Real (job) talk

My real job (ha, ha. Which of my jobs is the real-est of them all?) has become significantly more stressful and competitive lately to the point that I'd really like to euthanize myself. My less-real job at the supermarket has become more stressful and competitive, too, if you subscribe to all of the organic drama going on behind the counter, which I don't. One of the cashiers today got into it with a stockboy and their dispute ended with: "Stop snitching. Snitches get stitches." "Are you threatening me?" "It ain't no threat. This is real talk." I continued reading David Foster Wallace in the corner, but I was unconsciously taking copious mental notes. Maybe I need to bring their menacing attitudes to my real job tomorrow, where the only threats are: "I'll link out to it quicker than you can," or "I hope your Firefox freezes so your entry is deleted." Why can't street justice extend itself to the information superhighway...am I right? Gonna take care of some bizness...while wearing business cahhsjjh, bitch. But, more realistically, I'll probably try not to interact with anyone and have a couple of panic attacks in the bathroom, and come back each time to a frozen Firefox window and my editor smirking at her desk.