Tiny cuts to the chase while on the last of a pack and a gallon of coffee.
Once upon a time, in some out of the way corner of that universe which is dispersed into numberless twinkling solar systems, there was a star upon which clever beasts invented knowing.
Nietzsche! I knew there was a reason why I kept Norma around, and it's certainly not for fuckfodder. Cleverest little holiday present ever, and it wasn't even a Birthmas present. I'd say "I should give her a raise," but she's the woman who makes payroll, so I don't even get to touch that shit.
Speak of the devil: not even looking forward to hiring another clerk. Last one was an insipid bitch. They all seem so nice initially, when they step into the store; they're coming with money and they're feeding me tonight with that little desire in their hearts to buy Noro Silk Garden and Plymoth's Galway Worsted for their little Knitty tams, but then you find out that they don't know how to sort the stock numerically by dye lot as well as hue alphabetization and you have to kick them to the curb. Don't even tell me it's not useful either, twit; do you know how many stores make you look through dyelot groups? What if you were making a sweater, what about that? You can't shove it in willy-nilly! That means they'll start rooting through my shelves and messing the entire place, and I can't have that. There is no mess in the Pond. It, for lack of a better phrase, hashes my fucking mellow.
Of course, this means back to the drawing board. Hiring board? What the hell: hiring board. At least I have the fond memories of flinging peanuts and talking about Rose Bloom's diseased clit last night. It'll make the flood of job applicants all the better to stomach. Oh, that comes back to the quote: where the hell does the Atheneum find these people? I'm surrounded by fucking psychopaths, and while some of this entire "I'm in your courier system, mailing your fake guts" bullshit's creepy, most of this has totally reminded me why I decided to live in New York versus somewhere infinitely more pussy, like Chicago or Hackensack. Clever beasts inventing knowing indeed.
COME ONE, COME ALL, YE MISERABLE, UNEMPLOYED WRETCHES: The Frogging Pond on Bedford's looking for a day stocker/clerk/cafe service employee. Look us up in the fucking phone book if you want the job that bad; if you guys are so lazy that you will only call or get the address from Compendium, you're not the sort I want as my minion. There's one spot open, so quick quick.