ElZacho
02-17-2003, 01:54 AM
Typed elsewhere. I usually don't do this, but this tturned out really funny.
It started like any other day, that is, I woke up to my loud-ass alarm clock and stumbled my way into the bathroom to try not to fall asleep in the shower.
I got to work at eleven, more specifically, I drove to work and arrived at eleven, go me. When I got there, customers were already waiting to get in. Fuck you customers.
The work day started all right, some dude bought children's size 5 boots cause his feet are mad small. Then I had to help some chick buying clothes for her kids in the big and tall section. She would whisper every other sentence, like if she didn't some goons would come from out of nowhere and strangle her for making too much noise. She said stupid shit for like an hour, such as "This shirt doesn't look like a 2X," or "My kids wear XL, but these will shrink." Well, genius, the clothes your kids are wearing now have already shrunk, get the same damn size.
THEN some guy was trying on coveralls, because "My buddy has them and they look cool." Newsflash: They look God-awful. Blind people wouldn't be caught dead wearing them. He asked, "what does this 44 mean?" "Thats the size," I informed him. "What? Waist size?" "No, these go by chest size." He tries a few on, and comes back "You know I think you're right, they do go by the height of your chest." What? Is that what I said? No it isn't because that's just fucking retarded. Do you think your chest is four feet tall? It's circumfrence I told him, but he did not believe, after all, I just fucking work here.
At that point, I checked the clock, I still had around five and a half hours to go. I considered stabbing my eyes out, but decided against it, because I'm so beautiful.
Then somebody comes in with a gas mask we sold her. We only sell the damn things for Halloween costumes. "Can you guarantee me that this will save my life?" I replied "No, I will however, guarantee that it will not help you whatsoever." The thing we hate most at Bill's, more than Nazis, more than anything, is poeple asking for gas masks. THEY WILL NOT HELP YOU. Chemical/nuclear attack, you're either dead or dying, the mask won't buy you one more minute.
Then, after my time had been sufficiently wasted, I was stuck on register duty. Good God what a pain in the ass. As soon as I get up there a line forms. Lines are the most annoying shit ever.
"Your total is $99.99 sir."
"That jacket is supposed to be on sale! Fifty percent off!"
"Yeah, it's $99.99."
"But, it was supposed to be on sale!"
"Sir, look at the tag, the MSRP for this jacket is $324.99, your total is $99.99."
"Oh."
As I'm at the register, registering it up, some dude came up, and seemingly, could not control the volume of his voice. When he asked (bellowed) "Do you take Mastercard!?" it echoed like thunder in my skull. Chill out dude, we take Mastercard. Then some other dude only had a Discover card, an fucking DISCOVER card! Nobody takes Discover! Not even banks! Don't get all mad at me cause your dumbass could only get one credit card and decided to put all your eggs in the basket that nobody accepts.
Then some old ass lady asked if she could open some long underwear so her daughter could try them on. I informed her that we can't sell open underwear, and nobody will buy open underwear, so tough shit. She said that she didn't know what size her daughter is. Don't you have other clothes? Clothes with labels that irritate your neck and have a big fucking, seemingly irrelevant number printed on them? So then she buys one pair to try them on, and is all snappy at me, I didn't actually say "tough shit" by the way, and I'm like "I don't care if your mad, that's the rule." Bitch.
Then some familiar faces came in. I saw Matt Jones and the lady that interviewed me for Cornell. I was going to say hi to her and bring up the interview, but I couldn't figure out how. "Finished with those renovations yet?" Naw, that's just dumb. Then I got scared, because I had just seen "The Recruit" and I thought that it might some weird Ivy-league test of my memory and character, but if she wasn't saying hi, neither was I.
Finally, break-time. I got my jacket on, my white jacket that gets dirty real easily especially when people knock it off my chair and step on it in school, bastids. So I walk up to the glasses store: my glasses case had broken the night before. I told the girl that I needed a new case and said that I had gotten my glasses there. She gave me a case for a dollar. SCORE! I then had some breaktime to kill, so I farther braved the icy tundra of Morris ave to Bagels-4-U, they were closed. Dammit. I now had to make a choice, a choice that would effect deeply my soul, and my stomach. I could either brave the tundra even farther in hopes of reaching the sanctuary of Wendy's or head back, stopping for coke and chips at the liqour store. Not being one for giving up, I trudged forward.
When I breached the warm doors of Wendy's I could see I was seventh in line. Son of a bitch. There were like three people working the Wendy's one was old and one had like an impulse control problem. After waiting for a while, I got my nuggets and hurried my ass back to Bill's. After getting to Bill's with around fifty seconds to spare, I realized I had lost feeling in the hand I was carrying my coke in. Awesome.
After eating the nuggets and drinking the coke, it was back to work, golly. The last two hours were okay, except I had to clean the floor. And nobody would leave. It was to the point where I had a plan that if people didn't start leaving soon, I would just go around, breaking peoples' necks. Finally my boss, the most passive guy ever, told everyone to get out, because his redneck ass wanted to get home to watch the rest of the Daytona 500. All was cool, except while we were counting the money, I was fucking around with my friend, and I made like I was going to punch him, hook him real good. I wasn't going to hit him really, I did however, hit a wooden rack. Man, I fucked that rack up, but apparently, wood is like "stronger than skin" or some shit. So now my hand's all split open at my first and second knuckles. And I don't know if you guys have ever stood for six hours, but try it, it makes you feel good, just like the way putting your dick in a vice does. Shitty end to a shitty day.
<P ID="signature"><img src=http://www.geocities.com/droyd14/v1.txt></P>
It started like any other day, that is, I woke up to my loud-ass alarm clock and stumbled my way into the bathroom to try not to fall asleep in the shower.
I got to work at eleven, more specifically, I drove to work and arrived at eleven, go me. When I got there, customers were already waiting to get in. Fuck you customers.
The work day started all right, some dude bought children's size 5 boots cause his feet are mad small. Then I had to help some chick buying clothes for her kids in the big and tall section. She would whisper every other sentence, like if she didn't some goons would come from out of nowhere and strangle her for making too much noise. She said stupid shit for like an hour, such as "This shirt doesn't look like a 2X," or "My kids wear XL, but these will shrink." Well, genius, the clothes your kids are wearing now have already shrunk, get the same damn size.
THEN some guy was trying on coveralls, because "My buddy has them and they look cool." Newsflash: They look God-awful. Blind people wouldn't be caught dead wearing them. He asked, "what does this 44 mean?" "Thats the size," I informed him. "What? Waist size?" "No, these go by chest size." He tries a few on, and comes back "You know I think you're right, they do go by the height of your chest." What? Is that what I said? No it isn't because that's just fucking retarded. Do you think your chest is four feet tall? It's circumfrence I told him, but he did not believe, after all, I just fucking work here.
At that point, I checked the clock, I still had around five and a half hours to go. I considered stabbing my eyes out, but decided against it, because I'm so beautiful.
Then somebody comes in with a gas mask we sold her. We only sell the damn things for Halloween costumes. "Can you guarantee me that this will save my life?" I replied "No, I will however, guarantee that it will not help you whatsoever." The thing we hate most at Bill's, more than Nazis, more than anything, is poeple asking for gas masks. THEY WILL NOT HELP YOU. Chemical/nuclear attack, you're either dead or dying, the mask won't buy you one more minute.
Then, after my time had been sufficiently wasted, I was stuck on register duty. Good God what a pain in the ass. As soon as I get up there a line forms. Lines are the most annoying shit ever.
"Your total is $99.99 sir."
"That jacket is supposed to be on sale! Fifty percent off!"
"Yeah, it's $99.99."
"But, it was supposed to be on sale!"
"Sir, look at the tag, the MSRP for this jacket is $324.99, your total is $99.99."
"Oh."
As I'm at the register, registering it up, some dude came up, and seemingly, could not control the volume of his voice. When he asked (bellowed) "Do you take Mastercard!?" it echoed like thunder in my skull. Chill out dude, we take Mastercard. Then some other dude only had a Discover card, an fucking DISCOVER card! Nobody takes Discover! Not even banks! Don't get all mad at me cause your dumbass could only get one credit card and decided to put all your eggs in the basket that nobody accepts.
Then some old ass lady asked if she could open some long underwear so her daughter could try them on. I informed her that we can't sell open underwear, and nobody will buy open underwear, so tough shit. She said that she didn't know what size her daughter is. Don't you have other clothes? Clothes with labels that irritate your neck and have a big fucking, seemingly irrelevant number printed on them? So then she buys one pair to try them on, and is all snappy at me, I didn't actually say "tough shit" by the way, and I'm like "I don't care if your mad, that's the rule." Bitch.
Then some familiar faces came in. I saw Matt Jones and the lady that interviewed me for Cornell. I was going to say hi to her and bring up the interview, but I couldn't figure out how. "Finished with those renovations yet?" Naw, that's just dumb. Then I got scared, because I had just seen "The Recruit" and I thought that it might some weird Ivy-league test of my memory and character, but if she wasn't saying hi, neither was I.
Finally, break-time. I got my jacket on, my white jacket that gets dirty real easily especially when people knock it off my chair and step on it in school, bastids. So I walk up to the glasses store: my glasses case had broken the night before. I told the girl that I needed a new case and said that I had gotten my glasses there. She gave me a case for a dollar. SCORE! I then had some breaktime to kill, so I farther braved the icy tundra of Morris ave to Bagels-4-U, they were closed. Dammit. I now had to make a choice, a choice that would effect deeply my soul, and my stomach. I could either brave the tundra even farther in hopes of reaching the sanctuary of Wendy's or head back, stopping for coke and chips at the liqour store. Not being one for giving up, I trudged forward.
When I breached the warm doors of Wendy's I could see I was seventh in line. Son of a bitch. There were like three people working the Wendy's one was old and one had like an impulse control problem. After waiting for a while, I got my nuggets and hurried my ass back to Bill's. After getting to Bill's with around fifty seconds to spare, I realized I had lost feeling in the hand I was carrying my coke in. Awesome.
After eating the nuggets and drinking the coke, it was back to work, golly. The last two hours were okay, except I had to clean the floor. And nobody would leave. It was to the point where I had a plan that if people didn't start leaving soon, I would just go around, breaking peoples' necks. Finally my boss, the most passive guy ever, told everyone to get out, because his redneck ass wanted to get home to watch the rest of the Daytona 500. All was cool, except while we were counting the money, I was fucking around with my friend, and I made like I was going to punch him, hook him real good. I wasn't going to hit him really, I did however, hit a wooden rack. Man, I fucked that rack up, but apparently, wood is like "stronger than skin" or some shit. So now my hand's all split open at my first and second knuckles. And I don't know if you guys have ever stood for six hours, but try it, it makes you feel good, just like the way putting your dick in a vice does. Shitty end to a shitty day.
<P ID="signature"><img src=http://www.geocities.com/droyd14/v1.txt></P>