#my hate letter to working retail

[whereonceiwasfire]

I saw @theshadowrealmitself's post the other day about what if a supervillain outed their secret identity becuase they infodumped to the cashier (who happens to be the hero) and you know I had to do a DP oneshot for it. It's a few different kinds of AU, so you just have to roll with me here.

Without further ado:

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT (EXCEPT WHEN THEY'RE AN EGOMANIACAL SUPERVILLAIN)

Automatic doors slide apart with a woosh as Danny bursts through the entrance of Hattie's Haunted Hardware Emporium, unzipped backpack barely caught in the crook of his elbow, one arm stuffed through the armhole of the gaudy yellow vest of his uniform. 

He's out of breath as he scrambles past the customer service desk, gives a frantic, “I'm here, I'm here!” to the startled employee behind the computer as hops the counter. He’s sprinting past stacked boxes of returns for the door with a STAFF ONLY sign slapped askew across the chipping green paint when a voice stops him in his tracks. 

“Danny Fenton.” The words drip cool disapproval, and Danny's shoulders immediately hunch toward his ears, his fingers uncurling from around the door handle. 

So close. 

“Y-yes?” He slowly turns around, his expression sheepish as he comes to face Hattie herself. 

She stands, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, a MANAGER tag pinned to the chest of her tucked in shirt. The polo is the same hideous yellow as Danny's vest but has the Hattie's Hardware logo—a floating hammer surrounded by a ghostly glow—sewn onto the breast pocket. A funny gag, no doubt, when the place decided to open in the heart of haunted AF Amity Park. Less funny, probably, now that the store room is in disarray every other day because some low-level specter keeps casting stock haphazardly about and flinging empty boxes everywhere.

“You're late,” manager Hattie says, expression pinching. “Again.” 

“Aha. Yeah. About that.” Danny scrubs the back of his neck with a palm, teeth bared on something that's more a grimace than a smile. “The bus was behind schedule?” 

She doesn't look particularly like she believes him, which is entirely valid, since it's a bald-faced lie. But what is he supposed to say? That he got sidetracked by his new archnemesis, that freaking Plasmius ghost, because the guy somehow managed to compel an entire doggie daycare to do his bidding? What that crackpot needed a canine army for, Danny didn't even want to know, but he wasn't about to just let it go down. Stopping ghosts is kind of his whole shtick as town hero, after all. 

He’s just lucky the whole thing didn’t take that long—once Danny managed to snap his fluffy foes out of their trance, they kind of took care of Plasmius for him. Guess they weren't too happy about being mind controlled. Go figure.

But again, Danny can’t exactly just come out and tell his manager, well, any of this. As far as everyone knows, Danny Fenton is a very normal, very human kid—one who maybe isn’t great at the whole being punctual thing and has a penchant for running to the bathroom when ghosts show up—but otherwise exhibits no symptoms of being undead. He’s hoping to keep it that way.  

Manager Hattie’s eyes narrow, as if she can tell what he’s thinking, but she just gives a curt jerk of her chin in the direction of the staff room. 

“Don’t let it happen again,” she says, and he gives an overzealous nod of assent as he lets out the breath trapped in his chest. 

“You got it, boss!” he says, giving her a two-fingered salute and throwing himself into the back before she can change her mind. 

***

“That’ll be eight twenty-two. How will you be paying for that?” It comes out a bored drawl as Danny shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“It’ll be cash—just—give me a sec. I know I had change in here somewhere.” 

“Sure, no problem.” 

Danny crosses his arms over the chest of his garish vest and tips his gaze toward the industrial ceiling, trying to find literally anywhere to look so he’s not the overly intense cashier staring at the woman across the counter as she rummages through her oversized, bubblegum purse for a couple of nickels.  

He hadn’t even wanted to get a job—staying on top of school, protecting the town from ghosts, and keeping his secret identity from everyone in his life was enough of a struggle, nevermind trying to fit his weekend sentences at Hattie’s Hardware into the mix. But turns out if you break your phone (in a ghost fight), lose a couple of backpacks (after dumping them in an alley so you can go stop a bank robbery), mysteriously misplace articles of clothing (AKA, throw them away because ectoplasm apparently doesn’t come out in the wash), or otherwise ask your parents to replace your crap enough times without a decent explanation, they’ll stop paying for it.

So, as much as he’d love to not be watching stacks of nickels, pennies, and dimes grow on his counter—the bottle-blonde slapping each coin down with a decisive clack before thrusting her arm back into the depths of her bag—he really can’t get fired. Not only does he desperately need a new pair of shoes after stepping in a suspicious puddle Cujo left behind (please just let it have been radioactive drool), but he has to prove to his parents that he’s responsible, even if he’s going through a bit of a “destructive phase” with his belongings.

“Eight twenty-two!” the woman declares proudly, hiking her purse up onto her shoulder and beaming down at the skyscraper diorama of coins piled up on his counter. “I told you I had change.” 

“Yes. You did,” Danny says with a defeated breath, scooping the first stack of nickels into his hand, and spreading them out across his palm. 

Five, ten, fifteen…

“It’s eight twenty-two. Trust me.” 

“Sorry, policy. I have to double check,” Danny says with his best apologetic grimace before turning his gaze back down to the coins in his hand. 

Five, ten, fifteen…

“Well, that’s kind of unfair, don’t you think? Isn’t the customer always right?” 

“Right, of course.” 

Twenty, twenty-five, thirty…     

“This is a bad look. It makes it feel like you don’t trust your clientele.” 

Danny gives a half-hearted shrug, not lifting his eyes from the coins. “Sorry. Not my policy.” 

Thirty-five, forty, forty-five…

“Well, I never.” 

Danny makes the mistake of looking up as the woman tsks, gripping the strap of her bag and giving him a scandalized glower.

“Sorry,” he says again, shoulders slumping as he lets out a sigh, his gaze falling back to the mess of nickels in his hand.

Five, ten, fifteen…

***

Danny’s fellow cashier heads up for their lunch during the mid-afternoon lull, leaving Danny up front alone, standing at his till, pretending to be busy in case Hattie wanders past. He types random SKU numbers into the computer to see if it’ll bring up anything, he flips through the binder of faded lumber codes, he sprays his counter down with a bottle of something that smells like death and wipes it away with paper towels that come away gray with grime, he sorts the air fresheners that hang on a display beside his counter. And after all that is done, he’s managed to kill about seven minutes. 

It’s almost a relief when a customer finally wanders up to his till. Almost. 

The man wordlessly plops a length of cord, a roll of duct tape, and a box of garbage bags down on the counter—doesn’t even bother to glance up at Danny, just rolls up the cuff of his dark suit jacket and checks his watch as though the point five seconds he’s been waiting is already too long. 

Danny manages to plaster on his best customer-service smile, hoping his eyes don’t give away the “not this asshole again”  that he’s thinking. 

Nearly once a week, buddy here shows up—way overdressed, with his smarmy ponytail and his suit—acts put out that he has to breathe the same air as the rest of Amity Park’s peons, then proceeds to purchase some of the sketchiest shit Hattie’s Hardware has to offer. Danny’s always left wondering if he should be calling the police instead of ringing up the serial killer’s checklist of supplies on his counter.

But, honestly, he does not get paid enough to keep tabs on Hannibal Lector over there, so he lets it slide. 

“Find everything you were looking for today?” Danny asks as he tips the garbage bags on their side and scans the code on the bottom with a beep.

The man gives the vaguest grunt of acknowledgement, and just before his sleeve falls back in place over the face of his Rolex, Danny notices the fresh scratches marking the man’s pale forearm. 

His brow furrows, but instead of prying, he just plucks up the duct tape and cracks a friendly joke as he twists the roll to find the barcode. “Already got the shovel and axe at home, hunh? Good for you.”

The beep is the only thing to split the silence, and when Danny glances up, it’s to find the man’s dark gaze pinned on him, lips pursed on a thin line. He is very much not laughing.

“Just ah—a joke.” Danny blanches as he gestures weakly at the items on the counter. “Because uhm. You know. If you had a shovel and axe, this would look kind of like you were, ah…”

“I get it,” the man answers frostily.

“Okay,” Danny answers, chastened as he drops his head and picks up the rope. 

Immediately, he can tell Sketchy McBillionaire completely ignored the sign in the hardware aisle asking customers to get an employee’s assistance with the custom lengths of cord—there’s absolutely no SKU or length written anywhere, but Danny makes a show of turning the rope in his hand anyway. 

“Shoot. It looks like your label must have fallen off?” he says, doing his very best not to sound too accusatory, just in case the guy really isn’t above murder. 

“I’m sorry?” the man asks pointedly, brow arching, and it is so very clearly not an apology. 

“Uhm. Well. Since you grabbed a custom length of rope instead of a pre-measured spool, there should be a tag on here somewhere. I need that to ring you up,” Danny tries, gesturing uselessly at the cord.

“Are you serious?” the man asks, teeth gritting. “This is just what I need right now.” 

“I can, uh, page someone from hardware to get us the number?” 

“No need. I’ll go get a pre-measure spool.” The words drip with derision, as if this is somehow Danny’s fault, as the man snaps up the rope and twists on his heel. 

“Actually—” Danny cuts in, withering under the man’s icy gaze as he snaps his head back around. Sheepishly, he continues, “Once the length has been cut, we can’t really keep it…” 

The man’s shoulders heave with a deep breath, his grip curling tight around the cord between his fingers.

“Fine,” he snaps, tossing the looped rope back onto the counter with a thud. “But make it quick. I’ve already been significantly delayed today.” 

Danny gives a curt nod, picking up the receiver beside his register and paging for a hardware employee, his crackly, amplified voice sounding weak as it reverberates through the store. Which is so stupid. He’s a literal superhero—can punch a ghost three ways into next Thursday—so why is he cowed by some guy strutting around the hardware store in a suit?

Maybe because he knows punching this dude isn't an option unless he wants to get fired.

Ugh, why do bad things always happen to him?

Danny tries to play nice—determining not to piss the guy off or lose his job—and schools his features into an affable smile. 

“It’ll just be a couple minutes,” he says.

The man gives a tight “hmmm,” crossing his arms over his chest, brows dropped low over cold blue eyes.

As the silence stretches between them, Danny awkwardly drumming his fingers against the metal till top, the urge to claw out of his skin grows unbearable. Against all better judgment, he finally blurts, “how’s your day going so far?”

“You want to know how my day is going?” The man’s tone drips vitriol, teeth bared as he steps in closer to the till. There’s something hysteric in the twist of the words as he repeats himself. “You want to know how my day is going?”

Danny tries to backpedal, jerkily shakes his head no, but it’s too late. The man gives a laugh somewhere just left of unhinged (why does it almost sound familiar?) and is off on a tangent before Danny can stop him.  

“My day started with a very unwelcome intrusion, weeks of hard work thrown out the window because of some insolent boy and his need to stick his nose in where it doesn’t belong. My day found me bitter and behind schedule, interrupted at a crucial moment because someone has decided to treat my work like some blasted video game. My day”—the man’s eyes dart to the nametag on Danny’s vest, heedless of the way he’s stiffened, heart beating hard in his throat—“Daniel, has left me thwarted, again, an extension of a dismal several months in this wretched town, a string of one disappointment after another. And now I’m delayed once more, stuck waiting here with you, for someone to perform a menial task on my behalf since you can’t identify a length of rope. So tell me, boy. How do you think my day has been going?”

It’s how he spits the word boy, the cadence of the diatribe, the implication behind the words.

Danny just stares at the man, wide-eyed, any kind of response at all sticking in his throat as his palms brace against the back of the till.

It's then the employee from hardware comes bounding over, her cheery, freckled face split on a smile, oblivious to the weighted silence. “How can I help y'all?” 

“I need a price on this.” The man practically snarls the words, snatching the cord and thrusting it at Poppy or Penny or…Genevieve?

Crap. Danny has got to get better at remembering his coworkers’ names.

“O-oh,” she stammers.

“The SKU actually,” Danny manages, and her expression softens with relief—that that’s all he needs, that she doesn't have to put up with this nightmare of a man before them.

She pulls free a small notebook from a pocket in her ugly vest. Thwipping through the pages, she drops a glance to the rope in her hands, flips a little further, then reads off some digits from her hand-scrawled notes. Danny taps them in obediently as Poppy/Penny/Genevieve turns the rope forward and back. 

“Probably about twelve feet,” she guesstimates. 

“Awesome, thank you,” Danny says, the price coming up on screen as he taps in a one-two and thumbs enter.

The man has barely moved, his expression all hard, sharp, unimpressed lines as he stands back and watches them with crossed arms. Poppy/Penny/Genevieve flickers a glance in his direction, then away. 

“Noproblemhereyougotalktoyoulater,” she says, the sentence coming out in one hurried breath as she drops the cord on Danny's counter and bolts. 

With her gone, it's just Danny, the silver-haired man, and the suffocating tension between them once again. 

Danny knows he should focus on getting the purchase rung through and getting the guy out of here, but can't help the beat too long he stares at the man.

He's about the right height, the same goatee, the graying stripe parting his long hair. 

“I don’t have all day.”

“Right!” Danny starts, shifting his attention back to his till’s screen, his pulse fluttering in his chest. Could it be? “Uhm. That comes to—” 

“Yes, yes, it’ll be on credit,” the man interrupts, thrusting a black card at him. 

Danny catches the card against his chest, holds it there as he mashes the man’s total into the debit machine. Before swiping the card, he turns a glance down to the plastic in his hand, his eyes roving past the long string of numbers and the expiration date to find the raised silver lettering beneath.

Vlad Masters. 

His gaze lifts, and he finds the man—Vlad—watching him impatiently. Danny jerks his eyes away as he swipes the card, hands it back, places the printed receipt on the counter to be signed. 

Vlad huffs—doesn't say a word as he fishes a pen from his inside pocket and scrawls a quick, jagged signature.

The arch of his brow, the condescending weight of his gaze, the impatient snap of his movements...

As the man gathers up his supplies, scowling, and pushes through the exit, Danny picks up the merchant copy of the receipt left on his counter. His gaze fixes on the V. Masters on the till paper, his lips twisted on a frown. 

He doesn't know how it's possible, but he thinks that man—Vlad Masters—is his archrival. 

Which means…Plasmius is a half-ghost?

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for editing my friends cover letter and then telling him I wouldn’t give him my employee number for a referral if he used the cover letter he wrote? (Emojis to find this whenever it posts)

✍️🧠

For some context… I work for a HUGE university that is extremely hard to get a job at. I have friends in HR here now and they said pretty much every job posting (and the postings are pretty sparse) gets a minimum of 250-300 applications. I got extremely lucky securing my job and truly do not take that for granted. And now that I’m an “insider” I have the ability to make referrals for my friends so that they can at least get an interview and hopefully a job here too and hop on the good pay and excellent benefits train especially since we’re all coming up on 26, therefore, we are all losing our health insurance (yay America).

So, one of my friends finished his masters degree recently and was looking for jobs in my area and saw something at my place of employment he was interested in. I told him I would be more than happy to look over his cover letter and resume before he submitted his application because I know what they look for in those. He said if there was any major changes he would pay me for edits too. I agreed because why not help my friend out. Give him a shot at this place.

And as much as I hate to say it… his cover letter was just… bad. It was so bad I reread it a good 5 times before I was fully able to comprehend just how bad it was. I had to go for a walk around the block to collect my thoughts on it. It literally made me question how he got a masters degree if I am being completely frank. It was also just so atrocious I offered to edit it for free because I felt so bad.

I don’t want to give specifics but think, half a paragraph on things he explicitly states that he has not done and will never do in his masters program, saying “folks” instead of colleagues (which is fine in conversation but like. Not for a cover letter ya know?), talked more about his experience in retail than he did his actual masters program, and just so so so much more.

So to just give him as fair of a shot as I could, I asked him for his thesis and service work that he did in his program, and asked permission to pretty much start from scratch on his cover letter. He excitedly agreed and told me to “go to town and do what you have to” and said “you know better than me what they’re looking for” and once I returned the final product to him he wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the amount of jargon I inserted and the amount of changes I made to his “flare”. I had my friend in HR at the specific department I work at read it over and he said it was spectacular and he would interview someone with the cover letter in a heartbeat. I told my friend that and he still felt like I “robbed it of his personality.” I told him he’s welcome to edit it however he wants but my friends in HR said it was really strong how I wrote it and I would highly recommend not making any changes before he applies if he wants to get an interview and told him to just think on it for a bit before throwing in his application.

He didn’t respond for a couple of days and then called me out of the blue and told me he was working on his application now, was planning on using his original cover letter unedited, and needed my ID number for the referral. And I said… no. I am super super lucky to have my job and as jobs here are in such high demand I was scared to stick my neck out for him because I felt it might stain my reputation and reflect poorly on me. And he yelled at me and accused me I was being selfish and uppity about my job and that I needed to just give him the number because “if doesn’t matter anyway”. I tried to explain to him that any referral an employee makes gets added to their file regardless if the person got hired or not.

I did not want to stand by his original cover letter because I felt like it would’ve knocked him out of the running LONG before the interviews would’ve even started getting scheduled. I also feel it is important to add, I never told him his cover letter was garbage. I just told him it needed some work/jargon/fine tuning to the job description. I would never EVER say something like that to someone because I would never want to hurt someone’s feelings

I feel horrible. I didn’t want him to be hurt by the advice and changes I was making but I am in a very interesting and delicate position with my job in that I am one of like 5 people in any kind of administrative role at the entire institution that doesn’t have a bachelors degree. I secured my job because I worked as a temporary assistant for a few months and they loved me so much they made an exception to hire me in fully. I am deeply loved in my department and I truly love my job with all of my heart. It is wonderful and incredibly rewarding to do the work that I do so I really do not want to fuck this up for myself. I have had other friends apply and get jobs here with a little guidance and they love it too. I absolutely want that for my friend I was trying to help. I truly do. But he was not willing to take my advice and I just couldn’t risk sticking my neck out for him. So… AITA?

TL/DR: I work for a hard to get into place. Spent a lot of time fixing my friends app bc he writes like a 14 year old despite having a masters degree. He said he was using his shitty cover letter and asked for my referral number anyway and I told him no it’s not gonna happen because I can’t afford to stick my neck out like that since I got my job in a non traditional way leaving me a bit more vulnerable than most. I never explicitly told him “your cover letter is garbage” because I didn’t want to make him feel bad but warned him it would most likely not make it to the interviews and the one that I wrote him was applauded by my friends who work in HR.

What are these acronyms?

[armando-triplepapito]

heeey! you just answered my post ❤️ to be honest it’s such a stupid affirmation to say that betty has no backbones, she’s the strongest character I’ve ever seen or read about and watching her getting stronger and stronger during her journey it’s so satisfying to me, she makes me feels things I wish I could feel, she accomplished things I wish I could have accomplished it. talking about me personally, watching betty deal with misogyny/racism coming from women and gay men, watching them mock her features, her body, her presence, dehumanising her, it really was a experience where I felt like I was holding hands with her all the way. when she found the letter, her time in Cartagena finding herself, the fashion show where Hugo tries to humiliate the Quartel publicly and she stands up for them. betty taught me something very important “la cabecera de la mesa esta donde yo esté sentada”

“[Betty] is the strongest character I’ve ever seen” exactly and it’s shocking how people don’t notice it! From the beginning we see how resilient of a character she is! It’s not easy to endure rude remarks (Hugo, Gutierrez) and humiliation (Marcela’s comparison) with a stoic face, yet Betty was able to so! She continued with the interview process without batting an eyelash. She acknowledged that the employees (Ig the superiors) were rude yet at the end of the day she laughed it off. If I were her I would’ve cried myself to sleep especially if I experienced Marcela’s comparison! Like how are you going to get my hopes up with a 2nd round of interviews all for yall to compare me to a beautiful woman!! And let’s not forget the whole situation with Armando’s agenda or phone book (whatever it was). The way Marcela went feral to snatch the book from Betty’s hands and how she tried firing her was crazy! I would’ve given her the agenda or definitely quit on the spot ain’t no way I’ll continue dealing with a crackhead. Ik that at the end of the day she needs the job but I just feel like these situations really highlights how mentally strong she is and especially how selfless she is! She’s willing to endure the abuse from her superiors to keep her job that feeds her family! And as someone who’s mentally weak I can’t help but feel jealous of Betty’s mental strength. I remember when I started working at retail job a few years ago I ended up quitting on my third day... All because I couldn’t handle the look of annoyance of my supervisor when I asked questions on how to do my job and how a customer was rude as hell when I struggled finding an item for her. Remembering how Betty endured worse to straight up abuse I can’t help but feel compassion for her yet I admire her fortitude. And tbh, even tho I hate it, it was great how they didn’t hold back with the jokes in ysblf. The mild jokes to the dehumanization help the audience relate to Betty even more since its experiences we all endured in our lives especially when you’re a minority. (I don’t think Betty would’ve had the same impact if they stuck with the mild jokes imo). This why I love the quote mentioned!! It’s so impactful and layered!! To see how far she came with overcoming her low self esteem by standing up to her abusers and making it clear to them that she will not let herself be trampled on again is so satisfying to watch!! Plus she let’s everyone(the shareholders and audience) know that she’s always been the main character 💅

[nburkhardt]

Having those sad thoughts, now putting it on the boy 😔

It’s moments like this that makes him want the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Everyone is gathered today for the first time in a while, he doesn’t even remember the last time he even saw some of them. He’s been working so often and still lives in Hawkins, unlike most of the group now.

It’s good, things are good. He’s pretty happy or well, okay. He’s good though, pretty content even. Life is fine.

It’s just, standing here having only needed a few minutes to get them caught up in his daily life.

(Wake up, get dressed, eat, and go to work. Come home, relax, maybe call Robin or Eddie. Feed himself and repeat.)

Everyone else? Robin? Nancy? Hell, even Dustin? It’s been an hour and Dustin and Claudia won’t stop talking about how good school is going and they’re waiting on the letters for colleges! “Can you believe that Steve?!”

Nancy’s well on her way up some journalism company, can’t wait to get her own spot in the newspaper! There’s some course Robin’s in the middle of that’s been keeping her up at all hours. Oh and didn’t you hear? Jonathan’s thinking of moving back to California for photography!

“- and today, El got accepted as a volunteer at the new animal shelter! It’s such wonderful news, don’t you think Steve?”

He forced a smile and nodded, about to open his mouth when Joyce patted his arm with a “oh! Karen’s here, hold that thought I’ll be right back!” Before walking away and he gets to drop the smile.

Wishing he could just leave the party but he’s Robin’s ride and she’s definitely having fun catching up with everyone. He’s already said his piece to those he asked.

“eh, life’s pretty good. Been just saving up to get an apartment with Robs. Ya know?” And “I haven’t thought about it much, college just didn’t- seem right? I’m just focusing on work right now”

He can’t even take an hour talking about himself now. It’s over and out within minutes. None of the here adults really want to hear him go on a rant about basketball and he can go on forever about his car, but no one wants that information. Robin and him talk about those daily, even if she doesn’t understand half of it.

So, he’d really like for everyone to stop asking things or bringing up accomplishments of others, “I’m just so proud of my boy, my little genius!”

“Will’s painting is really taking off! Jonathan’s photography skills is so much better now, look see!”

It’s really getting to him and he wants to leave. Doesn’t feel like anyone is even listening when he does get to talk about himself, which is dumb because he loves these people.

The thing is, he just feels stuck. Feels like a has been, like he was this once amazing toy that got thrown outside and forgotten. He hates this, hates that his life isn’t anything to talk about, hates feeling like he’s doing nothing with his life.

How is he goddamn twenty-one years old and feel like nothing about him is good enough to talk about?

Robin reminds him daily that his brain is being dumb, that he’ll figure things out soon. It’s just not the right now for him, that he’s only twenty-one and there’s so many more years ahead of him. It’ll hit even eventually, that to stop comparing people.

He knows that, really he does.

It’s just, a lot. Okay?

Ending it there before I ramble myself into a rabbit hole.

Welp I had thoughts and now I’m feeling a bit better but goddamn I’m seriously feeling it. There’s no tears or anything but even with music blasting in my ears + my edible hitting, my brain won’t shut up about how I’m twenty seven and stuck.

How I’m still working a retail job, holding myself back from getting the GED I need to even apply to a cosmetology school. And that whenever anyone asks me for an update all I can say is ‘well I just bought this cool new funko!’ Or ‘nah I’m just taking walks and nope, still haven’t changed my mind about kids’ and sure, yeah we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others because that’s just shitty thinking but I can’t help it 🥲

I’m stuck and even when I do start talking hobbies or thinks I like, everyone just doesn’t care? Or well they do but they don’t understand and sometimes judge me on what I do.

Idk I’m just feeling things and venting using my fave person. Just venting and getting this out.

Also I’m sure I’m not alone in this feeling. So if you also feel this, I’m sorry 💜 our time will come!!

[misscammiedawn]

"My voice"

Such a simple concept. Most don't have to think about theirs. It comes free with your culture and upbringing. A part of who you are. As sure as any freckle or scar.

It's supposed to be a familiar reflection of the self. As much you as your face or your name.

Most people don't struggle to feel at home with theirs.

But our voice was always the first stranger. Dysphoria before we had a word for it. Before the transition. Before recognizing the dissociative disorder. There was always this wrongness to the words coming out of our mouth.

We've lost count of how many times we have had to "learn to speak".

Our father would tell us we didn't say our first word until we were three. "And you never stopped making up for it" he would joke.

We don't remember early childhood. We know there was a lot of shutting us up. We were late to start speaking. We were early to stop.

No matter how many words we said, everyone preferred we stay silent. Those developmental years. That developmental voice... they were learning to speak. Not to communicate.

Then there was the eternal warring camps. The parents who despised one another and tried to rough out any signs of the other within us.

Our working class cockney dad who wanted us to know we were born poor and we die poor. How he hated seeing us read for fun. How he would order us to stop trying to put on a "refined "posh" voice when we tried to tidy our tone or use words one would call pretentious.

Our mother who put on airs of refinement and elegance in a manner we always admired. Certainly we did our clothes shopping at Primark but we did so with dignity.

He preferred a pint of Carlsberg and she drank a dark and bodied Merlot.

They're why we don't drink at all.

Always punished for speaking. Always doing it wrong.

It's a wonder we learned at all.

But we did learn. We used to record our voice on a crappy cassette player we picked up down the line. Record ourselves DJing between songs we recorded off of the radio. We remember one of the tapes had Jennifer Paige's 'Crush' on it so we were at least 14 years old when we did this.

We stuttered. We lisped. We stumbled over ourselves.

But it was a safe environment. Alone in our bedroom. Animatedly trying to emulate the Geezas and Rude Boys on the airwaves. A kid listening to Spice Girls and B*Witched while trying to mimick the toxic men introducing the music.

It's the little ironies that get you over time...

We learned to perform using words. It weren't conversation or nothing. But it was speaking. And that's how we learned to speak in our teens.

We kept up the habit. Long before the slowest of cows 'invented' Lets Play we recorded ourselves playing Mega Drive games. We even still have a few of them.

Do we have a clip?

[Audio Clip of a late teenage us playing Sonic 2]

It was our mid-20s we learned to speak again.

Moving to America and working retail put us in a position of being criticized for talking too fast. For not pronouncing things right. For using unfamiliar slang and shorthand.

So we learned to slow it down.

We blunted our tone. Emphasized the letters h and g when they hung out inside of a word instead of 'ung a'ght.

Get enough people mocking you for saying "'alf'n'alf" and you eventually learn to say "half and half".

And so it would remain.

Certainly at this time of our life we experimented with tabletop. Tried to voice act at the table. Poorly.

[Insert horrible clip of character lines mashed together in a short clip]

But spare for slipping into our developmental voice when exposed to England, we would have remained like that. Talking carefully. Slowly. Barely recognizable as the cockney brat we were.

But then we decided to come out of the closet and transition to a feminine presentation.

...and we had no idea how to sound feminine.

All of the videos on the topic were US Centric and involved music theory that, to this day, we do not fully understand. What is a "glassy" tone when it's at home?! What is an R1 and an R2 register?

The enormity of the concept dwarfed us and we were going through some shit at the time of our transition. Both the social one where we would switch the mask on and off for safety and the public one where we awkwardly attempted to integrate some concept of what a woman is into whatever the hell we were.

The dissociative disorder couldn't hide under those conditions for very long. Particularly when we were able to effortlessly speak correctly at some times.

And couldn't for the life of us at other times.

2 years into it we had money enough to hire a tutor and she said that we skipped the waiting list because she heard our "audition" tape and realized we would fuck up our voice completely if we were allowed to persist like that.

And so... Seattle Voice Labs took us in with 6 months of private coaching.

Tongue up at the roof of the mouth like you're making a NYYYYY sound. Speak from the diaphragm. Add some breathiness to it. Make it a little nasal.

"When the sunlight hits raindrops in the air."

"When the sunlight hits raindrops in the air."

"When the sunlight hits raindrops in the air."

Repeat until you get it right...

But by this point? What is right?

Our accent is watered down enough by this point that the "SAATH LUNDAHN" has been washed out completely. We just have a "British" accent now.

Do we sound high pitched and youthful or breathy and lusty or quaint and serious?

Do we just work on our BBC Broadcaster voice?

To be honest we never worked it out. Fuck knows it didn't help that we were changing our reflection in the mirror, being called by a different name. Moved states. Moved homes. Friend groups. Careers.

What the hell remains after all of that?!

I... don't know.

I really don't.

But we'll keep on talking. Trying to find out what works.

(If you are listening to the audio version) This recording is not us switching or the different voices we use. Each of us have our preferences. Certain ways we like to wear our face and our voice. But just as there's no "Real Me" there is no "Real Voice" either.

No one version ever quite fits. Even if our gender dysphoria is soothed, there's a certain disconnect between our voice and whichever sense of self feels most comfortable at any given time and we don't hear that discussed in DID support groups enough.

So we wanted to talk about it.

It's good to talk sometimes.

We've spent a lot of time practicing.

[hush-house-yard-sale]

Hey Librarian, I just wanna ask, how fortified is your house against thieves? Specifically people who might take a peek at books? Specifically diaries? Specifically looking for pages that might imply your true feelings for someone and all this "I don't like you" is just an act because you developed affection towards someone but want to push them away cause the m-word is not a place for love and so you just pen these memories away in a book so all that love will not die? Cause I would HATE it if someone sent an expedition of talented followers to break down locks and seduce guards just to infiltrate *my* inner sanctum and read about all these things I actually wrote myself.

I'd hate it and I'm just... Checking how you prepare against those?

-Cul... cumber. CUCUMBER

How... fortified is my house against... thieves? You... you want to know how fortified my house is against thieves? Oh, for the love of—

First of all, Mx... [scoffs] "Cucumber," you should be well aware that there is no need to resort to breaking and entering if you wish to look at books. This is a library. The purpose of a library is so that patrons can come and look at books. No, I daresay that the only reason one would need to resort to breaking and entering is if one were trying to, oh I don't know, bypass the librarian and steal the books for yourself. And I assure you, Mx. "Cucumber," that that is something for which I will not stand!

Second of all, the only book in Hush House authored by me contains my life's work. You are very sorely deluded if you think I have not made arrangements for its publication, should my endeavors succeed! If you want to read my "diary," as you so dismissively call it, you can purchase it from any reputable retailer of occult works in 2-4 business years. But frankly? I doubt you will even bother, given the disdain you've had for my "nerdy essay." At best you'll flip through it searching for confirmation of this theory you've concocted to fill the void left by the Forge-of-Days' various rejections, and fall back to your opium when you find nothing of the sort. I could translate it into— into Vak if I so desired and it wouldn't make a difference to the amount of information you'd retain upon reading! Perhaps I shall! Perhaps I already have!

Furthermore, for all your obsessions—oh yes, I know all about your obsessions. Do you truly think yourself subtle? Or clever?— you clearly have no pride and no self-respect if you intend to send your followers to discern my feelings for you. Did your followers also write this letter for you? Do they choose the people you woo? When you kiss your lovers, do they position your head for you? There are some things that must be done personally Mx. "Cucumber," if they are to be done at all. And if you will not then you are a coward, and have no hope for earning even a crumb of my respect.

You may be obsessed with me, for what reason I cannot possibly fathom, but you have shown that you have no respect for me, no respect for my library, and no respect for my life's work! You hide behind a false name, and pretend that I am too stupid to see through it. No, I know only one person this callous, this self-centered, this entitled, this... immature.

YOU ARE THE DESPICABLE THIEF OF THE HISTORY OF INKS!!!!!!!!

You will receive no further correspondence from me until the tome is returned.

Firmest disregard,

The Yard Sale Librarian

Post Scriptum: Please inform your followers that my legion of guard vipers is ever-growing. And soon I will overthrow the world.

Post- Post Scriptum: Every last one of them is asexual.

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

Hey Sweetheart,

I’m so sorry something triggered you earlier. I’m glad I sent that last letter just in time then. Even if it may have only helped a little. I hope you’re able to sleep well tonight and get plenty of rest. Also, I hope waking up you feel better. I responded to your answers to the questions I asked and answered them too. Figured it would help you get to know me more.

1. I’ve been wanting to read a Stephen King novel for a while but I’m currently reading The Hollow Ones by Guillermo Del Toro and chuck Hogan. I love the show Twin Peaks! I was super unaware there was a book!!

2. That’s so cool you got to go ghost hunting with the cast of ghost hunters! I think ghost hunting is really cool and I definitely plan to do it at least once someday. My favorite memory is when I scared the shit out of a group of NFL players in a haunted maze when I was dressed as a vampire.

3. Picking at/biting your lips can count. As much as I love reading, whether it’s books or fanfics, I have a habit of my eyes skipping ahead on me and reading further ahead. I used to skip to the last page to read the last sentence but I haven’t done that in a few years.

4. Do you have an idea of what kind of book you would want to publish? I would love to finally write a movie script. I don’t care if it gets used or not. Just the idea of finally accomplishing that, would be amazing.

5. It’s terrible that people think it’s okay to yell at or berate wait staff and retail workers. I’m one of those people who go out of my way to stack up the plates and trash at the end of the table when I go to restaurants. The people who think it’s okay to cheat don’t deserve to be loved or be in relationships period. I hate how people don’t realize how easy it is to put in effort to make the relationship work.

6. Pancakes are hands down the best!

7. Vampires are really interesting. I’d definitely pick that one too

8. I have a family that’s so big I wouldn’t want to wish it on anyone. I’d honestly rather be in a small family

9. I never got to grow up in one place, not military. And honestly it really hurt my childhood.

10. Seeing yourself happy, being published, owning a home, and having a family are really great goals. I could definitely say the same for myself with the addition of being more well traveled.

11. My funniest experience involved me getting a C.A.T. scan. So the radiology tech asked if I ever had surgery to have anything removed or metal added in. Without missing a beat I said, “nope I’m still a whole person.” I’ve never heard someone laugh that hard in my entire life. I really must have caught her off guard with that one.

12. Eyes are what I notice first too. There’s so much you can tell about someone with how they express their emotions by their eyes. I also look at body language too. People can lie but their bodies tell the truth.

13. That’s a really good goal. I’ve been feeling nostalgic for the Christmases we had as kids. So I’m really trying to emulate that this year.

14. I’m going to be honest, I was super nervous but excited when I sent the first ask. I get that same feeling every time I hit submit. I’m enjoying getting to know you more.

Honestly if you ever need/want to vent about anything and everything I’m here for you. Just call out to me in a post and I’ll be there.

Song to go with this letter: Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

-Your Secret Admirer

awww thank you, and thank you for providing those answers! if you want some Stephen King recs, my favorites of his are the stand, the dark tower series, the shining, and salem’s lot! the stand is massive, both editions, but I recommend the uncut version! it’s longer, but it includes everything that his publisher made him cut out to shorten the length of the original novel. as for twin peaks, there are actually three books! the secret history of twin peaks and the final dossier (don’t read that last one unless & until you’ve seen season 3!), and the secret diary of laura palmer. i recommend all three, if you’re a big fan of the show!

i love your favorite memories and other things as well! as for what book i wanna publish, im currently slowly working on a horror novel right now! I’d like to try & get it published someday, if I ever get it done and ready. what about your movie script?

[chickenshitcowboy]

ive been really struggling lately

venting post under the cut, tldr; im stressed n depress

after getting laid of early this season with next to zero prospects at getting another job next season, and feeling extra hopeless after the election because that means even more budget cuts to federal agencies and therefore less likelihood that i'll get a job nearby. I dont want to travel as much as private companies expect.. plus theyd only hire me on call and that has no stability and i hate that. plus i dont trust them since the last one i worked for let me get shot at and just offered the phone number to company counselling.

school has been stressful now that ive been laid off and dont have regular access to the resources that my work provided that took some of the stress off of forming my thesis.

we moved to a new rental property a week and a half ago and before then i was in such a limbo.. i still am. packing seemed stressful but i kind of got it done between freaking out about school and being sad that i dont have structure anymore from my job and also taking a week break to go to LA to meet my family for Disneyland

now that we've fully moved and things are finishing coming together im mad that i havent emerged from the limbo that i think i realize now was my depression coming back.. unless i have a super structured routine and frequent social interaction i just fall apart.. i promised myself this summer that i wouldnt let this happen but i made excuses for putting of forming a routine for myself for the offseason because of the move and the trip and now keep putting it off because im so behind on schoolwork because i dont have that routine and i dont have the motivation to just get it done most days.. im so behind im afraid to take time to try and get on a routine of going out and going to the gym etc because then ill be even more behind. and im scared that im going to fail this semester and lose even more money

also i just got a letter that my health insurance is going to be suspended and theyre puttingme on MediCal since apparently if my income is zero I dont qualify for my current plan...? and i have no idea how thats going to affect by medication

not to sound like every other troubled tumblr user but goddamn i just need to get it out somewhere rn.

i contacted my school's counseling center, so hopefully they get back to me soon. i've had really back luck with finding good mental health care so im nervous but at the very least having someone to vent to may be good. and help me be less lonely. I loved my job and i love being with my gf but im so far away from my family and my friends are doing their own things too and i still havent made friends here outside of work (mostly because i hardly go outside because im either busy or making lowkey agoraphopic excuses).

im also debating on reapplying for unemployment? idk. maybe i shoudl just apply to do retail in town part time so i dont kms and have coworkers to talk to...?

i just want someone to tell me what to do lowkey so i can just do it and feel normal again

[itsheryana]

She Wears Many Hats: My Journey from Uncertainty to Finding My Passion

From the moment I turned 18 and stepped into adulthood, I’ve worn many hats—some by choice, others out of necessity. At times, I felt lost, unsure of who I was or what I wanted to do with my life. High school was a struggle, and not because of my own actions, but due to the mistakes of my parents that seemed to follow me like a storm cloud. No matter how hard I tried to move forward, doors would close, and my past seemed like a weight I couldn’t shake.

When I started working, I didn’t have a clear direction. My first jobs were at a pizza shop and a fast food restaurant, and to be honest, I hated every minute of it. I quickly realized that food service wasn’t for me, so I pivoted to retail—a space where I thought I could thrive. Fashion had always been something I loved, so working in clothing retail felt like a natural fit. For a while, I was happy there, bouncing between stores, including a stint at Ralph Lauren. But eventually, I knew I needed something more “grown up,” something that would challenge me in new ways.

I found myself drawn to the criminal justice field, and when the opportunity to work in corrections came up, I took it—despite being a little scared. Surprisingly, I discovered I had a knack for it. I thought I’d found my calling, something I could see myself growing into long term. But it wasn’t the inmates that made me leave; it was the toxic leadership. I couldn’t stay in an environment where the people in charge were so destructive.

After that, I shifted back into something familiar yet different: asset protection at Target. It was a perfect blend of my retail background with a touch of security. I loved it. But that chapter ended quickly when I became pregnant and we moved.

For the next six years, I wore the “stay-at-home mom” hat. While I adored being with my kids and watching them grow, it wasn’t easy. It took a toll on my mental health. I had always been someone who moved toward progress, and for the first time, I felt stuck. I was grateful for the time with my children, but I missed having something of my own, something that pushed me forward.

When we moved to New York, I knew it was time for a change. I felt drawn to either the health field or teaching but wasn’t sure how to make the transition. How do you go from retail and security to teaching kids? It felt like a long shot. But I decided to apply for a position at a high school, never really expecting a callback. To my surprise, I got one, and I was so thankful that my resume and cover letter held their own.

The interview, though—that’s a different story. I completely dropped the ball. After not working for so long, I was beyond nervous. I was convinced I wouldn’t get the job. But to my shock, I received another call, offering me the position. It was the opportunity I desperately needed, a second chance to start fresh.

Since then, I’ve been looking for ways to continue growing. I wanted to become a trainer while keeping my job at the high school, but nothing seemed to fit. Then I found an online university program where I could earn my teaching degree. I had to choose between math, English, or history. Math and I don’t get along, and I knew English would bore me to tears, so history it was!

Now, I’m studying high school history, and I’m proud of my decision. It took a lot of trial and error to get here, but every hat I’ve worn has shaped me. Each job, each challenge, each role—whether in retail, corrections, or motherhood—has brought me closer to where I am today. And while I’m still figuring things out, I finally feel like I’m moving toward something that’s truly mine.

Here’s to the journey, the hats we wear, and the lessons we learn along the way.

[theintrovertsreturn]

I feel like I've been so bad at being productive lately. I would see all those posts like "It's okay if all you did was get out of bed today" and use it as an excuse to do nothing all day but watch Youtube and play games until I have to go to my night shift at my part-time job. Sure, it's a nice sentiment, but it's not been doing me any favors.

Now I'm considering giving myself a workday at home where I work on my job search and personal enrichment stuff. Things like writing reviews for books I'm reading, or journaling, or practicing my french, or working on my social media accounts... I've been feeling so lethargic and stagnant recently, and I hate it. I want to feel like I'm doing something with my life that isn't feeling depressed about being stuck in retail.

It's Saturday and even though I really wanted to play Stardew and watch Mina Le talk about RomComs, I got up and sat down at my desk and put together a schedule over 6-8 hours to just focus on filling out applications and working on my portfolio (and also spending 3 hours washing my hair). I feel good. I've been procrastinating on this one application for two weeks and I finally wrote the cover letter and submitted it. Sure, I probably won't get it, but maybe I can use this to stop putting off things that scare me.

...Anyway, now it's time for Stardew!

[remyxavierr]

Okay, I think is fucking hilarious because I fucking hate cover letters and I have literally never gotten a single job that I have applied to with a cover letter (and that # probably ranges between 80-100 applications with cover letters in total).

So 2 years ago I finally got the job at a bookstore I had been diligently applying to for 4 years (a part-time minimum wage position). A year in I became part of management (and now hate my job, I guess retail is retail no matter what you sell) and was talking to my General Manager about how the hiring is going for our new part-time minimum wage position. She happened to mention in her response how she only gives interviews to applications with a cover letter. Imagine expecting a cover letter for a 6 hour max per week, minimum wage job! Could not be me! And wasn't me! I said, "well I didn't send a cover letter, so how did I get the interview?" And she stares at me for a few seconds and says "You had filled out your profile on our company's website and put a picture of yourself, and I really liked your blue hair, so I gave you an interview."

I got my fucking interview because my hair was blue. NOT because I was qualified to work this part-time minimum wage job. I have, going on, 17 years in customer service and retail jobs, and my blue hair is what got me in. What is even the point of all of these hoops we jump through for these shitty companies?????

Anywaaaaay, good luck to all of us in our future endeavors for we will most definitely have to jump through hoops and run through tubes like we're in a dog show just to get a job we're either perfectly qualified for, or overqualified for. Weeee! Life is a nightmare!

I will now be referring to cover letters as self insert fanfiction

[sogstu3]

WINDOW COMMISSION 

TIME WITH YOU / YOU WITH TIME

Part of the prompt/ criteria for the window commission was that it should acknowledge the fact that it would be viewable from both sides. This got me thinking about reversible words - palindromes and ambigrams. However many palindromes were only able to be letter by letter reserved rather than spatially flipped per say (read in mirror). Ambigrams interested me but I couldn’t find a free site for creating one and couldn’t really figure out how to do it myself. 

Following this line of thought, I went back to basics and wrote out every letter of the alphabet that I could mirror , leaving me with  A, H, I, M, O, T, U, V, W, X, Y as well as E which I had decided I could leave one side off of. From there, I started to make words out of those letters, seeing what I could get.

I played for around with ‘I HATE YOU WITH LOVE I’ finding it fascinating that hate was reversible and wanted to complicate it with love. I even made a little pattern however I didn’t like the look of the makeshift L that I made which had a bottom in both directions. 

As you can see in my sketchbook I begun to play with ‘TIME WITH YOU OVER’ // ‘OVER YOU WITH TIME’ which is what my piece really means. It’s about the fact that I’m moving to Canada soon and I was prematurely consumed with the breakup that could be ensuing because of it. Our time together is over (maybe), but with time, I will get over it. It was kind of a self-soothing work in that way.

I ended up removing the word over, at risk of it not really making sense anymore because I didn’t like my ad hoc R shape (necessary to make the word OVER) which looked like an octopus or tripod.  

Some photos of the installation

The finished result. I had smushed the words up together on the vinyl to fit their large size, meaning instead of sticking up one strip I had 3. This caused some spacial reasoning issues when installing and had to tilt the pieces in mirror to their directions in my pitch. I also installed them over my fair share of space and had to have my same level with the work rather than under it. 

Though I thought I had followed the many intricate instructions for this project carefully, there were so many mistakes on the day that I felt really embarrassed as though I hadn’t tried. I put this down to some missed class time and a general lack of attention to detail that has kept me from successfully holding retail stocktake roles or office filing jobs, as well as undertaking any recreational baking. 

[serialreporter]

PART THREE (college and career path.)

content warnings for this section:

not much actually

the first two parts are the worst parts

the rest is just ghostie being ghostie

so you know. fucking awful dkfjdsk

stalking

seriously bro you need a better hobby oh my god

summary for those who decide not to read:

after being taken in by his estranged mom, danny starts college and works a part-time job at a radio shack. his studies include journalism, anthropology, some kind of studio production & film class, and other smaller classes to meet his requirements. doesn't actually do any killing during this time but boy does he Think abt it. he graduates with an associate's degree and decides to fuck off into the wild without telling his mom anything. he literally just uses her to get a degree in journalism so he can start his new 'career'. (see: writing news letters on his own murders) and was never to be seen again.

after that night at the cabin, danny wouldn't have another 'incident' like that until a couple years later.

but until then, he took his mom up on her offer to pay for his college classes. and in the mean time, he would work a part time job at a radio shack and become intimately familiar with the latest cameras and video recording devices of the decade.

he studied journalism, anthropology, video film and production, and other lesser important classes. the anthropology one. he's not sure why he picked it. maybe it would help him understand the world better. or just fuel his already corrupt reasoning that humanity at it's core was a species designed to inflict horror and suffering on one another, and to argue otherwise simply obscured the truth.

in his downtime, however. in between studies and work, an idea was festering in the back of his mind. he couldn't stop thinking about that night he butchered his father. he couldn't stop thinking about the tension, the rush of adrenaline, the high he felt. how deviously easy it was to get away with it all. the smugness and pride he swore as it made the news lines. he missed it. he wanted to experience that feeling again. the intrusive thoughts just wouldn't leave him alone, no matter what he did to distract himself. he'd find himself drawing pictures in between notes. drawings of a shadowy figure wearing a white, ghost mask. he'd catch himself staring at people when they weren't looking. more than usual. making mental notes of their habits. following them back to their dorm rooms without them knowing. thinking about all the ways he could end their lives. and he couldn't just tell anyone about this. connecting with people was hard enough as it was, but opening up about something like this would surely get him sent to prison.

so he didn't. he kept these thoughts and ideas to himself. he was already quite good at that, so it wouldn't be an issue for him. his mother, bless her heart. she did her best to try to bond with him, make up for all that lost time. but the truth was, she'd invited a stranger into her home. that wasn't her little boy anymore. he could be resentful, he could hate her for bringing him into this world, for abandoning him with his father. but... he didn't. not anymore. and after hearing out her reasoning, it made sense. he couldn't blame her, the man was a terrible person. hearing that danny didn't fault her for leaving made the woman weep with relief. but beyond that, there was no real connection between them. she wanted to think it was just the way danny was, a reserved individual. he did just lose his dad to a brutal murder, after all. but maternal instinct told her otherwise, something was off in the way he acted. eventually, that feeling would grow.

over the two years he spent attending college, this idea he'd been working on would soon become a reality. whether it was by dropping by a local retailer, or occasionally stealing one of his mother's belt clips, over time he'd fashioned an outfit he could wear. in theory. it was a design resembling the shadowy figure that executed his dad, but fashioned in such a way that made it all the more unsettling and tactical. all he needed now was the mask. it didn't take him long to find one, this one in much better condition, too.

upon graduating with his associates degree, he felt he was finally ready. he knew what life he wanted to pursue. he'd known all along, hadn't he? ever since he was a little boy. he'd set aside the savings he'd built up. bought a car, without telling his mom. an apartment already rented in a small town of the next state over. he disappeared one night, without a word. leaving not a single trace of his whereabouts except for a single note left on the kitchen counter, saying;

thank you for everything.

-D

[mardoufox21111]

i dont really understand why these really shitty situations keep happening to me im a nice person hahaha i know obviously that doesnt negate that bad things cant happen to me but i can never get a good run of anything it ALWAYS goes to shit. i finally got a simple job working remotely, was it a dumb job yeah, did i hate it yeah but it was easy and i could slack off for most of the day. this job was ripped away from me because i noted that the effective date on my extension letter was incorrect - i dont understand. prior to this ive struggled finding work other than things in retail which are as most of you would know boring - unless you like working inretail in which case i applaud you. its just like every time i get something semi-good it gets taken away from me like everything good happening to me is always a mistake or always bound to go wrong. i wake up and have a happy attitude every day but just thinking about it im like damn this has been happening for the past 10 years haha :(

i know life has its ups and downs but it’s always getting worse for me. im tired

[angierachie]

Are Influencers Bad? How to Achieve Happiness?

Are Influencers Bad? How to Achieve Happiness?

By Angelina Rachie

Like most 20-somethings, I am diagnosed with depression. I have been put on three different medications, two of which did nothing, one of which I am currently taking but, I’m pretty sure, does nothing. This depression has wholly interrupted my life and left me unable to work or go to school for a while. Since I need money to live, work is the thing that I decided is most important to me right now. Of course, school is something that I want to continue, but now, this seems almost impossible to tackle while staying in a healthy headspace. I don’t want to sound like someone’s grandpa and blame modern things for my depression but rather our culture—another very grandpa thing for me to blame. Sometimes you just have to listen to grandpa’s stories to make him happy, so just think of this piece as that and nothing more. I’m not saying that the chemicals in my brain have nothing to do with how I feel; instead, things within our culture could be contributing to your depression without you even realizing it—spooky, subliminal messaging, like sex in Disney movies. 

Imagine this, capitalism. Who doesn’t love retail therapy? Your brain. I find myself, without a job, scraping pennies, relying on the kindness and charity of others, unable to buy things that I convince myself will make me happy. I find most people have a shopping addiction. And you might be asking yourself, why is that relevant to our culture now? Stores have always existed, you stupid idiot girl. What are influencers, if not salespeople? If you haven’t seen an influencer making a video about lists of things you just need to buy or large hauls from expensive luxury stores, you must be living under a rock. Yes, the gays will hate this; thrifting counts as shopping. Yes, it may (technically) be more sustainable, but overconsumption is overconsumption. This culture of fast fashion, cheap clothing, and fast online shopping with free shipping has ramifications for your wallet and your mind.

 Just like celebrities like Judy Garland chain smoking and, I don’t know, fucking, Homer Simpson being a high-functioning alcoholic, influencers glamorize an addiction. Now, this might sound really dramatic, of course, and it is♥.  The addiction they glamorize is shopping and overconsumption. Like, no, you really don’t need a $40 water bottle; you are not the queen of England or an heiress. But do I feel as though I absolutely need that water bottle, and if I had to choose between $40 or groceries and that water bottle, would I choose the water bottle? How dare you even ask? Of course. I am a sheep, an addict. I have a problem. One I share with many. Of course I am not a hater of content creators, vloggers, and the like. I grew up with them, practically raised by them. But if they raised me, I definitely have mommy issues because now I am an addict. This addiction may not seem so severe, and you may think me mad (nerd, virgin, loser phrase, please delete), but it seriously affects me mentally and physically. I am easily seriously (to my detriment) influenced, of course but I don’t have the funds to be. As I know, most young people don’t. So what do we do, use things like credit and affirm, etc. Something that can seriously affect a good chunk of your life. What?? Yes, dingbat, listen. Now I hate when people tell me things that I already know, but I didn’t know this, websites like affirm to affect your credit score, eventually. So if you find yourself out of work without the means of paying these debts, then, how the fuck are you supposed to pay them? HUH. You don’t , you know what that means to your credit score, straight up whiskey dicks it. (Or straight down??? I don’t know, I’m a lesbian. It’s been a while). You might say, why would I suddenly be out of a job? Well, maybe you’re too depressed to go. Full circle. But, let me tell you in big bold letters: A STANLEY CUP OR DRUNK ELEPHANT TANNING DROPS WON’T MAKE YOU HAPPIER. At least not a lasting happiness, just like crack and the like. Yes, I’ve never done crack, but I do spend my whole paycheck on my addiction. 

Of course, I don’t care about these influencers, make your money. I’m all for women being in complete control of their occupation and means of making money. Down with men, all that. (There are male influencers, but I am speaking about a field dominated by women so I will exclude them for now, I think they’ll live). I think that women can do no wrong, and nothing is ever their fault. I will continue to blame men, not individually of course but, one man in particular. Scottish political economist, Adam Smith. The baby daddy of capitalism. These women are merely capitalizing off of a preconstructed system, created by a man. As per usual, I refuse to blame these girl bosses, in the true sense of the word, for sculpting a system that was  put in place to help men gain power and wealth into something that works in their favor. Go influencers, boo capitalism. 

OH NO COMMUNIST. Bitch, whatever. I can critique a system put in place by a fucking dead person. Maybe you’re just a fascist blindly accepting the conditions and expectations of a country that you were taught to love through propaganda. Also, are you stupid? I’m just a 21-year-old vapid girl, why are you taking such offense to my opinions and the things I say, obsessed much? Weirdo. I digress. 

Women are the scapegoat of society. Oh no, Influencer bad. No, let’s think through this critically. Overconsumption is the result of capitalism. A society built around the concept of making money instead of creating happy, productive, beautiful and enriched lives. Not technically, this is of course, an exaggeration. This isn’t Harvard people, it’s me.  

Let’s get biblical (biblical, I wanna get… you know? GenX moment sorry), not for spiritual sake but merely for a different perspective. Jesus (of Nazareth, you know sandals, long luscious extensions) himself said (and I’m paraphrasing from Mathew 19:24) it is very hard for a rich man to get into heaven. So when did society become obsessed with the idea of wealth, enough for entire societies to be built around the idea of being able to make a bunch? Consider that Jesus told the first rich man: “Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” The man turned away sadly, “for he was very rich.” Sorry to bring the bible up, but let me bring up some other philosophers.

Epicurus, (greek dude, marble, white, but I guess at one point had obnoxious ugly paint on him??) Rather than accumulating wealth, one should try and live a simple life and find joy in things like friends, the pleasures of work, and philosophy. Now Nietzsche (the nihilist), claims that the writers of the bible simply didn’t like money because they didn’t have it. Rather, they thought that being poor was better simply because they themselves were poor. Which??? Obviously, from the perspective of another poor person. Yes, I’d rather be rich in the society presented to me, but this perspective seems too simple to me but go off. So cut and dry. Very Nietzche. Soren Kierkegaard, (Pretty hot 8/10, look up a pic, kinda looks like a girl but I’m a lesbian, so figures) that existential bitch, “In the end, therefore, money will be the one thing people will desire, which is moreover only representative, an abstraction”. That’s so Lana Del Rey vinyl of him. Basically, he thinks that money causes people to be detached and conformists. Subjective to whether or not you want to be either of those things, conformists can slay. Schopenhauer advises to steer clear of money entirely. Money is the anthem of infinite desire, labor and distress. Having a true Rupi Kaar moment by saying, “​​Wealth is like sea-water: The more we drink the thirstier we become; and the same is true of fame.”

Okay, blah blah blah, old men and shit. HOW DO I BECOME HAPPY? HOW CAN I BE A HAPPY PERSON, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!?! 

Okay, damn. Take a deep breath. Let’s ask science? I don’t know? We’re desperate right? Science suggests that living according to our values, and fulfilling all of our basic needs. Of course this would explain why I’m unhappy since I continually chase money and obviously have such low regard for people who do so. Whoops♥. Dopamine and a crowd favorite, serotonin, are our feel-good hormones which, basically to dumb it down because I am a (bottle) blonde after all, are released when we get consistent sleep, balanced meals and regular exercise. Things that keep us alive and well. Not surprised that our brain wants us to feel good when we do those things, evolution and all. 

The best thing to remember when you’re depressed is you can always write a 7-page essay on how you’re not happy. To make you feel better (????). 

In Conclusion, influencers are just products of a society built on the notion that the thing that measures success is money—not placing importance on happiness, resulting in a bunch of depressed people. How do we become happy then? Reject money entirely?????!! I don’t know. No, not possible. Maybe, instead of being easily tricked into going shopping or, a new purse will make you feel better, create something, talk with a loved one. Or, buy the purse. Because it’s adorable and your favorite influencer told you to. 

[queenerdloser]

me: i’m getting so stressed at my job, maybe i should try looking for something different

me, looking at literal pages of hellish job options: i hate all of these