So yeah, I didn’t win the Megamillions last night. Woulda been nice, since I’m spending money like Robafeller lately. You know how it’s all merry and shit. ‘Tis the season… Just check out TV; fucking commercials are out of hand.
What the fuck – this work shit’s really getting in the way of life. Having a job is for the birds. But I need the money and I’m fortunate enough to have a job that pays decent and offers plenty of overtime. Only problem is, ya gotta work OT to earn OT money. (Not to be confused with OG$, the tracksuit-wearing Adidas enthusiast who rapped about pot back in the ’90s.) The majority of my most-recent Saturdays have been spent earning, double- and even triple-time pay. I’d be fool not to take it.
Moving on, I was out of work yesterday for personal reasons and when I got in this morning, 44 emails and 4 voice mails beckoned. One friggin’ day and all hell breaks loose. Ah, well. It’s my job to handle shit like this. Before I had a chance to read the emails informing me of certain news, a few of my co-workers congratu-let-the-cat-out-of-the-bag—my manager, Brad, named me a “Rock Star” for my performance over the previous month-plus since joining his team. It’s the second such acknowledgement I’ve gotten, having earned the nod in September while in another role on another team. The loot? A photocopy of the words “Rock Star” to pin to my cubicle and a rock star lunch—this time at Champps in King of Prussia. And they say there’s no such thing as free…
…something. I can’t remember. All I know is lunch can get expensive as shit, so I’m eating the fuck out of some grub on the house. Lunch. Free lunch rocks.
Later this afternoon, the soft-spoken, red-haired manager over whom the girls apparently swoon made rounds among the cubicles. I didn’t see him approach, so I was alerted by my spoken name:
I spun in my seat.
“You know how these work, right?” He let drop to my desk an envelope. “You activate the gift cards with 12345.”
“Yeah,” I answered, pleased to be a winner. “Was my name pulled or something? I win a contest? Sweet.”
“It’s the bonus for when one of the new employees you mentor hits numbers after six weeks.”
“Oh, no kidding. Who was it, Pete?”
“I’m not sure. You want another one?” Another envelope fell atop the first.
“How ’bout one more?” Envelope 3 added to Mt. Giftcard emerging from my desk.
“Jeez. Had to be Pete, Ezra, and Tom.”
“I have the list. I’ll check it when I get back to my desk.”
“OK, cool. Thanks, Matt.”
“No, thank you. What did you do?”
“Not sure, really. Just went through the process, from start to finish. Let them know things are gonna pop up and ya have to deal with them as they come. I dunno.”
“Well, good job.”
Though I throw my money at life like it’s on fire, it seems lately to find me in kind. $225 in gift cards and a paid meal. All I did was show up this morning. Not too shabby a surprise to enjoy around the holidays.
I don’t have all I want for myself. Not much comes through little effort. In fact, the majority of those who have anything in life have worked hard for it. Very few people have handed them both wealth and the wisdom to keep it.
So, maybe I’m not ready to hit the lottery for millions; these days, however, I’m happy to earn what I have and have what I earn. And that’s more than enough for me.
Thanks for stopping by.
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