It's the typical sob story, poor college student complains about how she (or he) hates their job. But I'm starting to think more & more that I may actually have a reason for it. You see, I have this manager...let us call him..uh..Tom (not to be confused with MySpace Tom..but I didn't wanna use the same, typical "Bob" routine). Alright, so back to "Tom". Recently, I was working the front register on a saturday night. For those of you who DONT work at hell on earth (you lucky, lucky fools), lemme fill you in, saturday nights is when us employees get the superb task of pasting sale price stickers from the ad for the following day. All of the stickers have to be out by close that night, while also facing (organizing all the items in the aisles and pushing them forward, etc.). I had quite a bunch of price stickers, but I hung all of them up, plus finished facing, plus took out all the garbages..and it was only 9pm..we still had an hour till we close. In comes in my friend, lets call her..Amber. Amber is from Uganda. Since I had nothing to do, I decided to stock cigarettes while talking to Amber. After about 10 minutes, I get a phone call from the breakroom, its Tom.