(no subject)
sometimes i get these insane urges.
irrational urges that just drive me over the edge.
i'm mopping the floor of the bird room. dancing to the beat of parakeets chirping their brains out of those miniature cute heads of theirs. doves cooing at each other. this one really sexy dove trying to seduce this other dove who just won't seem to have him because there is no nest box in that cage. sorry buddy. no one can see us in that glass box of a room. i mop myself into an island of dry floor. my solitude. my escape from the crazy mechanic routine of that job. my island of dirty floor.
i think i mentioned that my job is rather... (i know i go over board with the use of this stupid word) perfunctory. very systematic. most of my job requires just plain old manual labor because in the eyes of my employer i'm still a beginner. that means i can't use the register. normally i might be a little offended by their lack of trust in me but i'm actually a little relieved. my assignments usually have little to no consequences attached. mainly, i guess, because money is complicated and dealing with it often leads to problems. i guess the only two problems i have to worry about are breaking stuff and customer service. often times my brain is else where, brooding over events long past. or those still occurring, or whatever. sometimes i imagine i'm stuck in a sitcome. a very corny family one. maybe something along the lines of step by step or full house. the jokes are very "chuckle-licious" and forced. stuff a good, hearty christian family would enjoy. only, i taint it with my under-sexed adamly perversions. every joke relating to inappropriate sexual mannerisms or fecal matter. poopie.
every time i think of a fantasy, some made up event, i always end up the stupid one. completely oblivious to social behavioral norms and devoid of common sense, i stagger throughout the store causing various problems and stupid mishaps that only a complete retard could do.
i remember my first day with ben, my mentor. my version of my first day has been completely overshadowed and almost erased by my flamboyant mind theatrics:
adam: hi ya ben, how's it going.
ben: adam, i'm with a customer do you think you can come back later?
adam: oh, right. sure thing. *still lingers at the front counter looking around casually*
*ben glances at me briefly and then continues his conversation with the customer*
adam: *hums out of tune*
ben: *continues with the agitated customer* goldfish tend to be a little more territorial when it comes to smaller tanks...
adam: *now singing out loud, i look around the store casually completely at ease and unaware of my obtrusive voice*
ben: *grits teeth* goldfish also tend to be pretty dirty. you have to manage the amount you feed them otherwise they'll produce more waste...
adam: *starts clicking tongue and whistling, still looking around, still unmindful of the ben at work*
ben: adam, be quiet.
adam: sorry. *notices male fighting fish in betta bowl at the counter and starts to badly impersonate an italian mobster* hey, whatchoo lookin' at?! eh? whatchoo lookin' at?
ben: *ignoring me, but still slightly irritated* we ahve a cheaper version of that filter over here...
adam: whatchoo lookin' at?! hey ben, you see this? check it out...whatchoo lookin' at?! i'm a fucking mob man! *customer is shocked by the vulgar word* haha, look ben! ben?! hey BEN, you looking? whatchoo lookin' at? hehe, didja see ben?
ben: adam, jesus, i'm with a goddamn customer now, why don't you get back to work? there's plenty of stuff to do around here.
adam: *puts up hands defensively* whoa, hey, no prob bob. *makes as if to walk away but stops and turns suddenly as if remembering something* oh, right. hey, i just wanted to know...uh, where does this 3 lb. bag of human feces go?
ben: wait, what?
adam: three pound bag? human feces? i found it over their on the floor by the dog collars. so, should ,uh, this go in or outside of the fish tanks?
*suggestively weighs the brown bag of poop, the lower have of the bag stained dirty brown from hours of neglect*
ben: *now ignoring his flabbergasted customer shying away from the smell* where the hell did you get that?! that's not even supposed to be in the store.
adam: so i take it you want it in the fish tank? that's cool with me...
ben: no! jesus, no! put that in the trash, no wait, better yet, flush it down the freakin' toilet!
adam: wha...? *looks incredulously at ben* but it was in the dog section! this is perfectly good poop! you just want me too...too throw it away?! i just...
ben: jesus adam, get that the hell out of here!
adam: *now hurt* pssssssh. hey, you know what...no, i'm not even gonna waste my fucking breath. just remember, it's your ass mrs. barbara's gonna have for this and not mine. *storms off towards the fish section*
ben: *apologizes profusely to the customer already hurriedly making her way out the door* no, wait, i'm...*door slams shut*
ben: *sighs*
adam: *saunters up again, hands covered in smelly shit* so i cut up that bag of my poo and divided it amongst the fish tanks along with some clorox bleach. *holds up bleach container clearly marked "do not put this any where near fish"* oh, and the fish all died. now what do i do?
announcer: oh, he's gone and done it again! *canned laughter*
*pause and credits, canned applause*
irrational urges that just drive me over the edge.
i'm mopping the floor of the bird room. dancing to the beat of parakeets chirping their brains out of those miniature cute heads of theirs. doves cooing at each other. this one really sexy dove trying to seduce this other dove who just won't seem to have him because there is no nest box in that cage. sorry buddy. no one can see us in that glass box of a room. i mop myself into an island of dry floor. my solitude. my escape from the crazy mechanic routine of that job. my island of dirty floor.
i think i mentioned that my job is rather... (i know i go over board with the use of this stupid word) perfunctory. very systematic. most of my job requires just plain old manual labor because in the eyes of my employer i'm still a beginner. that means i can't use the register. normally i might be a little offended by their lack of trust in me but i'm actually a little relieved. my assignments usually have little to no consequences attached. mainly, i guess, because money is complicated and dealing with it often leads to problems. i guess the only two problems i have to worry about are breaking stuff and customer service. often times my brain is else where, brooding over events long past. or those still occurring, or whatever. sometimes i imagine i'm stuck in a sitcome. a very corny family one. maybe something along the lines of step by step or full house. the jokes are very "chuckle-licious" and forced. stuff a good, hearty christian family would enjoy. only, i taint it with my under-sexed adamly perversions. every joke relating to inappropriate sexual mannerisms or fecal matter. poopie.
every time i think of a fantasy, some made up event, i always end up the stupid one. completely oblivious to social behavioral norms and devoid of common sense, i stagger throughout the store causing various problems and stupid mishaps that only a complete retard could do.
i remember my first day with ben, my mentor. my version of my first day has been completely overshadowed and almost erased by my flamboyant mind theatrics:
adam: hi ya ben, how's it going.
ben: adam, i'm with a customer do you think you can come back later?
adam: oh, right. sure thing. *still lingers at the front counter looking around casually*
*ben glances at me briefly and then continues his conversation with the customer*
adam: *hums out of tune*
ben: *continues with the agitated customer* goldfish tend to be a little more territorial when it comes to smaller tanks...
adam: *now singing out loud, i look around the store casually completely at ease and unaware of my obtrusive voice*
ben: *grits teeth* goldfish also tend to be pretty dirty. you have to manage the amount you feed them otherwise they'll produce more waste...
adam: *starts clicking tongue and whistling, still looking around, still unmindful of the ben at work*
ben: adam, be quiet.
adam: sorry. *notices male fighting fish in betta bowl at the counter and starts to badly impersonate an italian mobster* hey, whatchoo lookin' at?! eh? whatchoo lookin' at?
ben: *ignoring me, but still slightly irritated* we ahve a cheaper version of that filter over here...
adam: whatchoo lookin' at?! hey ben, you see this? check it out...whatchoo lookin' at?! i'm a fucking mob man! *customer is shocked by the vulgar word* haha, look ben! ben?! hey BEN, you looking? whatchoo lookin' at? hehe, didja see ben?
ben: adam, jesus, i'm with a goddamn customer now, why don't you get back to work? there's plenty of stuff to do around here.
adam: *puts up hands defensively* whoa, hey, no prob bob. *makes as if to walk away but stops and turns suddenly as if remembering something* oh, right. hey, i just wanted to know...uh, where does this 3 lb. bag of human feces go?
ben: wait, what?
adam: three pound bag? human feces? i found it over their on the floor by the dog collars. so, should ,uh, this go in or outside of the fish tanks?
*suggestively weighs the brown bag of poop, the lower have of the bag stained dirty brown from hours of neglect*
ben: *now ignoring his flabbergasted customer shying away from the smell* where the hell did you get that?! that's not even supposed to be in the store.
adam: so i take it you want it in the fish tank? that's cool with me...
ben: no! jesus, no! put that in the trash, no wait, better yet, flush it down the freakin' toilet!
adam: wha...? *looks incredulously at ben* but it was in the dog section! this is perfectly good poop! you just want me too...too throw it away?! i just...
ben: jesus adam, get that the hell out of here!
adam: *now hurt* pssssssh. hey, you know what...no, i'm not even gonna waste my fucking breath. just remember, it's your ass mrs. barbara's gonna have for this and not mine. *storms off towards the fish section*
ben: *apologizes profusely to the customer already hurriedly making her way out the door* no, wait, i'm...*door slams shut*
ben: *sighs*
adam: *saunters up again, hands covered in smelly shit* so i cut up that bag of my poo and divided it amongst the fish tanks along with some clorox bleach. *holds up bleach container clearly marked "do not put this any where near fish"* oh, and the fish all died. now what do i do?
announcer: oh, he's gone and done it again! *canned laughter*
*pause and credits, canned applause*