worst goddamned job I’ve ever heard of.

It seems the Post Office created the City Carrier Assistant position as a way to cut down on overtime for the higher paid permanent carriers, and you basically do the same work as a regular, but you’re paid half the salary, get no benefits, work every Saturday and Sunday and are on call for your days off.

For the last 60 days I’ve been called in every single day, and since I don’t give half a fuck if I get fired or not, I’ve just started creating ever more unbelievable excuses for why I can’t come in.

My last one was I got some new form of syphilis from a prostitute, and I need to go to the doctor every six days to have my penis flushed out.

I assume my manager knows I’m lying, but I’m not 100% sure. The Post Office promotes exclusively from within, and since no one there has a college degree, and most employees were working retail or fast food before they were hired, you’re not exactly dealing with the cream of the mental crop.

As evidence I offer that picture at the top right. Painted by every single grate on the property is an informative “Cofined Space” designation. Sure it was supposed to be “Confined Space,” but according to my manager he “don’t read so good no how,” so it doesn’t really matter.

As an added bonus I work exclusively on the ghetto walking route, and between the pit bulls chasing me for a snack and residents hounding me for their checks, I’ve lost 15 pounds and built up a reservoir of stories sure to last for years.

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