You Think Your Job Sucks? Then Take A Look At These 89 Hilarious Restaurant Memes

Link: => prodforvimad.nnmcloud.ru/d?s=YToyOntzOjc6InJlZmVyZXIiO3M6MzY6Imh0dHA6Ly9iYW5kY2FtcC5jb21fZG93bmxvYWRfcG9zdGVyLyI7czozOiJrZXkiO3M6MjQ6IllvdSB0aGluayB5b3VyIGpvYiBzdWNrcyI7fQ==


We spend the following day packing magazines, office supplies, and computers into bos and trudging out of the building. That was about as bad as it gets. Want me to tell you how I really feel? Scroll down to check out the struggles everyone who works in the industry go through way too often and upvote your favorites!

If you felt this post was valuable please subscribe here. Every employed person feels stress. From being ready all day long to be in front of the camera in the event of breaking news, to facing powerful people and asking them tough questions — this is no easy task and would take a toll on anyone.

My new job sucks, HR exec explains how to quit and how soon

Lenny wants to meet at 12:30 a. Twenty minutes later, Lenny shuffles in from the steamy July night, you think your job sucks by two men and two women who may or may not be members of his flight crew. Lenny is a short, thick man, and he walks with a pronounced side-to-side stagger—as if all those collisions with the center-field fence and face plants into the Shea turf have caught up with him. I walk over and introduce myself, and Lenny greets me warmly. Lenny himself is sunk into a sofa, Ethernet cables streaming across the coffee table to two laptops he has running. Lenny responds by showing me his watch. Do you want to be a part of the Players Club. The Player's Circle would be much more than just a print magazine: It would be a comprehensive lifestyle and financial brokerage company aimed at assisting professional athletes with all aspects of their off-the-field lives, from their playing days to retirement. For the next two hours, I sit there on the sofa, two feet away from Lenny, as he e-mails me things— Players Club slide shows, YouTube clips, articles about himself—from his laptop. The only magazine business we talk about is a new Players Club logo. Lenny e-mails me a link to it, then calls his flight attendant—an attractive woman in her midtwenties—into the room and gets her opinion, too. I tell Lenny that I need to be on the three-ten train back to Long Island. So do you buy into The Players Club. We shake hands, and Lenny gives me a little wink. As I get ready to leave, he asks how much a taxi to Long Island will cost. He was brash, rude, constantly chewing on a baseball-sized hunk of chaw, and so fearless—sacrificing his body to dive for a fly ball or steal a base—that they called him Nails. Apparently, he was a business and finance genius. Eventually, he landed a gig as a stock-market columnist for TheStreet. It was a really sharp-looking book: thick you think your job sucks with a heavy laminated cover, advertisements from luxury watchmakers and private-jet charter companies, interviews with celebrities and athletes like Jack Nicholson and Derek Jeter. The magazine was published by Doubledown Media, the same swank outfit that put out Trader Monthly, Private Air, The Cigar Report, and other unapologetically exuberant organs of the pre-financial-crisis era. But this does not mean things are getting done. Within eight days, I was on my way to the Carlyle to meet him. Lenny was brilliant at making it seem that he was only in business to teach others like me how to get rich like him. My first assignment is to use my contacts to secure images for the September issue, and time is tight. From my official start date, July 25, 2008, we have only three weeks to get it ready to publish. On that same tour, he suggests that perhaps senior editor Chris Frankie and I could come in and do the painting ourselves some weekend. I settle into the job, calling in images for September, you think your job sucks to know the staff, and learning to deal with the vagaries of my new boss. Lenny, it seems, does not exactly have a handle on the cash-flow aspect of running his business. Sometimes the jokes are on himself. Do I buy into The Players Club. It suddenly feels like the best decision of my life. That feeling lasts exactly three days. I remind him that using my credit card information without my permission is credit card fraud. Lenny gets on his plane, but the five grand never finds its way to my pocket. The Point of No Return In early September, I send a company-wide e-mail suggesting a September-issue postmortem meeting. Part of my job is helping run the in-house magazine production, and it seems worthwhile to figure out whether there are ways we can be more efficient. A few hours later, he sends a company-wide e-mail of his own: kevin, before you take over my company— i strongly suggest that you take care of your side of the street. He begins to take out his frustration with me on Chris Frankie and others in the office. Eventually, I e-mail Lenny, challenging him to offer some evidence to back up his rants. Lenny owes considerable back rent, so they shut off the telephone and Internet access. We spend the following day packing magazines, office supplies, and computers into bos and trudging out of the building. From now on, The Players Club will be published out of our respective homes. Six days later, I stay up until 3 a. That makes me one of the lucky ones. Lenny apparently coad the photo agencies into licensing him some images and found another printer willing to do business with him. Mostly, they complain that Lenny does not answer his phone and ask whether I know a reliable way to reach him. But one, a photographer who did some work for the September and October issues, actually got Lenny to answer his phone at the end of January.

You've Started To Think That The Only Way Out Is By Taking Drastic Action I refer to this as going full Fight Club. That makes me one of the lucky ones. You can see that the handling of dead bodies, human or animal, is not my cup of tea. Want me to tell you how I really feel? Should I suck it up and stay put for at least a year?