Unhappy Miserable

I’m a salesman. That’s what I’ve let myself become, a salesman. I feel like a complete waste of space, like all I’m good for is being a punching bag for a jean company, as if the embarrassment that comes with telling a woman she’s a “Bold Curve” is worth a quarter above minimum wage. I hate the routine of approaching people I’ve never met before, genuinely asking them if they need help, only to be met with a “just lookin’” and nothing close to eye contact. Our company preaches “empathy”, but we make people pay out the ass for blue jeans and then spam their email inbox, or else our already dwindling hours get cut back even more.

What a bright future for me, a jean salesman! I never would have thought that all my hard work would lead me to where I am now, constantly failing to meet the ever so important needs of swagged-out teenage fucks and old ass “boot cut” people.