Work's a jerk

It's time I came out of the closet. Told the truth. Fessed up. Unlocked my skeletons. Came clean. The world deserves the truth, and the truth is this:

I hate work.

Now it's time he knew as well.

Dear Mr. Work,

I hate you. I think you're a jerk. You're ruining my summer, and I can only imagine that your ultimate goal is to ruin my life. Multiple sources have told me that you'll be hounding me for another 30-35 years.Thus I thought it'd be best if we discussed things before this gets any more out of hand.

Remeber when we first met? September 21st was supposed to be a good day. Yes fond memories, my first job. I picked up my ice creams scoops, donned my visor, braced myself for my first customer, and then you walked in and screwed everything up. I thought we could possibly be friends, like you and my dad are, but from the start all you did was bore me, tire me, and hassle me. I couldn't take it. I lasted two days. I thought our brief encounter was just a fluke because when I took a replacement job at an elementary school you never showed up. Why was that anyway? Someone once told me you can't be anywhere near children, but who knows?

Let's return to the point. I was offered a job at a golf course for the summer. I snatched the offer instantly, assuming that you wouldn't dare show up at a place that has long been a sanctuary for me.

Wrong.

From day one you've been all over me, worse than ever before. You're in my face 6 days a week. Don't you want to take a break? What pleasure do you get from tormenting me? My request is simple. You've had your fun this summer. Now its time I had mine. Leave me alone or I'll break your neck. And if you ever take a step toward my elemtary school, I'll take pleasure in gutting you.

affectionately your tormentee,
Spencer Hansen