I work because I get paid. I have no desire for the companionship of my fellow employees, no moral qualms about sloth, nor radical attachments to my work. When I’m paid, I work. If my employer wants to pay me to wear a stupid outfit, I wear the required outfit. If my employer wants to pay me to have no decorations at work, I have no decorations. Every once in a while, I think my matter of fact nature about this causes me grief. When I’m supposed to get all post because a bikini calendar is no longer okay, and I don’t give a solitary fuck, people get bitchy. I’m guessing this policy infringes upon someone’s manliness in the manly copy shop, with my acquiescence being tantamount with collaboration. Fuck em.
Peter's stuff.