Melancholic Mediocrity :v_bi:<p>Halloween is my partner's favorite holiday. I've been wanting to give him an amazing, happy <a href="https://beige.party/tags/Halloween" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>Halloween</span></a> since we met almost six years ago, but every single year something in our lives went terribly wrong. I was hoping despite living in a cheap motel on the edge of being <a href="https://beige.party/tags/homeless" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>homeless</span></a>, that this year might be different.</p><p>It seemed to be, even though I forgot to request the day off. I worked a slightly earlier shift than usual and was home by 10pm. I had the entire weekend off and we looked forward to spending time together. My partner was still savoring the high from having what was hopefully a successful job interview the day prior (we'll find out for certain tomorrow).</p><p>Like usual, however, my crippling, myopic self-pity managed to ruin things just in the nick of time.</p><p>Around 11pm Friday night, a co-worker inadvertently dropped a bomb on me when I was informed that the team lead position for which I had been gunning so hard was just filled by someone rehired approximately three months ago, who frequently refers to me "playfully" as "Grandpa", responded to my polite requests when he's being a lazy fuck with the same "playful" snark, and has demonstrated an alarming lack of empathy.</p><p>This officially slammed the door shut on any possibility of me being promoted to team lead. I have given this place my entire emotional and physical reserves for more than a year in the hopes of clinching the position, I've begged and pleaded for them to give me a chance to try since I've often been doing a fair amount of the team lead responsibilities and because we're nearly homeless. I've been told by multiple people on our team that they would love to have me be the the team lead. Yet a 28-yo single gay man who's already said things like "fuck 'em if they don't like it, it's their job" when I was trying to make simple accommodations for my fellow <a href="https://beige.party/tags/neurodivergent" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>neurodivergent</span></a> employees, is now going to be making $22/hr and I'm still stuck at a whoppingly lucrative $16.32/hr.</p><p>This is literally the third time in a year I've been passed over for leadership. Two from outside the company (one of which was already fired), and one who hasn't even worked here a full quarter.</p><p>After more than two years of going *without* any team leads for months on end, after a year where we've functioned on a skeleton crew *before* accounting for any call outs despite the lack of leadership, we now have *two* team leads again.</p><p>I've been filled with so much white-hot rage since that text message Friday night that I've been popping Advil and Benedryl in a vain attempt to sedate myself through the weekend.</p><p>I feel humiliated that I'm going to be subordinate to a mouthly little elder twink. I feel embarrassed that I ever believed I had a chance of advancing. I loathe the idea of even stepping foot back in that store.</p><p>It's been all I can do to resist the <a href="https://beige.party/tags/BPD" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>BPD</span></a>-fueled impulse to write a simple email stating "Dear [store manager], I quit. Thank you, [me]". It's what I would've done in the past, but I had the luxury of income from my spouses at the time. Besides, where am I going to go? To an even *worse* work environment somewhere else? Somewhere that likely pays even *less* than the sub-McDonald's wages I currently receive?</p><p>Besides, I'm 44 years old as my new boss is fond of pointing out. I can't just waltz into a job like I could when I was younger. If I quit my job, we're homeless. I literally cash out the majority of every single shift I work the next day (for a $3 fee every time) in order to survive.</p><p>We're almost out of food. I'm almost out of my medicinal cannabis and my partner isn't too far behind with his which is critical for his <a href="https://beige.party/tags/PTSD" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>PTSD</span></a>. Our med cards are up for renewal in days. My partner's phone is in danger of getting shut off, just as he's started to finally put feelers out for jobs after more than two years of being unable to do so. My phone is almost unusable if it isn't on a wireless charger (haven't been able to use the USB port on it for years). Auto insurance is due soon, our teeth continue to rot, and our dog hasn't been vaccinated in three or four years.</p><p>I'm hungry. I'm angry. I'm tired. I'm trapped. We couldn't find anyone willing to fib for us and claim we'd rented from them for the past two years so that we could avoid the same disaster we experienced in September when the last apartment attempt we made fell through, so I've now burned through the money donated to us for the rental application fees.</p><p>We have new neighbors in the motel here and they've already triggered my partner, which just reminds me what's likely in store for us at any "trap house" apartment complex for which we might somehow manage to qualify.</p><p>If I quit my job, that's it. We're on the streets. But at what point does working just.. not become worth it anymore? At what point should I say, "I give up"? Will that be the same time we decide that being this poor and miserable is shitty enough already without the shitty pay and treatment of <a href="https://beige.party/tags/retail" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>retail</span></a>?</p><p>I know. I'm being histrionic. It's what I do. But this one *hurt*. It wasn't just disappointing, it felt like I was the butt of a cruel prank that everyone else knew about and I was the last to know. It felt like I was Charlie Brown and they pulled the ball away yet another fucking time.</p><p>It hurt because they all know my dire situation. They all know how hard I work, how hard I try to exceed expectations. They know how passionate I am about this job.</p><p>In return, I was given half an interview before being interrupted and left waiting for weeks for a chance to finish said interview and learned I missed out on yet another chance at promotion by a flippant text message from a co-worker late Halloween fucking night, just in time for a two-day weekend to fill with furious rumination.</p><p>It also hurts because there is nothing I can do to change it. I have no marketable skills, no certifications, no portfolio. I don't have the spoons for college, and I don't have the spoons to work one job, let alone multiple jobs.</p><p>This weekend has felt like I'm truly starting to reach the end of my rope. I can't get intoxicated enough to provide relief from this incredible, incessant static in my brain. I can't seem to calm the fury within me.</p><p>Hooray, with less than an hour to spare, I managed to give my partner a shitty Halloween *six years in a row*.</p><p>Good times.</p>