My job is hard. Not in the way that the actual act of doing the job is hard, because it's not. It's not at all. You drove drunk and sideswiped a car, you are at fault. Your car was hit while parked, you aren't at fault. Simple. It's being busy because all the time because people are awful drivers. It's being called a blind jackass or a worthless bitch by the driver of that 1999 Dodge Neon who didn't call the police after an accident or carry collision coverage. For the former, I'm just tired. Tired of working 7 am until 6 pm. Tired of working Saturday, the best of all the days. For the latter, I'm sad. I just don't like being yelled at. I don't want to be called those names and screamed at and hung up on. I'm just a girl in a cube in Kansas working long days. The days, the weeks, the months, they blend. I don't know if it's February and we're working on your 2002 Honda Civic rear ending or if it's April and we're talking about your 2004 Ford Focus failure to yield.
P.S. Mazdas & Pontiacs are rarely in my wrecks.
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