(no subject)
Working like a slave dog, coming in on my days off, covering for gay boys who get drunk every night and bring home other gay boys that puke all over their shit, working later than scheduled, working earlier than scheduled, always happy and smiling, greeting Pat like it's my job and fending off the fucking Fan Club with every moral fiber of my being. I get up and my bed is so comfortable and my big shirt that I stole from that boy that I had yucky sex with that night that the opossum ate my throw up is so warm and smells like clean linen. The beeping clock right by my fucking head won't stop, won't relent and I'm up, up smoking, up shooting caffeine, up like god damn morning wood. My phone is beeping, voicemail. From the Boss. "Kelly come in! Now! We're down nineteen people and the store is going to collapse and ohmygod, I think there is a black man here! Fuck! Come In Now!" So I'm skipping the smoke, the caffeine, the morning wood and I'm riding to work. There is a black man there, what do you know, and he wants to know all the different options we have for the bread he can put his egg and sausage on. What? Harry is here too? His dog Katie outside waiting patiently for the side of bacon we are going to ever so generously make her while he is offering to take me sailing, take me away, as if he were Calgon. The line grows and grows and the boss talks about my sex life in front of eight customers, laughing, yelling to the world that this chick needs dick! Offers my vagina to the cute 28 year old at the counter and I"m blushing, running, making coffee and tripping over grill tools. One, nine, twenty sandwiches down and the line starts to fade. Now the process of closing the store over the course of the next four hours begins and what? You're sending everyone home early and leaving just me and Tim? Two people for the work of five? We're slow? Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. FUCK.YOU.