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Don't tell me lightning strikes twice, kiddies, because it zapped my ass again last night.

I get to Prime Staffing in Queens, was told 4 hours prior that they'd wait for me at 7, and GUESS WHAT? No one was there. I stared into the glass door of a darkened office and called the answering machine. I waited five minutes, and called again. I thought to myself, "Should I be nice? Or should I be ME?"

I was ME. The screaming, vicious, impatient bitch who's been screwed not once, but twice--two days in a row.

Not only did I tell this place what kind of people I thought they were, I pointed out in a very business-like fashion that the person who dropped the ball took money out of this place's pocket by fucking over a potential client. And if they think I'm going to trek my ass out on the goddamn R train for 1 hour and 45 minutes again, they can kiss my Irish ASS. I also told them to take my resume OUT of their computers, because I don't want my information padding their database. I have no intention of going back there. They've already shown me what kind of business they run. Considering the dilapidated spectacle they're housed in? I'm surprised I didn't get Legionnaire's disease by breathing in what they considered air conditioning while I waited in the hall.

Once again, I ask, WHAT THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE? An asshole? Apparently, because all of these places keep treating me like one.

So, to hell with this 'courteous-be-nice-don't-step-on-any-toes' bullshit. These people make their own rules? FINE.

Now it's my turn.

[And special thanks, once again, to RD for listening to me rant and spew when I came home. I owe him two steak dinners, a silk suit, and a diamond pinky ring (he IS Italian, kiddies.)]