The Working Life

"Hurry the hell up and decide what you want, boy! I'm supposed to meat Earl to go shoot turtles!"

As many (all) of you know, I have recently taken a job down at everyone's favorite ice-cream distributor, The Dairy Queen! We take pride in the quality serving out of our ice-cream related products (ice-cream cones, blizzards, hotdogs, ect.) and will do anything so that you, the customer, will be more satisfied.

Of course something I've noticed is that the vast majority of you (customers) are the lowliest forms of human life to ever graze reality! However, each one of these monstrous sub-humans fits into a different category of horrible freak.

Abusive Parent

These are the white trash kind of people that always seem to frequent the glistening cream-soaked tiles of the DQ floor in the middle of the afternoon, just when I feel like not working! These horrible rednecks are more often than not accompanied by at least one small child, each one more sad and pathetic looking than the last. The pair will come up to the register, at which point the parent will hunch down and yell in the kid's face to tell them what it is that they want. For some reason or another, they find it absolutely imperative that the kid decide on what they want to eat in 3 seconds or less. Failure to do so will result in embarrassing shouting on the parent's part, and the kid becoming even more and more quiet and afraid of the world. Once the poor child has finally decided something, and repeated it to me in the softest voice possible nearly 78 times, the parent will make some pathetic attempt at a joke, and let out an incredible howl of laughter at their own humor. Naturally, these are my favorite customers!

This supports my theory that we should just launch old people into space with the trash and nuclear waste.

Senile Old people ordering to feed their family of 9000

Every so often a woman who looks to be about 7 million will hobble on up to the register, and over about 40 minutes will manage to stutter out an order for enough food to feed a small solar system. My theory on these people is that they're not really people at all, but some sort of horrible screeching insect-like creature from another planet much like those seen in Men in Black or ET: The Extra Terrestrial. They NEED this sugar to feed their brood, in preparation for the swarming of earth. However, their plan must not be working out too well, cause every night these people keep coming back for more!

Goth-con 2002!

"Despair!!! We're full of suburban teen-angst and we want the world to know it! No one understands us except for other 8th graders who wear Nine inch Nails t-shirts! All hail the dark lord Nosferat! The revolution is coming, and your god won't be able to save you! And I want a small vanilla cone dipped in chocolate with rainbow jimmies. Mind if I pay with a 5, my mom's taking me to the mall soon." I just love when a whole troupe of these feisty little kids come sweating into the store (it's 89 degrees out and they're wearing long black sweatshirts and alike).

Yeah, okay.

And these are just three of the kinds of people I need to deal with on a daily basis. And then, after going through all of this, I need to share the bus with four 7th graders taking their skateboards to the mall (one kid managed to take up 4 seats between him and his board. I'm not kidding.) talking about the mad new moves they pulled on Tony Hawk's pro-skater 2. Never get a job kids. It's just not worth it.