Just call me "Beast" and give me more Doritoes

Kids, there are many places for you to work, should you desire a job, most of these places have customers and my job is no different. Customers don't tend to be the jolly folk, ohhh noo, they are usually scheming bastards that try to swindle you out of money so that your boss (God, as my boss liked to be called)can yell at you and banish you to "hell". I was formerly employed at the jolly foodstore of Droppers, and by "Jolly" I mean worst shithole this earth has ever seen. It was not a shithole because of the store itself or even the employees on my same level, but because of the man named Ray(My boss/"God" as he liked to be called) and as always the customers. Ray was not a happy man, in fact he was evil, you know, the kind of evil that crucifies puppies. I held this job for a year and a half, and by teenager standards it might as well been the second reich. Still, this man had no compassion for me even though I had been employed there for some time. Every chance he got I would be sent out to do carts in the worst weather conditions imaginable. No, I am not some pansy-ass bitch who cries when anyone tells me to do physical labor, but there some times when I draw the line. One of these times was when God sent me out to do carts, but it wasnt a pretty day, it was a day that would make lucifer cry.

God looked like this, only with a pulse laser and less piratey

I took a look outside after God assigned me to cart duty and it was pouring rain with only a few infants and baby kuala bears being drowned in the deep puddles. My observations were soon proven horribly, horribly wrong when I actually stepped outside. It was pouring rain, while about 50 degrees and with lighyning striking nearby. I dont know about you, but to me it seems stupid to wander around an empty parking lot during a large thunder storm pushing metal carts. I took one step into the road and a dove was struck by lightning in midair. I began to wonder how smart this idea of God's was, but I looked behind me and saw that God had gotten out the shotgun. So, I bolted out into the road with lightning striking next to my feet, kinda like the cowboys, in that they would yell "dance!" and shoot at a guys feet, well it was like that with me, only lightning bolts and without the "dance!". Screaming like a 6 year old girl whos face had just imploded I ran and got all the carts. I came back inside and I was asked why I was still screaming, so I stopped. Ray shot at me with the shotgun just to spite my efforts. Not really, he really didn't shoot at me with a shotgun or even a .22 rifle. I was lying to you. He shot at me with a fetus cannon.

Now, Droppers gets a large variety of customers, many are from the ghetto of Towningdown, the town where Droppers is, and many are upper class citizens from the Towningdown suberbs. The First type is the Bum

The Bum's looked like this, but you know, on fire

The Bum doesn't really know what year it is, let alone the store he just wandered into. Usually, the bums questioned me more than the other customers. Some frequently asked questions include, "Where da shitta, yo?!" or "No bacon, where bacon?" or some would simply ask, "Cow?". Their complete lack of good grammar is a common occurance in this customer class. Many times their wardrobe consisted of rags that were on fire. Really, the rags were burning. What? Don't believe me? Go to the land of burning bums and find out. Anywho, when these bums would finally wander over to the register after picking out the cheapest thing in the store, which was usually something like a single grape, they would pay with money that was so dirty it had turned black. This money was so black that it was actually sucking away light from the other colored objects around it. It was at this time that I really just wanted to let the bum take the grape and leave, but God was always staring at me from the office with a pulse laser trained on my back. He generally preferred to use the pulse laser featured in Mechwarrior 4:Vengance.

Damn you, Feceitus!

The second class of customer was the mom with about 2,683.2 children, all of whom thought that they could get what they wanted by screaming at the top of their lungs. Now, I can't help to feel sorry for this lady. She had to do food store shopping with all these children making demands. Even Jesus himself would have trouble with these families though. After a couple seconds of hearing children scream my patience would grow short. My frustration level was higher than Jimi Hendrix and many a time I was forced to yell at the lady, "That is gonna come to $206.63, ma'am". She would usually scream somthing back then hand me her credit card, and more times than not it would be covered with Hawiian punch or human feces. I would hand it back to her after I scanned it and then soak my hands in alcohol for the next few hours, to avoid contracting the dreaded feceitus I have heard about. It is a disease where you randomly turn into a giant celary stick. I know, it makes no sense to me either.

In the Third category of customer is the rich, stuck-up, old man or woman. They would boast their expensive tastes by asking me,"Show me the most absurdly expensive product you sell, I want to buy it, I'm rich, much richer than you." I would lead them over to the good ol' meat section where the pinkey toe of a monkey was on sale for $99.99, and he would proceed to buy it. Then this person would ask me, "Point me to your dog food for my poodle, it has the most expensive haircut money can buy, I'm rich." I would point him to the dog caviar, which was actually dragon eggs. That is what the company that made them called them, they were actually just your common gnome.

The Rich ones looked like this, but in color. He is wearing a monocle, so he is obviously rich.

After a year and a half of dealing with God's demands and the customers, I grew weary. The pulse laser is what really pushed me over the edge though, after about .00001386 seconds of it being fired at me it got old. So I began my quest for a new job, a job where I wasnt, you know, forced to die a laser death.

One of my friends dads decided to start the construction of a skatepark, and I ended up with a job there. This is actually probably the best job a crazy teenager, such as myself. could have. Well that is other than being a video game tester or a rocket car driver. What I do is hang out, talk to people, operate the cash register, rent out equipment or check tickets. Now if you skate, go to Boarderline. Now. Do it or I will have Ray(God) come after you with his pulse laser. I am serious. Really. Now that we have that cleared up, this jive place has many types of people meander on in. There are two types who I really dislike. Both of them dislike me, probably because of my hair being spikier than thier hair. Everyone wants spikey hair, everyone with out exception.

He is cool because he can skate while cursing loudly and he can wear witty shirts! Just look at this winner!

The first type of kid I dont like is a cool cat who really doesnt like anything, especially skateboarding. In fact, he hates skateboarding. I really don't understand why he still skates, but he does. A spectator may think that this skater's board has done somthing to physically wound him, and that would explain why he is throwing it at things and screaming curses at the top of his lungs. Chicks dig this though, because whenever he walks out of the park there is a girl waiting for him. He is the obvious example of what every male should do to get a girlfriend.

Step 1: Throw your skateboard at things, if you don't have one go to your nearest skateshop and purchase the most expensive one there

Step 2: Scream loudly

Step 3: Wear shirts with cool catch phrazes, such as,"You should hear the names the voices in my head are calling you" or "I am a depressed teenager, therefore society is wrong, I hate you"

They wear shirts like that so girls will like them, and it has worked so far, I think.

The second type of skater whom I dislike is that one freak who keeps coming over to the register to say things to me. I really don't mind people talking to me, in fact, I like it. But the things this winner talks about are just stupifying. Some common topics include, Making skateboards out of chairs, about how he works at Toys R Us, his red hair, all the girls he never dated, all the drugs he does(because drugs are cool to boast about, always) and sometimes he would actually walk up to me while eating his skateboard. Yes, he eats his wooden skatboard. It makes me think that Boarderline is in need of a pizza shop or somthing so that the skaters aren't forced to eat their own skateboards.

To conclude this update, Kids, jobs are not always good and some jobs suck ass. Sometimes at jobs pulse lasers are fired at you, sometimes you have to dance around lightning, sometimes bosses like to be referred to as "God", sometimes kids eat skateboards and sometimes customers are assholes. Only sometimes though. Everyone knows that not all customers are assholes, especially old men. Hell we are all customers of some sort, and we arent assholes are we? Cause I am sure not an asshole, I can tell you that much. Have a beast of a day you beastly beasts.