job quit

anonymous asked:

***please don't read if triggered by sexual things(Not sure what to call it Tbh) Answer phone in photo. Customer asks what prices are. I hear something in the bg but can't tell wtf it is. I read off all prices on photos and include the fact that they get discounted at x prints and again at x more prints. The guy suddenly moans super loud then says oh sorry I just came. I was jacking off to your voice. I hung up and almost quit my job on the spot.That is not fucking okay. Fuck Walmart customers.

I’m sorry you had to go through that. People can be so discussing.

I haven’t ever had that happen to me but I did have the honor to call our store manager and then the DM because our 32yo asst manager took a 16yo bagger in the back and had sex in front of the only camera in the back room. And got to witness the DM walk her out and and call her husband to explain why he had to pick her up from the police station. But that was over 15 years ago

-Rodney

anonymous asked:

Phil is planning to quit his job in SHIELD and move away. Clint needs to either figure out the way to make Phil stay or come clean about his feelings. (Or both :) )

Author’s note: these two prompts just seem to go hand in hand (kinda like Phil and Clint). To both Anons, thank you and I hope you don’t mind I put them together in one fill.

- Lola

He’s thought long and hard about it. He believed he was strong enough to handle anything that SHIELD could throw at him but it turns out he’s not. Not anymore.

To be that close to someone for so long and not be able to tell them how you feel; to not be able to act on those feelings. To feel the heat of their skin beneath your hands, their warm breath against your cheek, their tears on your fingertips not because you’re making love slowly, passionately with all the time in the world but because you’re keeping pressure on a wound desperately trying to stop them from bleeding out. To stroke their hair and wipe the sweat from their eyes while they hold tight to your hand not with love but from pain. To never be able tell them “I love you. It’ll be okay because I love you and we’ll get through this together.”

You get through it, that first time then the next, until one day it all becomes too much.

No. He’s not strong enough. Not anymore.

It’s time.

***

“What’s this?” asks Fury peering at the manilla file with SHIELD CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it in large black letters as though it might be contaminated. In his line of work, it’s always possible.

“My resignation,” Coulson tells him dropping into the notoriously uncomfortable visitor’s chair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Hmmm. I’ll bite. Why is your resignation sitting on my desk, Senior Agent Coulson? And don’t get comfy. You can’t come in here, toss that on my desk, and sit your ass down like you’re here for a scotch and a chat.”

Coulson makes himself comfortable anyway – he’s the only one who can – while Fury pours the scotch. He accepts the drink, takes a sip and says calmly, “It’s time.”

Fury doesn’t bother sipping. He downs his in one and refills the glass.

“Shit,” he mutters.

They joke about a couple of times a year, especially when things are rough and friends and colleagues are injured… or lost. They joke about jacking it in and retiring to some small town or tropical island and doing civilian shit like teaching or becoming a mechanic or running a bar. Then they get drunk and start the spy shit all over again. But Coulson; Fury’s sharpest recruit, his one good eye, his… friend, once told him the day he said “It’s time” it was real. A point of no return had been reached and he wasn’t coming back from it. He had thought it was still a long way off but… guess not.

“You told them yet?”

Coulson shakes his head and takes another sip.

“You told him yet?”

Coulson drops his gaze. Fury sighs.

“Why don’t you just…”

Coulson cuts him off. “You know why.”

His voice is still calm but now there’s a slight edge to it and even Fury understands that pushing Coulson when he’s like this is a lost cause. He’ll get up and walk out and there’ll be no more talking. Ever.

“Mother-fucker!”

***

“I wanted to tell you two first. I owe you that.”

That brings the two of them up short from their ear flicking and rib poking of each other.

Coulson’s leaning against the front of his desk, arms folded across his chest, head tilted slightly to the side. Not his ‘duty stance’ which would be worrying. He’s relaxed, chilled even but something’s off.

“Fuck, boss! You’re not dying are you?” Clint asks… well demands.

Natasha gives his ear another painful flick. He pokes her ribs. Coulson rolls his eyes.

“I’m retiring.”

“Oh… is that all? Thought it was life or death or s’mthin.”

Natasha ceases all teasing and stares at her handler with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“Really?”

Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it she recites in her head over and over.

He’d confessed all to her years earlier when they’d almost lost Clint on a mission gone wrong. He hadn’t meant to but his face gave him away. She’d slipped into the hospital room when Coulson was watching over him. The tears on his cheeks hadn’t quite dried and they’d glinted when he’d looked up to see her waiting silently by the door. But it was the look of absolute love and adoration and pain on his face just before he lifted his head which told her everything she would ever need to know about how he felt. His words later were merely confirmation of that which she’d already guessed.  

But he says it.

“It’s time.”

She closes her eyes for a moment then opens them again. The sadness in them is almost too much for him and he clenches his jaw bunching the muscles together in hard lump much like the one in his throat. She nods her acceptance and he nods his gratitude. They won’t speak of it again and she’ll keep the promise she’d made those years before. Clint won’t find out from her.

Oblivious Clint asks, “So if you’re retiring can I have your office?”

Coulson snorts and unfolds himself from his position and returns to his chair on the other side. “Hardly. Jasper’ll need somewhere to hide from you when he takes over.”

“Never worked for you.”

***

“He’s leaving,” Natasha says.

“He’s not,” Clint argues, bored with the conversation already. “He always says that when one of us gets hurt. And this time it wasn’t even that serious.”

In the scheme of things, he’s right. A couple of cracked ribs, a black eye and plenty of cuts and bruises were nothing spectacular. But for Coulson his “one day” had arrived and he wasn’t coming back from it.

“You have to convince him to stay.”

“He’s not…”

“Clint,” she says sharply. He flinches.

“Do you trust me, little bird?” she continues gently, regretting that she made him jump.

“Always, Tasha.”

“Then convince him to stay… or tell him how you feel.”

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.

She touches her hand to his face and whispers softly, “Tell him. He’s moving back to Wisconsin in two months.”

***

When he finds out she’s right, Clint tries everything. Cajoling, threats, jokes, begging, the silent treatment. Being awesome, being a dick, being a complete and utter pain in Coulson’s ass… And with each new attempt, Coulson gives him that little half-smile and says quietly, “It’s time.”

Clint’s heart is breaking. The realisation finally hits him, Coulson – his rock, his comfort, his protector, the fucking love of his life – is leaving and there’s nothing he can do. His heart… his world… is falling apart.

He tries one last thing.

“Okay. I get it. You’re retiring. Moving back to Hicksville USA to teach high school students about Captain America and the Howling Commandos.”

Coulson snorts. He’s already considered how to work them into his lesson plans.

“Can I call in one last favour?”

“Pretty sure you’re on negative favours by now, Barton,” Coulson tells him with an amused look.

“Yeah, well probably but… y’know. One last negative favour?”

Coulson smiles properly, with dimples and creases in the corners of his eyes, which almost succeeds in cleaving the archer’s heart in two. But he ignores that sharp pain and does everything he can to hide his feelings. As usual.

“It’s still no for the office.”

Clint gives him a pitiful look; it’s not hard to do.

“Okay. One last negative favour,” Coulson agrees.

“Help me sort out my apartment.”

“Clint, by the time we do that I’ll be dead of old age never mind retired!”

Clint pulls out all the big guns and gives him a pitiful look and the puppy dog eyes. 

Coulson sighs. “Okay but… I’m putting a time limit on it. I move in a few weeks. Still have to pack.”

“I guess I could help…”

“Guess? Barton You’ll be with me 24/7 for the next week plus the few hours it takes to pack up my stuff.”

Clint ignores the comment about the time it will take to pack Coulson’s entire apartment. He has one week to change Coulson’s mind.

***

In the end it takes one box… well trunk.

“Can you give me a hand with this?” Clint asks dragging it out from a cupboard. They’ve worked pretty solidly for two days. Found a routine with the clearing and cleaning working smoothly as a team… as always. It saddens them both.

“Fuck, Barton! You got a dead body in there you’re not telling me about.”

Clint grins. “Nah, boss. You know I always tell you about those before I ask you to help bury them.”

Coulson huffs out a soft laugh that raises the hair on Clint’s arms and neck.

“You start, I’ll grab some beer.”

“Not gonna explode is it?”

“Ah… no?”

“Not encouraging, Barton.”

Clint gives his handler, soon to be ex-handler if this doesn’t work, a few minutes to uncover his treasures. They’re worthless to anyone but him. Useless trash really but he hopes they​ might mean something to Coulson. Might explain how he feels about the other man.

When he returns to the bedroom Coulson’s sitting with his back against the wall, surrounded by bits of paper (ticket stubs, torn flyers, rejected mission reports…); broken items (a watch, a fountain pen, a pair of glasses…); stuffed toys (an overstuffed bear, a dog missing an eye, a knitted purple elephant); a box full of bottle tops; a bag full of candy bar wrappers, another with hospital tags… a brick, a piece of rubble and a pile of stones… and so much more Coulson Phil recognises as going back almost ten years.

The elephant’s in Phil’s lap and he’s absently rubbing its ear. He looks up at Clint, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“All this time?” His voice is hoarse with emotion.

Clint shrugs then nods. He doesn’t move for a moment, standing awkwardly with the two bottles. He sets them down and slowly walks forward, as though not to spook the other man, and sits beside him on the floor. Phil’s eyes never leave him.

Their arms are touching, just enough to feel the warmth from the other. Phil lets his hand slide down to Clint’s resting on the floor, and brushes his knuckles against the archer’s. Clint takes his hand and carefully threads their fingers together.

“Stay,” Clint tells him softly leaning in towards him.

Phil squeezes his hand gently and nods. The kiss when it happens is a tender brush of lips before they rest their foreheads together. The rest will come but for now they’re happy just being like this.

***

“What’s this?” asks Fury peering at the manilla file with SHIELD CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it in large black letters as though it holds an wanted surprise within. In his line of work, it’s always possible.

“My request for reinstatement,” Coulson tells him dropping into the notoriously uncomfortable visitor’s chair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Hmmm. I’ll bite. Why is your is your reinstatement request sitting on my desk, Senior Agent Coulson?”

Coulson accepts the offered glass of whisky, takes a sip and says calmly, “Because I’m getting married and I’d like to work alongside my husband.”

Fury smirks and tips his glass in a celebrity toast. “'Bout fucking time. Here.”

“Not going to explode is it?” Coulson enquires suspiciously, stopping another manilla file with SHIELD CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it in large black letters from sliding off the desk with his forefinger.

“You have to get over the whole exploding items thing, Cheese. Your first gig as Level Eight. We found Captain America.”

Protect || Buttercream

Originally posted by suggsquared

Requests are currently [ CLOSED ]

Masterlist can be found [ HERE ]

Word Count: 1k+

Summary: In which you get injured at a Gleam party and the boys make a huge deal out of looking after you after being you cry for the first time and feeling very protective of you. 

Dedicated too: The anon who requested this, I hope you like it!!xo




Seeing as you were bestfriends with each and every member of the buttercream squad, you were a compulsory addition. It’d all started when you met them in a club one night; Jack had saved you from a rather awkward situation where a guy was being a bit forceful and had then taken you to meet his friends. You clicked with each of them almost instantaneously. 

You didn’t have a Youtube channel, instead you worked at an editing company in Central London - but after the boys got to see one of your most recent projects, they demanded that you quit your job and work with them behind the scenes instead. Seeing as you’d never exactly enjoyed your job, being able to walk into the building with your head held high and quitting on the spot with no explanation was one of the best feelings that you’d ever felt. 

Working for the boys didn’t feel like work, not really. Of course, some videos were more challenging than others, but they were always so much fun to put together and add silly effects to. You got to travel, more than you ever had before, and the fact that you got spend all that time with a group of boys who surely enough became like your brothers after just a matter of months made it all the more enjoyable.

LA was by far your favourite place to visit, and luckily enough the boys all visited the place regularly. That was the city where you finally found you true worth, and gained the confidence to begin appearing in the boys’ videos and vlogs.

During one of Gleam’s annual parties, where you were supposedly each and every one of the boys’ plus one, you tripped over a particularly long extension cord in your room and sprained your ankle pretty bad.

Seeing as you couldn’t exactly walk afterwards, all of the boys waited on you hand and foot. They all freaked out at first, especially after finding out that you were hurt, and Joe had wasted no time in storming up to the front desk to shout at the manager about the unsafe wires whilst Caspar and Oli made sure you hadn’t broken or fractured any bones.

That night, the boys decided that it’d be best if they took you home a day early. You tried to insist that it wasn’t necessary, but they weren’t being swayed at all. They insisted that you needed to be at home where they could keep at eye on you and where you could take painkillers and not have to worry about drunk people causing you any more injuries.

You got two separate cars home, seeing as there was no way you could all fit into one, and as there was virtually no traffic, you arrived back at Joe’s apartment in no time.

The boys had decided that since Joe had the biggest place that it’d be best for them all to crash there, seeing as none of the boys were willing to part ways with you until they knew for a fact that you were okay.

Jack carried you up the stairs, and even though you’d rolled your eyes and told him that he honestly didn’t need too, he did anyways. Joe unlocked the door and opened it for you and Jack, though you could do anything but smile at him in thanks as Jack whisked you off into the apartment and placed you down into the couch with such delicacy it almost made you laugh.

The rest of the boys all huddled around and and provided endless cuddles for the rest of the evening, and even let you choose what to watch. Of course you chose your favourite show, which none of them argued about, instead they all smiled softly whenever they heard you giggle: knowing that as long as you were laughing, you weren’t in any pain.

Conor respectively had the most comfortable and soft shirt on, so you ended up with your head on his chest and your legs draped over two other boys, and then your hands entwined with two different hands whose owners you weren’t exactly sure of.

It was like a huge puppy pile, everyone cuddling and sharing blankets - no arguments or drunken conversations. Simply shared smiles and a respected amount of comfort. They’d all panicked when they found out that you were hurt, and they weren’t afraid to admit that, but they’d never actually seen you cry before and their protective instincts kicked in immediately at the sight of tears.

You were their bestfriend, their little sister - one of the most important people in all of their lives. And even though it was a minor injury, all they wanted to do from that moment on was wrap you up in cotton wool and hug you until you fell asleep - when they knew you couldn’t accidentally cause yourself harm.

You share a few conversations about the episode once it finishes, and you giggle at Joe’s displeased expression, knowing he wasn’t exactly fond of the show at all, but still pulled through for your sake. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns his head and gives you two thumbs up with a forced smile that made you laugh and squeeze your eyes shut in amusement.

Conor then spent awhile telling you about his weekend at the studio, explaining some of the songs he’d managed to record for his new album and even leaking a few of the lyrics after you’d all promised to never repeat them to anyone.

You curled your first around his shirt as the painkillers that Joe had basically force fed you began to kick on: your eyes fluttering as you tried to force yourself to stay awake. But when you feel one of the boys run their hand through your hair and began to play with it, a well known way to put you to sleep almost instantly, you sigh into Conor’s chest and allow yourself to fall into the land of dreams; your fist remaining clutched around Conor’s shirt.

All of the boys share a knowing smile as they all look down at you with small grins on their faces. Protecting and looking after you made them feel good, and they’d happily do it more often. But for now, they were just glad that you were safe at home. 

i have decided two things: first of all, i am going to quit my job because i keep having un-fun health issues as a result of it and i truly cannot do this anymore, and second of all, with my last paycheck i’m going to get myself an xbox one capture card and a decent quality microphone so i can start making let’s plays and have something to do while i’m unemployed. this may sound like a vastly immature decision but my body feels like it’s falling apart and i’m only 24

Upcoming Changes

So! This weekend I’m moving to Philadelphia with J. Sort of. Part time. Most of the time. Keeping my place, using it 1-2 nights a week.

I’m also changing jobs! Sort of. Same company. New role.

We’re also starting a charge to save money/calories and meal prep. Completely, no sort of there. 

And lastly, I’m diving back into this working out and eating only what I need business. 

The last 6 months have been absolutely nuts. Getting engaged, my mom suddenly needing (pretty major) surgery, interviewing for jobs, half quitting, deciding not to quit, researching/touring/selecting a venue, holidays, researching/interviewing/selecting a photographer, and finally, being in work overdrive because I’m wrapping up my current role and starting my new one.

So, starting next week, I’m a Project Manager. I’m living in Philly, commuting to NJ 2-3 days a week, I have every meal prepped and ready to go, and I’m getting up at 6AM to work out if I’m not driving to NJ. 

None of those things are true today. They will all be true a week from today.

And I’m terrified, but jumping in the deep end anyway.

TalesFromThePizzaGuy: Kinda missing my old pizza gig...

I worked at the Hut a couple years back. I enjoyed it there. I made what I thought were good tips, and I loved chillin’ and driving around, listening to some 311, eminem, or whatever i was in the mood for that day. I also miss taking a good drive around the city after closing late, seeing all of the lights, sometimes stopping by friends’ places along the way. Hell, I even miss the pot. Although I didn’t enjoy getting called in every other day off. I found a rather good paying(~14.00) job last year and quit for it. I enjoy that job too, but I kind of abhorred working my new gig in the winter(though I LOVED the Hut during the winter, mucho tips). So much that I almost consider looking back to pizza delivery if I’m not able to transfer to a warmer location. I don’t know, I guess I kinda miss how chill it was and the tips,as well as being inside my car when it was cold. Am I just looking at it with rose-tinted glasses? Or am I being rational in thinking this is a viable option for a 21 year old?

By: HydroponX

I’m already thinking about getting my masters degree in the very near future. Unrelated to that (until now), my sister just bought a 4 bedroom house where she lives. (She’s younger than me and sometimes takes dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets for lunch to work where she’s a flight test engineer so figure all that out.) Our mom is convinced that I’m going to quit my job and move in with her and get a teaching job there. But she lives in the middle of the desert where it’s regularly like 115 degrees in the summer which is both literal and metaphorical hell. 

HOWEVER… I have a math aide who works with me in my classroom and I can’t imagine doing my job without her and next year could be her last year with me because she’s retiring soon. We joke about how neither of us can leave before the other and we’ll just have to both up and leave at the same time. So she gave me this idea: Get my masters and go teach at the community college in my sister’s town, but be able to leave town during the summer because I’d still be teaching. And now she has me seriously considering this….. 

anonymous asked:

are you quitting your job bc of the abcess/too painful to work or did something else happen?

I’m moving. I was given my 30 days on the 18th. I’ve officially been kicked out.

Life is keeping up the annual ritual of uprooting my nomadic ass. I would LOVE to keep my job, but life says differently.

Sorry I’m like. Really salty about this.

even his fucking wrist is beautiful i can’t believe i have to quit my job now nothing i’m saying is coherent i just told my friend i was making tea like i’m not even doing that why did i lie about it i can’t find my socks nothing makes sense

let dan and phil make money without complaining 2k17

hey friends :)

I’m gonna be real honest with you here, it’s been a long time since I’ve worked on the fake bf fic and writing is hard and life is just overwhelming as hell these days, so if y’all wouldn’t mind giving me just a liiiiittle bit of validation that my writing hasn’t turned to complete crap?? that’d be super cool??? please & thank you, here is what I have of ch. 6, it’s not a lot but hopefully there’s gonna be more soon now that I have some kind of flow???? idk man I love you all thank you for being so ridiculously patient

Keep reading

Downtown chillin’

Fave trio tbh.