Overworked Underpaid Quotes

Jory, most people, when hit men come after them, they get killed. You‘re lucky, spontaneous, and your guardian angel is overworked and way underpaid" "I know, right? My angel walks into a bar and the other angels are like, Oh shit, that‘s the poor sap that‘s got Jory Harcourt. Look at him, he started drinking again.‘" Sam was smiling. "Look at the twitch he‘s got, poor bastard.

I love museums more than any other institution the human race has invented. Museum people are always overworked and underpaid, and they all deserve sainthood, every one.

They may have used alien technology in these things,” she said. “But the software they installed to run it all was clearly created by humans—overworked, underpaid programmers like me who take all kinds of shortcuts. The security protocols on the file-sharing system are a total joke. It only took me about five minutes to jailbreak this thing.

Finishing a seven-hour wank session, feeling exhausted, overworked, burnt out, underpaid, sad, hungry, lonely, nostalgic, and strangely beautiful during a one a.m. Sev-run.

You’re lucky, spontaneous, and your guardian angel is overworked and way underpaid.” “I know, right? My angel walks into a bar and the other angels are like, ‘Oh shit, that’s the poor sap that’s got Jory Harcourt. Look at him, he started drinking again.

The big guys who ran things didn't want you thinking or feeling. It slowed down production. They wanted you scared and working so you wouldn't bump up against the truth--life could be fun. Yup, they wanted you scared. They wanted you grim. They wanted you madly cranking out Barbie dolls or Post Toasties or Xerox, or they wanted you overworked and underpaid at teaching so you could at least feel smart, and they wanted you to keep having kids so you'd have to keep working at whatever job you were stuck in and not have time to think or feel or, if you did, you certainly wouldn't have time to do anything about it, or even get close to the big fun, the fun that belonged only to them. And then they wanted your kids to hop on the same treadmill.

Where’s Candice?” I ask, trying to get my bearings through small talk. “Oh, Candice isn’t here anymore,” says Daniella. “She left a while ago.” “Oh.” I wait, but Daniella doesn’t elaborate. I try not to overthink it. Editorial assistants come and go all the time. They’re underpaid entry-level employees in the most expensive city in the world—ill-treated, overlooked, and overworked with minimal opportunities for advancement. It takes inhuman drive to hack it in publishing. Probably Candice just couldn’t take it. “That’s too bad.

I made the out of town trip once, walked a mile, and endured product placement rather than putting an item where it made sense. There were plastic smiles of overworked, underpaid employees who not only didn’t want to help you, they didn’t want to be there. Crowds, lots of crowds, because everything was always on sale. And after I’d wandered aimlessly for a couple of hours, running from one side of the store to the next caught in some perverse scavenger hunt, I stood in the line. Then there was the one open line in a row of fifty closed ones trying to check out a store full of tired suburbanites, their screaming kids, and clueless teenagers.

Those working in slaughterhouses, for example, are often underpaid and overworked, lack insurance, and are required to use dangerous equipment without adequate training. Turnover and rates of injury for jobs in anymal industries are among the highest in the United States. Slaughterhouse employees are almost always poor, they are often immigrants, and they are inevitably viewed by their employers as expendable. Moreover, if we would not like to kill pigs, hens, or cattle all day long, then we should not make food choices that require others to do so. Our dietary choices determine where others work. Will our poorest laborers work in fields of green or in buildings of blood? Fieldwork is difficult, but I worked in the fields as a child, and I am very glad that I never worked in a slaughterhouse.

All your decisions discount the Persians themselves, and that is the mistake of your ignorance and your plotting. To you the Persian is a stupid peasant who can't decide his own affairs; an uncultured wretch who will take all manner of deceit and oppression and diplomatic twisting. If you do see any signs, any glimmer of revolt, you blame the Russians and take it to the Security Council. But it isn't the Russians. It's the peasant himself who is revolting. If any of you understood Iran you would know that. Dirty and wretched they may be, opium-ridden and backward and dull, but they are really the people you should fear, not the Russians. It may take time and there may be set-backs, but sooner or later the Persians are going to throw us out and throw out all our corrupt and friendly governments. They don't need any complicated political excuse to revolt, however much you cry Communism. There isn't a simple man, woman or child in Iran who isn't landlord-ridden,m who isn't a slave by the way in which he works, who isn't preyed upon by corrupt officials, who isn't beaten and insulted and robbed by the police and the army. The peasants are impoverished by the tithes they must pay the Khans, and the mechanics are underpaid and underfed and overworked. There isn't an adult in Iran who isn't ridden with some chronic disease, there isn't a child who survives all the ravages of poverty and dirt and sickness. The whole government structure is rotten with bribery and extortion and petty cruelties, and there isn't a modicum of justice in the land. There are no real courts, no political rights, no representative government, no wage laws, no right to organize, no means of adjusting the bad conditions of life except by revolting as the Azerbaijanians and the Kurds are revolting. Thank heavens the Russians have given them a chance to revolt; and damn us for preventing it wherever we can. We will fail anyway, whatever the Security Council decides in New York. You can get the Russians out of Azerbaijan and you can give it back to your merchants and wazirs of Teheran, but after a little while it will all begin again because you cannot stop the Persian from deciding his own affairs. He is not ignorant and stupid to his political situation. He is not so wretched and afraid of revolt. He is not even uncultured: in the language he speaks and the use he makes of it there is more natural culture among the peasants of Iran than you can find among the world's diplomats a the Savoy Hotel. He is backward and poor and dirty, but that is largely due to the influence we have had on Iran for a hundred years or more. Now it is too late for us. These people have reached the breaking point and they don't care about the wise men of the House of Commons and the clever men of the Security Council. These people are desperate, and for our reckless methods of holding our power and our oil it ought to be a warning. It will all go. The oil, the power, and the last drop of influence. Rather than let us have any of it the Persian will wreck Abadan and the wells and every other sign of our presence and our strength there. They are beginning to hate us and that is beginning a battle which we can't stop, which you can't stop in the Security Council. Unless we are determined to kill every man in the country we will lose. We cannot help but lose.

Stale beer sticks to wobbling tables. The cigarette machine flashes in the corner, mocking smokers who never have any change on them. There’s no natural light in this pub, so it’s dark and gloomy. The pain on the face of the staff tells its own story: overworked, underpaid, exploited and treated as expendable. I feel at home with them. They’re so scared they will be fired from their terrible jobs, every time I order a beer they ask me if I want any peanuts or crisps, in case between drinks I’ve turned into the dreaded mystery shopper. The air is chewy and weighs heavy on the skin. The fruit machines in the corners don’t make a sound, aware this is the last stop saloon for the drunk few who can’t afford to gamble properly. Everyone here is down to their last pint and pound.

I was overworked, underpaid, and socially retarded. But

feminist therapist believes that a woman needs to be told that she’s not crazy; that it’s normal to feel sad or angry about being overworked, underpaid, underloved; that it’s healthy to harbor fantasies of running away when the needs of others (aging parents, needy husbands, demanding children) threaten to overwhelm her.

These are examples, however, of how we can sometimes be taken advantage of. Our loyalty and strong work ethic, combined with not always being able to read people, mean that we can end up in situations where we get saddled with more than our fair share and are overworked and underpaid.

Then, when enough customers had been refused, the terror of the situation becoming apparent to the underpaid and overworked staff, Caleb would walk up to the counter to push things over the edge, to organize the angry customers, to overtake the Chicken Queen. “It’ll be a thing of beauty,” Caleb told his children. “I don’t want to do this,” Annie said. “Yes, you do,” Caleb responded. “I’m not well,” Annie said. “Buster is not well.” “This will make you better,” Camille said. “We’re a family again. This is what we do.

Mr. Polly went into the National School at six and he left the private school at fourteen, and by that time his mind was in much the same state that you would be in, dear reader, if you were operated upon for appendicitis by a well-meaning, boldly enterprising, but rather over-worked and under-paid butcher boy, who was superseded towards the climax of the operation by a left-handed clerk of high principles but intemperate habits,—that is to say, it was in a thorough mess.

The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is servant to the lender.” I gave further thought to the life of what we traditionally think of as a slave. Visions of overworked, underpaid people came to mind.

the county had set up the system to ensure their public defenders were overworked and underpaid, making certain they wouldn’t actually fight cases, appeal constitutional issues, and generally call them on their bullshit. Dictators don’t like naysayers.

If you tolerate disrespect, you will be disrespected. If you tolerate people being late and making you wait, people will show up late for you. If you tolerate being underpaid and overworked, that will continue for you. If you tolerate your body being overweight, tired, and perpetually sick, it will be. It’s amazing how life will organize around the standards you set for yourself.

The law school notions about the virtue of the adversarial system, of the system’s checks and balances, of the search for truth, had long since eroded like the faces of statues from other civilizations. The law was not about truth. It was about negotiation, amelioration, manipulation. I didn't deal in guilt and innocence, because everybody was guilty. Of something. But it didn't matter, because every case I took on was a house built on a foundation poured by overworked and underpaid laborers. They cut corners. They made mistakes. And then they painted over the mistakes with lies. My job was to peel away the paint and find the cracks. To work my fingers and tools into those cracks and widen them. To make them so big that either the house fell down or, failing that, my client slipped through.

…the joy you can find in being underpaid and overworked to save even the smallest part of the world

Much of the language of late capitalism imagines workplaces as bodies in virtually every way except as a group of overworked or underpaid ones.

Black women know better than anyone that as a group they face significant challenges. As individuals, many Black women are struggling. More than a quarter of African American women are poor, making them twice as likely as White women to be living in poverty.47 Black women suffer from high rates of heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes.48 In a society that benefits married people, they are half as likely to marry as their White counterparts.49 About 30 percent of Black women are victimized by intimate partner violence in their lifetimes.50 They are, as a whole, overworked and underpaid, earning a fraction of what White and Black men do for the same work.

I should have known, I've been an exterminator for eleven years, and I fucking hate it. Haven't always, though. The hate didn't come until a couple years in. That's always the case, isn't it? You don't see the cracks until the foundation's already set.

People who were enmeshed in that world called it, simply, “the system.” And it was really the perfect term for something so cold, complex, and ultimately impersonal. Once you were in it, you lost some part of your humanity. Your family became a file to be passed around from one harried, underpaid, overworked civil servant to another.

ALEC was an umbrella group that coordinated efforts among conservative state legislators around the nation. ALEC’s mission, and its organization, was a novel innovation. State legislatures were often seen as policy backwaters. ALEC stepped into the breach by giving much-needed resources to overworked and underpaid state lawmakers. This innovation was born of necessity in 1973, when liberal politics dominated Washington. ALEC’s founder, a religious conservative activist named Paul Weyrich, felt it would be far more effective to push policy ideas on the state level. He was right.