Today, when I got to work I sat at my desk and played on the internet for a while. A couple hours later, some of my coworkers were congregated downstairs, having a conversation in their normal indoor voices, which are screams loud enough that I can make out their entire inane conversation every single time. I was already in a bad mood and wanted nothing more than to loudly swear at them and tell them how fucking obnoxious they are, so I left before I got myself in trouble. When I came back, I sat down and continued playing on the internet. A few minutes later, one of my bosses, the only one I really see on a regular basis, appeared at the door.
"Paul," he said, "can you come downstairs?"
I went downstairs, where he was sitting at his desk, looking serious.
"Have you started anything today?"
"Nope," I said.
"You need to start working when you get here."
"It doesn't matter when I start," I told him, "I'm still going to do the same amount of work."
"How long are we here? Eight hours," he told me, "We work for eight hours."
"No," I said, "I'm going to do the same amount of work no matter how long I'm here."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I already do a disproportionate amount of work. I'm not doing any more, and I'm not going to pretend I'm busy when I'm not. There are other people here who barely do anything. You can't hold people to different standards. It's stupid," I said.
"Yes, it is stupid," he said. "You should ask Chris for more money."
He started laughing. It's funny because I'm a permanent temp. More money is actually a pretty fucking hilarious joke.
"Well, more money is the only way I'd even consider doing any more work," I said.
He asked me to help him work on something, but I told him I was eating and would help when I was done. He said he thought I was done eating, presumably because I had just returned from not being there for a while. Why should I waste my lunch break eating, though? That's the sort of thing that can be done on the clock.
I really should just quit.