Garfield hates Mondays. I loathe them.

You know what's been really pissing me off recently? This:

Yes, because clearly that was Monday's fault.

Fuck you. Fuck you Garfield. You are a fucking cat. Like you understand how tremendously shitty Mondays are.

I work in one of those jobs where it doesn't even have the good grace to enter a stasis time-freeze when I leave for the weekend. No, because that would be bloody kind. When I leave, the job's still happening. Ticking away, over and over. Never ending. So a weekend for me starts to feel like instead of being my time, it's just time when I forced to watch things pile up without me, whilst I'm unable to influence it. I'd rather it just be my only a chance to release the tension by burning something down or playing too much Bioshock Infinite.

CAWCAWCAW MOTHERFUCKERS

God I wish I could spout crows from the skies on command. Work to do? CROWS. Credit card payment due? CROWS. Need to shave? CROWS. Too long line to wait? CROWS. Being unsatisfying in bed? CROWS. Quite frankly, the day they sell a potion on the street corner that allows you to summon an army of murderous carnivorous crows at will is the day society comes to a screaming halt.

Anyway. Garfield's hatred of Mondays.

So really, my weekend is basically less of a weekend and more of two plus days of work not done silently building up in the background, stacking up, over and over on the sly, until it comes crashing down in malicious glee Monday morning. Which would in an ideal world be my entire problem, and thus not really worth complaining about. But no! Work is a harsh mistress, who is not done with me. Because I work on the dispatch end of sales, throughout the day, I get to see my impossible in-tray fill even bloody higher due to sales still fucking happening, from those anonymous selfish pricks who keep my job afloat.

Honestly, I have no idea how people manage to work in retail. Whenever I see another sale come through on my already silly busy schedule, I bitch and whine and gripe like a champion. I am the ultimate 200 metre Bitch Fit premier. You have no chance against me. But I can do this in the privacy of my workplace, far away from customers. In retail, you're in the customers eye line and earshot. All the time! How? How do these paragons of saintly patience and infinite tolerance put up with the unremitting torrent of stupidity and busywork their customers spew? And when they're not bothering you with nonsense, they're messing up what was a pristine store. I know how I would deal with it. CROWS.

That shirt display was immaculate before you messed it up! RARGH.

Because customers are stupid. Please. When not at work, I am also a customer of many things. Believe me when I say we customers do stupid and insensitive things all the time as standard sodding practice. We should, as a nation, hell, as a combined species, preface any and all interactions to people behind the counter with an apologetic head bob at our ineptitude and time wasting...

...Unless you are facing people who work at PC World or Currys, because those companies take a perverse delight at hiring people how have no idea about computers. At all. Once I had a man attempt to sell me the malware which is Norton as he said that Microsoft wouldn't update Security Essentials. Er. Wut? Honestly, if you yourself don't know much about computers, bribe an eight year old with chocolate and get them to help you decide what to correctly buy.

It's become a thing recently to try to encourage Black Friday to migrate it's way overseas to here. Seeing that Thanksgiving is a made up fictional holiday, I guess it's fine because at least you get the day off and have too much food. I can support that. But Black Friday? The day of sales notorious for customer related violence? Fuck that. You can keep that tradition, America. Keep it, and we'll share with you the mysterious wonder of Boxing Day. You'll like it! It's a day when you roll around in your own flab, nursing a hangover after over-indulging on Christmas Day. It is honestly the best holiday ever.

What has Garfield got to worry about on a bloody Monday? No, I don't see his declarations as gesture of solidarity with a plebeian such as myself. It's like a politician claiming he understands that all those poor people are going to freeze to death and that's just not jolly well right, is it? Garfield is a overweight cat, living rent free and meals included, like a politician, living with amenities paid for by expenses. No. Fuck your attempt to connect with my woes.

It almost makes me yearn for the time I was unemployed, when days of the week ceased to matter. Why hate Mondays? It's just like every other day... Until you remember the poverty and the depressing shattering of self worth that unemployment brings. But hey, Mondays stop mattering! Yay?

My Mondays are shite. Of course, some people's Monday's are considerably shitter than mine because they have jobs which are actual serious business, or even legitimate danger or great physical effort. But, in absolute fairness, those people aren't me, and thus their problems are not my problems.

So, in summary, go clean your own balls Garfield. I have to go to work tomorrow.

Don't you start.