Monday, October 18, 2010

What's wrong with them?

My sex-addicted co-worker wants to know something. Maybe you can help him out.


CW: "Dude, I have story for you."
Me: "Okay...."
CW: "I go to the bar with my cousin, okay. He picks up this girl and he's grinding on her, grinding hard. So he picks up this girl and takes her homes. He fucks her. They're kind of dating for a few weeks."
Me: "And?"
CW: "So he gets bored of her. He starts gaming this other girl, bro. He says he likes her, but he just wants to sleep with her. So he's gaming this girl when he finds a new girl. He starts talking to the new girl."
Me: "Your cousin is a tool."
CW: "So we go to the bar, me, my cousin, and the new girl. He's grinding hard on her. Then he leaves to go walk around the bar. He finds the second girl, the one he wants to sleep with. He starts dancing with her and telling her that he likes her. He goes to the bar for a drink, bro, and sees his kind-of girlfriend. He doesn't think she sees him, but she does. She follows him to the dance floor and sees him grinding on the new girl. So the kind-of girlfriend yells at him on the dance floor. This attracts the attention of the second girl. She comes over and yells at him too! The new girl is just standing there; she doesn't know what to do. She starts yelling at my cousin too."
Me: "In the middle of the bar?"
CW: "Why were they yelling at him? They knew he was gaming them."
Me: "Maybe they didn't know. I'm SURE your cousin was completely honest."
CW: "Why are girls such bitches?"

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Words of Wisdom 2

More words of wisdom:

CW: "I like to piss girls off so they say, 'fuck you.' Then I can say, 'I know you want to, but you can't.' "

[These were his first words to me. The last saw him 3 weeks before]
CW: "Dude! So you won't believe me, but I fucked a twenty-year-old."
Me: "And how was that?"
CW: "She didn't know I was sixteen. She missed her ex though. She kept saying, 'I shouldn't be doing this.' "
Me: "And how do you know she missed her ex?"
CW: "Because that's how chicks get when they miss their ex."

[Referring to a sixteen-year-old girl]
CW: "I sold that bitch for two younger girls."
Me: "Why would you do that?"
CW: "Younger is better; they don't know what they're doing, so it makes it more fun."
Me: "You're disgusting."

CW: "You need to work so you can get the bitches. That's what life's about."

[to anyone who's white]
CW: "What's up Tony?"

CW: "Dude, I had a fight with my girlfriend."
Me: "What'd you do?"
CW: "I told her that I didn't want her talking to other guys. 'How do I know you're not cheating on me? I should be the only guy you talk to.' I don't want her talking to other guys."
Me: "That's ridiculous. Why would you do that?"
CW: "She should only be talking to me bro. I'm the only dick that she needs."
Me: "When you phrase it that way.... You are indeed a dick."

CW: [Looking at a girl] "Hey, baby, what's up?"
Girl: "Fuck off. You're so annoying."
CW: [To me] "She wants me."
Me: "To die, yes."

CW: "I hate [so-and-so]. She doesn't work. I listen to her, and she's bragging about it on the phone. 'Oh, I've been on my coffee for an hour.' "
Me: "How's that different from you? You don't do any work either."
CW: "I hate people like that."
Me: "Me too."

I'm Back

I think the title says it all.

I've been lazy the fast months. I've always updated this blog sporadically, but the last few months have seen, well, nothing. That annoys me; I like writing.

So I've decided to do more of it. I'm still going to post stories about ridiculous customers and coworkers, but my blog is going to take a more political-current-events view. If I'm going to write, it's going to be about stuff that interests me.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Words of Wisdom

I work with a 16-year-old kid, whom I've already written about. Despite his young age, he's filled with much wisdom. And by wisdom, I mean he's obsessed with sex.

He's said it to me, and now I'll say it to you. Enjoy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Co-worker (CW): "Bitches owe me sex."


CW: "You know what you need to do?"
Me: "No"
CW: "You need to ask every girl who walks by you if she's single. That way you can do sexual stuff to her and not worry about her boyfriend."


CW: "You know what you should do? You should give me your shift next Friday, and use that time to have sex with your girlfriend."
Me: "My girlfriend is away that weekend."
CW: "You should buy a fleshlight then. Then you can give me your shift and have sex anyway."


CW: "I want a really long dick. That way I can sleep with many girls at once."
Me: "I don't think it works like that."
CW: "Yes it will. My dick will be curvy, like a serpent."
Me: "That makes no sense."
CW: "Yes it does. Think about it."


CW: "I'm going to have sex everyday, as much as I can."
Me: "You'll eventually need a break."
CW: "Why?"
Me: "Rugburn."
CW: "I'll plow through the pain."


CW: "The first time I have sex I'm going to bang the girl for 2 straight hours."
Me: "It doesn't work like that."
CW: "I'll make it work like that."


CW: "Want to go MILF-hunting?"
Me: "Okay. Where are we going? Playground?"
CW: "Why a playground?"
Me: "Do you know what a MILF is?"
CW: "No."
Me: "It's a Mother I'd Like to Fuck."
CW: "So a GILF?"
Me: "Grandmother."
CW: "Awesome! [Turns to another co-worker.] Wanna go GILF-hunting?"


CW: "Dude, do you know how you pick up Arab women? You tell them, 'Baby, your pussy is like the ocean, and my dick is a submarine. A submarine has to be in the ocean.' "
Me: "That's ridiculous."
CW #2: "You're essentially telling her that she has a huge pussy and you have a tiny dick."
CW: "It's sexier when you say it in Arabic. It works. Trust me."


CW: "I want to convince my girlfriend to go to a digger party."
Me: "What's a digger party?"
CW: "A gang-bang."
Me: "She's not going to like that."
CW: "Why wouldn't she like it? She gets three different guys."
Me: "You are an idiot."

Thursday, March 11, 2010

How to Buy Clementines

After working last weekend, I've discovered an awesome method for buying perfect clementines:

1) walk into a grocery store

2) look for a pallet covered with boxes of clementines

3) approach the pallet and yell at any customers who distract you from your goal

4) find a box of clementines

5) remove clementines

7) repeat steps 4 and 5

8) repeat step 7

9) repeat step 8

10) place looses clementines on nearby objects

11) repeat steps 8 and 9

12) select the best looking clementines and place them in an empty box

13) place the now-full box in your grocery cart

14) don't touch leftover clementines

15) tell the closest employee to clean up the mess

Simple. Fast (not really). Effective.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Orange Juice Floor Mats Cause Cancer

If you read my (admittedly few) blog posts, you'd think that I did nothing but deal with strange or dickish customers. You'd be right. But I've missed a very large group of dickish people that I deal with on a daily basis: my co-workers.

To be fair, most of my co-workers are good people. But sometimes, well....

Take what happened last Saturday. I was filling fruit when a manager walks past me. He suddenly stops and begins staring at the floor, then turns away and keeps walking. I can't see what he's staring at, nor do I care. I assumed it was a lost baby, but since I didn't hear any screaming, I did nothing.

A minute later, another manager walks past me and stares at the same spot on the floor. I start to get intrigued, but not enough to go look. Besides, I want to avoid dealing with lost babies.

Another minute later, a third manager walks past the mystery-spot, stops, and stares. She promptly turns around and walks back to me. "Call the janitor and get them to clean up that spill," she bellows. She points to the mystery-spot, then leaves.

I looked on the floor. Lying smashed on the floor is a bottle of orange juice. No crying babies, yapping puppies, nor pots of gold--just orange juice. I searched for a mop, but couldn't find one. I called the janitor, who cleaned the mess.

A spill on the floor is not an amazing story. My co-workers staring at a spill is not an amazing story. My co-workers staring at the spill, walking by the telephone, then telling me to call the janitor, however, is a hilarious story.

Allow me to explain. After each manager stared at the spill, they kept walking. Each one had to walk past a telephone, yet none picked up the phone and called the janitor. Even the manager who told me to call the janitor had to walk by the telephone to get to me.

I work with some bright people. These managers continually tell us that we must keep the floor clean, because if a customer slips, we could get sued. So these managers should be the first people clean up a mess. But they aren't, and I know why: mops cause cancer.

Mops don't cause cancer in just anyone; mops only cause cancer in managers. (Why else would a manger avoid work?) Managers want to avoid cancer, so they get their peons--like me, or the janitor, or the mentally-challenged cart boy--to do any mop-related work.

Mops are sneaky. They don't immediately cause cancer. The cancer comes years later, long after the manager has forgotten about using mops.

I've just found the perfect weapon to get rid of annoying mangers. Of course, that would take years to work, so I'd be stuck until then with the annoying manager. Maybe it's not such a great plan after all.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Love and Salad

Someone loves me.

Cougar: "Do you have any bagged salad?"
Me: "Yes. I'll grab some from the back"

After I return, bagged salad in hand:

Cougar: "Oh, thank you thank you thank you. I love you. Well, not really. I love my husband, and he'd kill you if he heard you if he heard me say that, so I don't really love you, but you know what I mean."
Me: "Yes I do. You're welcome. Can I help you with anything else?"
Cougar: "No, I have to go find my husband now. Thank you once again."

I'm still alive, so I don't think she told her husband that she loves me.

Well, she doesn't really love me. But she does love bagged salad.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Is Negro a bad word?

I logged onto the interweb this morning and discovered that Sen. Harry Reid, the Senate Majority leader, had made some racist comments. He said that Obama could win because he was "lighted-skinned" and had "no Negro dialect, unless he wanted to have one."

Naturally, Reid's opponents smell blood. They want to do everything to hurt him and cost him re-election, so pounding him over his poor choice of words makes sense. Anything that makes Reid's job more difficult is a good thing. And these quotes, taken out of context, make it easy to hammer Reid.

There's just one problem: I don't think that it's that serious. Until I read about about how insulting the term is (courtesy of Dr. Wik I. Pedia) I didn't know that it was insulting. That's news to me. I've used the term "Negro" with people who have dark-skin (and light-skin) and never had a problem. Maybe it's because I say "Negro," then everyone runs and hides and hopes I offer an apology. If anyone's still hiding, they aren't going to get an apology.

Reid's comments, though, do give us a window into what the US political establishment thinks: 1) your skin cannot be too dark; and 2) your voice cannot have an accent.

These two truths tell us much, much more about American culture than any of Reid's lone comments. First, the US is still racist. If Obama's skin had been too dark, he wouldn't have been elected. (Hillary Clinton would be the US President right now. I'm positive.) It goes like this: tanned skin is good; dark skin is bad.

Second, the US is xenophobic. Any voice that has a slightly different accent, anything different from the norm, is bad. A voice cannot have any ghetto slang or blah blah blah. Imagine if Barack Hussein Obama had an Arabic accent? He'd probably still be detained by airport security.

Being a politician, then, means that you fit a mold. Politicians may have surface differences, but they're still very similar. They tend to have similar upbringings, similar educations, and similar experiences, so they tend to think in the similar ways. And that's why politicians tend to stir up shit about things that people want to go away. They've got to set themselves apart somehow.

I think it'd be easier to tell jokes, but what do I know?