I Must Decline Your Job Offer Because I Can’t Deal With The Fucking Grocery Store On The Weekends

It’s Tuesday morning and it’s all mine, bitch!

Dear Bigass Company,

Thank you so much for the generous offer of employment. I’m flattered you chose me out of many (presumably) qualified candidates and that you’ve exceeded the salary I requested. What an incredible opportunity!

I’ve taken the last few days to think about your offer and have unfortunately concluded that I cannot accept it. Though working for your company would be a dream come true, spending 40 hours a week in an office — even one as gorgeous as yours — would be, quite simply, impossible for me.

My decision ultimately came down to this: I cannot go back to grocery shopping on the weekends. I tried. While mulling over your offer, I went to my local supermarket on a Saturday afternoon, just to see if I could do it. You must understand I’ve been “working” from home for quite some time, and have become accustomed to going to the grocery store at 11 a.m. on weekdays, when no one else is there. I’ve gotten used to having the freedom to wander around the wide-open aisles, taking the time to read labels, compare prices and pick the very best produce.

Because I so admire the work you do and because it’s the kind of work I’ve always wanted to do, I went to the supermaket last Saturday at 4 p.m. to test myself — and I’m sorry to say I failed. The place was mobbed. One couple got in my way no less than four times — and that was just in the produce section. I was forced to stare at the backs of their dumb heads for a full two minutes while waiting to grab a bunch of flat-leaf parsley because they were having so much trouble finding suitable curly-leaf parsley. I wanted to tell them there’s no such thing as a good bunch of curly parsley because it’s gross and flavorless, but declined to share my aisle smarts with them.

After powering my way down packed aisles and through the overcrowded but understocked freezer section, I had to wait in the checkout line for 15 whole minutes. At one point I watched a confused man cut me, but felt powerless to stop him from being a fucking moron, lest I cause the kind of scene that would never occur at 11:30 on a Tuesday morning.

I simply cannot waste my time this way, and therefore must keep getting by on a stringshoe budget of freelance work so that I may continue to have the run of the place, as they say. As much as it pains me to turn down your offer, I can’t go back to living my life in the middle of the crowd. I’ll go broke if it means I can continue to be the only patron at the grocery store, the gym, the pharmacy and all the fancy boutiques I can’t afford. (I almost added the post office but that place is always fucking packed, no matter the time.) I may soon be begging for change in Whole Foods 365 — but at least I’ll be the only one there.

Thank you again for your offer, and good luck. I’d say see you in the aisles, but I’m sure you peruse them Sunday evenings at 6 p.m. — just like everyone else.

Sincerely,
Mary Brokeass Cella

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