Walmart Hates My Sex Life

First and foremost, I'm a student.
I come from a middle-class single family home, and I'm blessed to receive financial assistance to fund my education through provincial loans. I do, however, also work to finance my education in hopes that I won't have forty-thousand in repayment once my degree is completed. I have to work - there's no ifs ands or buts about it.

I worked at Tim Horton's in high school, and the only good thing that came from working there was RS - I knew I couldn't return to that sort of working environment, and I vowed that I would find a job away from food and drive-thru's. And far far away from coffee and it's (now) dreadful scent.

I ended up at Walmart.
 I started as a cashier and worked behind a register for a year. I eventually tired of the monotony and was having severe wrist pain - as a result of my elite cashier skills obviously - and decided to take up an offer to become a Customer Service Manager (CSM) and stretch my managerial wings. I would be in charge of the daily running and maintenance of the front end; from the cashiers throwing grapes at each others, to the elderly greeters guarding the doors, and outside to the cart boys hitting your car with the force of forty carts.

With a thirty-cent pay raise and the freedom to throw away the unbecoming blue vest, I became just about everyone's bitch: it was my job to pick up the slack wherever anyone else dropped it; it was my job to work late, to skip breaks, and to cut my lunch short for the sake of others; it was my job to make shopping easy and enjoyable for customers who made my day anything but.

Don't get me wrong though, I loved being a CSM. It was an absolute joy to interact with each and every associate who worked in the front end. It's easy to bond over the shared hatred of regular asshole customers, and there's never a shortage of horror stories to share across the breakroom table. It probably isn't the team building Walmart would like, but it works; we become united against a common enemy: that customer, that one - right there. See her? Right there. Bitch.

I've made great friends as I've stood at my podium overlooking the front end, and I've enjoyed the opportunity to spread my managerial wings, but it was a hard job.

I was told there's no such thing as a perfect day in the front end.
And that's true. There isn't - not even close.

I wasn't told, though, that I would be cursed at and belittled on a daily basis. I wasn't told that I would ever have to retreat to the handicapped stall of a Walmart bathroom to cry.

And I definitely wasn't told that I would leave work so incredibly angry, tired, and frustrated that it would affect my daily functioning, and ultimately my sex life.

I know it doesn't look like I own
an iron, but I promise, I do.

Walmart obviously hates my sex life.

Jobs, work, and careers will (every now and again) get in the way of your sex life - I get it. If we could all just spend our days lounging in bed fucking our lives away, we'd all be much happier creatures I imagine. But life doesn't work that way, and you have to find a way to make it work.

RS works ten hour days five days a week, which leaves little time in the evenings for the hours-long sexual sessions we once enjoyed. When the weekend comes and he's ready to fuck two days away, I'm running through Walmart trying to catch my sanity before it runs out the front door alongside stolen big-screen TVs. I come home absolutely exhausted from running ten miles (I wore a pedometer, no lie) and knowing I've ten more to run tomorrow.

It was exhausting. and far from sex-inducing.

But this past week I've made a move into a tiny little accounting office (a hidden room in Walmart where all the cash is hidden - shh!). I get a chair and a desk and a computer. I get standardized hours and can decide when I'm done for the day. I get to clock in and not wonder if I'll have even a minute to breathe that day. And the best part? No. Asshole. Customers.

I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that this will be better for our sex life. It's only been a week in my new position, and even though I've come home with a headache each night and have postponed sex for a perpetual tomorrow, I know that once I can go into work without feeling bombarded by information and instructions, we'll be back at it - and back at it hard.

FAITHFULLY YOURS,