#shitshop

[taffidaunicorne]

i made an edit of blackquill without his coat! it’s a little messy in some spots but i hope his presence is enjoyed nonetheless.

[taffidaunicorne]

i made this with the purpose of ruining someone’s day, and am posting it here to brighten someone’s day. happy december! <3

[furryfeline]

Didn't get post because we have been just too busy! Here at @newyorkcomiccon Booth 1579. Bigger and better than ever! . . . . #furryfelinecreatives #purridgeandfriends #iheartpoopculture #shitshop #shitstore #originalcharacters #originalart #poopstore #poopculture #newyorkcomiccon #nycc2021 #nycc #nycc21 #lifestylebrand #streetwear #designertoys #art #arttoys #clothing #apparel #tshirt #tees #ootd #streetstyle (at New York Comic Con) https://www.instagram.com/p/CUvj4toLMrK/?utm_medium=tumblr

[jash-94]

Das ist Geil 👌

[eyeluvly]

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GHETTO • DAY • #OOTD @independentrunway @indrnwy #werk #fridaylook 🎩 gratis @dancepass 👓 #aldo 👕 gratis @Israel_david 👖 gratis #AE 👞 #Timberland #chocolateandgold #earrings gratis @leehna #justallowmetocreatepleasedeargodwhereeveryouwantme #amen #shoutoutmyplug @jaejoseph #missumuch #butloveitwheniseeyou #sweatshirt made by @shitshop #shitshop #flipagram made with @flipagram ♫ Music: #DoOrDie f. #Twista - #PoPimp #LIKEIFYOUKNOWTHISSONG #iwasinmiddleschoolwhenthiscameout! #yesimthatold #wheremy80sBabies #70sBabiesShouldTurnup

[friction-coefficient]

Softly saying hello

I am under attack at the shitshop for the way I say hello. Swiss culture requires us, when we enter the villa each morning, to call hello to our soldiers-in-arms, and it has come to the notice of the partners that I am not saying this loudly enough.

"You're just not assertive enough," one of them says. "Call out in ringing tones! Don't be afraid to take up space - you don't have enough self-confidence!"

The idea that I might need assertiveness coaching is ridiculous, hyena-laughable. But it's hard to argue back: what they are seeing is half the result of the hyperacusis - I shy back from the zh of bonjour, and from the high, tunnelling ou that follows - and half the result of embarrassment: I do not usually make it in until nine or so, late by Swiss standards, but just (I judge) on the near side of acceptable.

I know I ought to set two alarm clocks: that, if nothing else, would ensure I get up in time. As it is, rising is hazardous. I need to negotiate the path from my bedroom to the shower, and, while this is hazardous if I do it without holding onto everything (because the sleep I do manage is not restful, and I wake to a room that swims and lurches around me), it is equally perilous if I hold onto something or pause. The worst outcome is that I will drop to my knees in exhaustion, and then to my hands and knees: it is a stable position, and I can sway like this almost indefinitely, unable to get up.

From then on, I entwine myself in an ever-more elaborate net of workarounds. Each morning, I open the front door, see the Persian carpet on the stairs rising up at me, and, as I have been doing all along, squinch my eyes shut so it cannot turn three-dimensional and thrust itself out at me. And then, eyes mostly closed, I call bonjOUr - rapidly, defensively, and by no means loudly. It is the best I can do.

[friction-coefficient]

Seminars with the shitshop

Client contact was my truest skill, and, when I start at the shitshop, it becomes clear that there are four paths to it: assisting in one-day assessment centres, coaching, working on mini-projects and giving seminars.

The head partner, Felipe, takes me to a couple of seminars, where I help a little in setting up and then sit along the long side-table, gripping the edge, and trying not to flinch or to close my eyes as the day bears in on me. I hang on, through the gnash of colour and sound, and the day begins to pulse with the ache corkscrewing behind my temples.

But I am not so far gone that I do not take in what is being said: indeed, writing notes in order to keep myself awake, I retain more than I would if I just let lamotrigine's magic eraser wipe my working memory at short intervals. Felipe's presentation is unlike anything I have ever heard: long, discursive and anecdotal, it consists of a scatter of vignettes linked with the force of Felipe's own charisma and authority.

You can't sell them that! I think. I am floored, and, though I am not yet as dismissive as I will become, I cannot believe his audience, middle managers from a medium-sized Swiss company, are getting value from what they hear.

How often does a child try to tie its shoelaces in a bow before it succeeds? Felipe asks. How often? Over three hundred times, ladies and gentlemen! And if a child can persevere like that, then we adults have it in us as well.

But that doesn't follow, I think automatically. It's the wrong conclusion to draw: I should be thinking, wtf? What the hell am I doing here?. I have been trained, ruthlessly and intensively, to present information in a certain way. With the effectiveness that only comes when a project leader rips up your work after midnight, night after night, I have learned to structure findings. And I have learned what count as findings, what count as conclusions: in the intensely data-driven atmosphere in which I have spent the last five years, it would not take very many nights of ripping-up before you knew not to pretend that, just because a child could do something, an adult could do it too.

I am astonished; very soon, I will be derisive. But I am looking down the wrong end of the telescope: instead of saying to myself, I have to keep this job because it means I can keep my health insurance and my access to Swiss medicine, I should be thinking, What the hell am I doing here?