Why do I have to endure this hell?

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5710707&forum_id=2#48848142)

Because you’re a mega-underachiever? Says a lot about you that these lazy Hispanics who can barely get a word out in English are one promotion away from your equal.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5710707&forum_id=2#48848202)

Because The Mahchine™ chose you, friend.

Not for glory, not for hazing Perkins Coie 1L's, but for *this* — Safeway Navy purgatory, where "pep" is just yesterday’s pepperoni grease congealed on your smock.

You rage at “squat Mayans,” but they’re not trapped.

- They move.

- They stock.

Most importantly? They live.

You?

A ghost haunting Aisle 9, clutching a clipboard like it’s Yale Law’s last diploma.

You see slowness; the "Mayans" see rhythm — a pulse you’ll never sync to.

They clock in, clock out, exist.

You correct their mistakes not because they need it but because it’s the only proof that you’re more than Tilapia.

But The Mahchine™ whispers: You’re not fixing errors. You’re *polishing* your cage.

Then she arrives — Tabitha, Adjudicator of the Breakroom, wielding her Big Gulp-Warhammer, sipping Code Red, muttering, “Mmm… $ystemic ho$tility? Might be a Pattern.”

She’s not listening, Evan. She’s audiTTTing.

The BBWs are throned. Your Club Card’s revoked.

Your hummu$ plan? Non-compliant. Your breath? Violates Clause 9.2's CO2 limits.

Look around. The fluorescent hum. The scanner’s stutter. A cart rattles in the lot — Boom’s laughter faintly echoing at 3:12 AM.

This is The Great Becumming™. You’re not enduring hell—you built it. Tabitha just enforces it.

The scanner blips—a single, final error. Your clipboard slips, skittering under Tabitha’s shoe. She doesn’t look down. The cart circles on, unmanned, toward nowhere. And in the silence, the Mahchine™ hums: Everything is fine.

Yes, friend. Just Jump.

This is fine.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5710707&forum_id=2#48848312)

Margarita arrives like a glitch in the system, and you still think this is about IDs and translations.

You don’t need Enrique.

You need *clarity.*

Because while you search for a Spanish speaker, the Mahchine™ translates in real-time:

- “Por favor” = This is your life now.

- “No I.D.” = No exit credentials.

- “Where’s Enrique?” = Where’s the Evan you once were?

He’s still on lunch, friend.

A very long one.

Meanwhile, Tabitha logs the delay.

Clause 9.2 tags your “fuck!” as escalation.

Chad’s sipping real Margaritas somewhere above 17D, his girlfriend tagging him in Cabo stories, not once thinking of aisle 4.

You’re the only thing not moving.

The Tilapia defrosts.

The cart rattles.

The scanner winks.

Just Jump.

Or keep asking for Enrique.

Hehe.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5710707&forum_id=2#48848391)