Holy shit. The signs that I need to quit my job are accumulating faster than the ants under the desk I'm sitting at right now. Which is FAST. Today one of those white guys with a shaved head came in. I won't call him a skinhead because, while the term is literally correct, I have no evidence of the racism implied therein. However, men of this description are always plainly dysfunctional if you take time to notice, which I had the misfortune of doing.
The man in question, while I learned his name, shall henceforth be referred to "Shitfucker." Shitfucker was looking at merchandise in my work and asked if he could get a 10% discount, which was his first intrusion on my psychological well-being. I declined, as is store policy, and he claimed that all the other employees did it, which is a lie, because we know that we're on camera and would get fired. Moving on, he was debating between two pieces of glass that were marketed as tobacco smoking accessories. I pointed out that one of them did not come with an attachment that it was displayed with, and he began ranting very heatedly and asking me why I put it there. I claimed that I didn't, which was true, it was in the display like that to begin with. He grabbed the other one and walked for the register while telling me I couldn't do that and so-on and so-forth. I sarcastically thanked him for his lesson, to which he cussed me out, to which I responded with even more sarcasm, "No, really. I really learned a lot from your visit today. Thank you." He began screaming fuck this and fuck that and above all, fuck me, before asking me if I wanted to "take it outside." I did not, though it was tempting. He was very large and angry and probably would have won in a fight, but I have a pocket knife so I could have really sneakily stabbed him or something. This went on longer than it needed to but I managed to diffuse his rabid confusion with my soothing voice. I wish I had torn his heart out though, put it in the middle of the sidewalk, taken a shit on it, then pitched a flag displaying my image in the pile of bloody tissue and feces so that all other customers would have a warning of impending dismemberment followed by a post-mortem hot carl on the condition of my discomfort. I didn't think of that until a few minutes later though. If I remember, maybe I'll do that next time.
Today I had the "privilege" or working April 20th in a headshop. Like, 4/20. The stoner holiday. Not only did I have the pleasure of selling blunt wraps to every burnout in the Greater Eugene area, which is a lot, but my boss managed to find a couple of things to get pissed at me over, cementing this Thursday as sub-par forever and ever. I also found out that even though there's only ONE employee that's been with the company as long as me, there are only TWO that make less than me. Essentially, there's a staff of 8, I trained 6 of them, and 5 of them make more than me. So I'm going to cut back on giving a shit about the job, because that's clearly not a wise expenditure of my very limited "caring about things" budget. Now I'ma start start caring about beer. Riotworthy Ale, mother fucker. Drink it everyday to stay strong. The bottle will have a picture of me with lots of muscles and scars and maybe an eye patch, I haven't decided yet. Since my hard work goes unnoticed, I'm thinking my not hard work also well. Now I'm just going to pace back and forth with a bottle of windex to look busy. At most. I don't give a shit. Shut up and give me money. Everybody. Buy my beer or die.
Ok. Here's a pile of updates, and they're all late. Leave me alone. Went to Seattle a couple weekends ago. Nothing too eventful. Drank the entire time. Marched with 15,000 Mexican Americans because we were in the right place at the right time. Our host's roommate came home one night to find me fornicating in his driveway and JW drunkenly drilling into his dinner table with an electric drill. He had never met either of us before. Riotworthy representing hard.
A night later, we get a sweet-ass hotel. It was strange and apparently catered mostly to hospital patients of some sort. The binder that has nearby sites and attractions listed more clinics than it did bars or restaurants. The room was inexpensive for two stories with a full kitchen, but both the desk and front door managed to break themselves over my body when I had coincidentally consumed too much liquor. We decided that the broken portion of the desk would go unnoticed if removed from the room, so the plan was to sneak it out and leave the majority of the desk, which was unbroken, in place. Then JW drank more and threw it out the window to see if he could get it stuck in a tree. It bypassed the tree and found it's way to the sidewalk.
After three days of this, there was a long car ride home. I lost my wallet so now my girlfriend has to buy me beer because I have no ID and I feel immasculated.March, 2006