Another Installment of "People from my Job I Hate"

Let me preface this by saying that ordinarily I love retards- more than most people even. Amongst people with average IQs I feel frightened and socially awkward, but when I'm talking to a retard, I feel awesome, because you know, they're retards.

Having said that, Mark, the retard at my work, is the worst custodian that I have ever known, and he has kind of a shitty personality to boot. To ignore these things about Mark commits the sin of homogeneity of variance. To force myself to like every retard just because they are a retard (films would have us believe that all retards have a heart of gold) does a disservice to the integrity of the people as a whole. He comes into the office ever day with that thorazine shuffle, peers into our garbage can, disregards it the way evolved primates disregard their own feces, collects any bottles or cans we have for deposit, and walks out. Sometimes he favors us with some ridiculous anecdote about his life that nobody asked for.

"I won first place in a bike race in 1991."
(A fact I find hard to believe.)
"I'm switching to AT&T cable service."
(I'll alert the media.)

All this would be fine if he would perform even the most elementary of custodial duties, but alas, he does not. We tried to explain to him one day that the garbage in the kitchen was overflowing. His poignant response: "I don't have room for it in my pail."

I have been told that the company gets a tax break for employing retards. All this means is that there's an uncharming retard shuffling around the building all day and the data entry employees have to take out their own garbage and vacuum their own carpet.

Why do I find it so particular? Maybe because less than 6 months ago, I had this dude's job. The bar I worked at should have gotten a tax break for deigning to employ a girl with a bachelors in English. I am special. And I took out the fucking garbage.