So, I need to write something. About bloody time, too...it's been, what, four weeks? Too much has pissed me off and made me elated in that time NOT to have written something, but I'm a procrastinator like that. Here's the moment that sums up this entry, though: I am at a 'product exposition' put on by my lovely company (if you follow me, you know which one; if you don't, I won't mention it again for fear of spies). I don't want to be there. At all. I'd rather be sleeping, but that's irrelevant. The DSM (that's District Sales Manager), Dave, greets me at the door in that fake way that he does. "Mike!!! HOW ARE YOU???!?" "I'm fine," I say. In my mind, I'm thinking, what a fake. He won't like me after what I'm going to ask him tonight. After I greet Dave and he gives me the grand sum total of what I'm doing there, I walk around. Dink around with stuff. Get suggestions for sales pitches. Interact with the managers in the district that are good people, and not cronies; just salesmen in the business because they know the benefits it can afford them. Good deal. It was all right. Now, when I'm done, I wait for Dave. I want to talk to him. Not only did I NOT make commission in my home store (when I was supposed to be paid commission), but I want to make commission on Hot Friday (the day after Thanksgiving) when I go home. The store in Bath will make over $5000, easy, and I want to be there for it. Anyway, after we jump that hurdle, I tell Dave this: I'm tired. I've worked 40 hours a week, aside from school, since the semester started. School provides another twenty to thirty hours of schoolwork. So, I need a vacation. My friend Tammy has invited me and Shannon to go to Florida from 28 December to 4 January. I'd like to go, and will go once I know it's all right. Guess what he says. "Well, I don't want to you go, and if you work in retail, you should understand that this is the busiest time of the year. But, if you go, clear it with the manager in Bath, and I can't stop you." So, yeah. No 'I understand' or 'I sympathize'. Nothing. Not a damn thing. My manager here at school was good about it. He said that was just Dave being pissy. He sympathizes, says he's cool with me going (aside from that, I won't be here anyway, so what does he care?). That's just another indication of the state of my company. District managers are company cronies; managers are good people who care about their employees like no one in a corporate office would. So, I don't care anymore. I couldn't give a shit. I'm taking that ticket to Orlando, and taking Shannon with me. They can fire me, flush me out of the loop. I've worked hard for that vacation, and I want it, and I'm taking it. I work too hard to take bullshit from people, and I certainly won't take it from work. Oddly enough, while I won't take their bullshit, I will take their money. That's incredibly gratifying.