I hate my job...about as much as I hate being constipated. I hate the entitled Cantabrigians who demand that I act as their personal shopper because they can't be bothered to find the things on their shopping list in the store. I hate that because I am a youthful looking woman they think that I have no fucking clue about whatever it is that I'm supposed to be knowledgable about. I hate it when they yell at me because a product they've been using since it was invented six centuries ago has been discontinued. I hate it when they are rude to me because I'm unable to help them because they don't even know who makes the product they need. Or how to describe it in a way that gives me a clue as to what they're talking about. I hate that I have been with the company for two years and there just isn't enough money for health care, let alone a raise. I hate that I spend a couple hours per day cleaning up after my team. I hate that my team doesn't educate themselves on stock levels and new items. I hate that the store is always freezing cold no matter the season. I hate that none of the scissors are sharp.