Service Champion
Service Champion
As I clutch the few quarters left in my pocket, thinking of how it will make my hand smell metallic, I wonder why I'm so nervous that I can't stop playing with the filthy currency. I suppose it's a feeble attempt at taking my mind off the need to peddle brain cancer out to New Kent bumpkins and credit-deficient thugs via motorola w315s and T-mobile Sidekick III's. As I sit here, feeling my ass grow numb from the stiffness of the stool on which I perch, I wonder if the mentally handicapped woman refilling drinks at the Taco Bell isn't just a bit happier than I am. Her obviously unnoticed and untreated facial hair indicates that she is, in fact, ignorant of certain social expectations, and standing by what I now accept to be a reality spanning truism her "ignorance is bliss". I can also logically assume that her superiors are angry at her for being so stupid as to be happy, since they obviously mask their disdain with mock-sympathy. I know they feel mock sympathy for her because her name tag does not indicate her true station which is "Drink Technician" or "Beverage Assistant". What the joy-hating powers that be at Taco Bell had the sarcastic audacity to list her as for the whole world to see was "Service Champion". This clearly venomous, over-the-top moniker reminds me of the hatefully facetious sign they reportedly hung over Christ when he was crucified. The sign read "King of The Jews".
It seems that us, the relatively normal faction of society that hold "respectable" positions, are so disgusted by anyone who would have the gaul to come along and be happy for no reason that we have consistently throughout time managed to try and shoot these individuals down with a hail of red hot sarcasm.From Jesus Christ to the retarded lady at Taco Bell, belly aching salespeople and "young professionals" have always teamed-up with jaded old money grubbers to annihilate the joyful an idyllic of the world.
The worst part about this observation is that it doesn't make me strive to be joyful or idyllic, it just fuckin pisses me off. It makes me want to punch a hole in something that doesn't exist, my sense of self. The only way out of this whole idea of perpetuating nihilism and misery is to hate my way out because satisfaction seems so far away that it's not even an option. It's either join the ranks of nay-sayers walking up the hill, spitting on Jesus, or pull out my sword and start cutting off ears. Either way, I'm not happy, so I can either be unhappy with myself, or angry at everyone else for not parenting happiness in their own lives.
As I clutch the few quarters left in my pocket, thinking of how it will make my hand smell metallic, I wonder why I'm so nervous that I can't stop playing with the filthy currency. I suppose it's a feeble attempt at taking my mind off the need to peddle brain cancer out to New Kent bumpkins and credit-deficient thugs via motorola w315s and T-mobile Sidekick III's. As I sit here, feeling my ass grow numb from the stiffness of the stool on which I perch, I wonder if the mentally handicapped woman refilling drinks at the Taco Bell isn't just a bit happier than I am. Her obviously unnoticed and untreated facial hair indicates that she is, in fact, ignorant of certain social expectations, and standing by what I now accept to be a reality spanning truism her "ignorance is bliss". I can also logically assume that her superiors are angry at her for being so stupid as to be happy, since they obviously mask their disdain with mock-sympathy. I know they feel mock sympathy for her because her name tag does not indicate her true station which is "Drink Technician" or "Beverage Assistant". What the joy-hating powers that be at Taco Bell had the sarcastic audacity to list her as for the whole world to see was "Service Champion". This clearly venomous, over-the-top moniker reminds me of the hatefully facetious sign they reportedly hung over Christ when he was crucified. The sign read "King of The Jews".
It seems that us, the relatively normal faction of society that hold "respectable" positions, are so disgusted by anyone who would have the gaul to come along and be happy for no reason that we have consistently throughout time managed to try and shoot these individuals down with a hail of red hot sarcasm.From Jesus Christ to the retarded lady at Taco Bell, belly aching salespeople and "young professionals" have always teamed-up with jaded old money grubbers to annihilate the joyful an idyllic of the world.
The worst part about this observation is that it doesn't make me strive to be joyful or idyllic, it just fuckin pisses me off. It makes me want to punch a hole in something that doesn't exist, my sense of self. The only way out of this whole idea of perpetuating nihilism and misery is to hate my way out because satisfaction seems so far away that it's not even an option. It's either join the ranks of nay-sayers walking up the hill, spitting on Jesus, or pull out my sword and start cutting off ears. Either way, I'm not happy, so I can either be unhappy with myself, or angry at everyone else for not parenting happiness in their own lives.