A poem inspired by work.
So it's really not that bad of a job, after you nix that guy at the counter who
Picks his nose and all teh wrong interpretations of why a chick would possibly work at a videogame store.
He's asked the same question every day for 20 days-- I mean, you don't actually play, do you?
They must've hired you to add a good-looking chromosome to the mix.
Why. Yes Sir, they pay me to be a pair of talking tits in a store to entertain nice dicks like you,
because I couldn't possibly know anything about owning annoying 11-Year olds on Call of Duty four
Or know anything about upping your gamer score, or leveling your rogue to level 64.
On world of Warcraft.
at 4:37 in the morning.
I mean, Gee golly Mr. Beaver. Is your June cleaver in the kitchen bitchin' about the fact that
you won't tear your eyes away from the screen and treat her like the queen she is for putting up with a
Crazy, shining gem like you? If so, just for her
I can headshot you, too.
Now, him aside, It's really not that bad of a job if you discount the rollin' ramblers that
Run through the store with the kids knocking 50 displays on the floor, saying "No, honey, let her pick that up--
That's what she's paid for." No, miss, I'm paid not to punt your kid out my door for treating
My space like their space and not a place where business depends on the amount of respect you give me.
But, I don't mind, miss... I know you're trying to entertain your kids but I don't find it entertaining
when I'm on my knees scraping their gum and puke out of the carpet, you're yelling at them for being sick
and crying, and I'm dying a little inside because you're telling your kids I'm not educated enough
to run registers or run you out the door.
Miss, I say... I'm smart enough. I'm smart enough to take my time because maybe in the five minutes it takes to clean the
kid's clinging handprints from the windows, the itching stitch & bitch club of sex and the city soccer moms
will realise that I'm a little more human than my name tag.
I study religion and music, and I give your kids the things that make them happy while keeping a clean ship.
This is more than I can say for you.
Why the hell are you studying religion? Well, because I find myself praying to God that you'll realise
even people who work in retail are working towards something, just like people in bartending and sanitation,
and the nation's full of them.
I'm I'm working for a living later on, and I'm not holding back this game because I'm an asshole,
a half-dyke, and you're a spanish singlemother homophobe--
it's because your kid's 10.
It's Grand Theft Auto, and it's Rated "M".
No, we won't give you the price you pad for a game you played five years ago and traded in because you forgot.
No, I will not do a return for your buyer's remorse, your rent, or your pot.
No, I won't break street date if you bribe me for the game five days before its release,
And No. I don't have any motherfucking Nintendo Wiis.
But you know what really makes this an awesome, glorious job?
The guys and girls like me who actually played video games before 1993,
actually had an atari, a comodore 64, a powerpad, dreamcast, and notice the only difference
Between the clouds and the bushes in Mario is the color green.
The outcasts, gamerfreaks who treat me like the humans we are,
like the dreams we are, the leaderboard kings we are and know we're trying.
Whether it's to beat a boss, or not beat a customer,
to get a college degree or food for our family,
we're trying.
Picks his nose and all teh wrong interpretations of why a chick would possibly work at a videogame store.
He's asked the same question every day for 20 days-- I mean, you don't actually play, do you?
They must've hired you to add a good-looking chromosome to the mix.
Why. Yes Sir, they pay me to be a pair of talking tits in a store to entertain nice dicks like you,
because I couldn't possibly know anything about owning annoying 11-Year olds on Call of Duty four
Or know anything about upping your gamer score, or leveling your rogue to level 64.
On world of Warcraft.
at 4:37 in the morning.
I mean, Gee golly Mr. Beaver. Is your June cleaver in the kitchen bitchin' about the fact that
you won't tear your eyes away from the screen and treat her like the queen she is for putting up with a
Crazy, shining gem like you? If so, just for her
I can headshot you, too.
Now, him aside, It's really not that bad of a job if you discount the rollin' ramblers that
Run through the store with the kids knocking 50 displays on the floor, saying "No, honey, let her pick that up--
That's what she's paid for." No, miss, I'm paid not to punt your kid out my door for treating
My space like their space and not a place where business depends on the amount of respect you give me.
But, I don't mind, miss... I know you're trying to entertain your kids but I don't find it entertaining
when I'm on my knees scraping their gum and puke out of the carpet, you're yelling at them for being sick
and crying, and I'm dying a little inside because you're telling your kids I'm not educated enough
to run registers or run you out the door.
Miss, I say... I'm smart enough. I'm smart enough to take my time because maybe in the five minutes it takes to clean the
kid's clinging handprints from the windows, the itching stitch & bitch club of sex and the city soccer moms
will realise that I'm a little more human than my name tag.
I study religion and music, and I give your kids the things that make them happy while keeping a clean ship.
This is more than I can say for you.
Why the hell are you studying religion? Well, because I find myself praying to God that you'll realise
even people who work in retail are working towards something, just like people in bartending and sanitation,
and the nation's full of them.
I'm I'm working for a living later on, and I'm not holding back this game because I'm an asshole,
a half-dyke, and you're a spanish singlemother homophobe--
it's because your kid's 10.
It's Grand Theft Auto, and it's Rated "M".
No, we won't give you the price you pad for a game you played five years ago and traded in because you forgot.
No, I will not do a return for your buyer's remorse, your rent, or your pot.
No, I won't break street date if you bribe me for the game five days before its release,
And No. I don't have any motherfucking Nintendo Wiis.
But you know what really makes this an awesome, glorious job?
The guys and girls like me who actually played video games before 1993,
actually had an atari, a comodore 64, a powerpad, dreamcast, and notice the only difference
Between the clouds and the bushes in Mario is the color green.
The outcasts, gamerfreaks who treat me like the humans we are,
like the dreams we are, the leaderboard kings we are and know we're trying.
Whether it's to beat a boss, or not beat a customer,
to get a college degree or food for our family,
we're trying.