I'm surrounded by bitter, aging malcontents all day. I try to please them by jumping through hoop after hoop, but I'm slowly learning that no amount of appeasement is going to make these bellyaching crab-brains stop spraying bile out of their dumb faces.
I imagine this guy knows a little bit about what I'm going through:
That there is Dusty Rhodes, the closet thing that wrestling's ever had to My White Moma. He's the hit-maker! He's the heart breaker! He'll make your back crack and your liver quiver! He's fat, he's got a lisp, he's got a forehead like a plate of roast beef...
But, most of all, Dusty Rhodes knows what it's like to work in a draining job:
See, Dusty Rhodes was a legend before he went to the WWF. He'd already won the NWA World Championship three times, he'd sold out numerous stadiums, and he was known the world over. Once he signed a contract with the WWF, though, management put him in a polka dot leotard.
The crowd still loved him, though, because he was Dusty Rhodes.
Then they gave him some random schlub as a valet.
Dusty only made the crowd love BOTH of them.
Management tried and tried to choke the life out of Dusty, but they never could. The reason: he enjoyed everything they gave him regardless of the stupidity. After all, he was still the same son of plumber he always was, and nothing a boss or co-worker did could change that.
This is the lesson I'm now trying to apply to my life. As much as the people around me try to drag me down with their negativity, I try to remember that I have more control over the way I feel than they do. They may want to saddle me with the same hopelessness and anger they feel when they come to work, but I know I can rise above it. I know I can still do a good job if I simply make it my business to have fun.