I did a lot of contemplating (and by a lot I mean, I thought about it in
between loading up porn on my computer) and came to one conclusion: I can’t work
at a bar, simply because I won’t be able to get as fucked up as I want. I know
they’ll let you drink, but I like drinking until I begin talking to the bar
stool sitting next to me. For some reason, I think my boss
might have a problem with this convo:
Me: Hey baby, how's ya doin’?
Stool:
Me: Alright, let me gets my tabs and we’ll be outta here. (Considering I’m
working, have no tab, and have to clean up a bunch of shit before I leave.)
I just don’t see that shit going over well.
So, in between my hand clicking on a mouse and
massaging my shaft, I came up with the great idea of working at the dining
hall. Crack fiends who haven’t had a hit in 3 days have made better tactical
decisions.
I showed up for my first day of work and they immediately threw me in the
fucking dish room. They should call the dish room “‘Tard Room.” I’m not even
fucking joking, this place was filled with retards of different shapes and
sizes. I got the pleasure of working in between Johnny and Todd. Johnny is about
250 lbs and 5’8. I honestly could not understand one fucking word he said all
night. This was how we met:
Johnny (in a high voice): Youkead beachnted wizorking ack ereya
ooznite?
Me: Dude, what the fuck did you just say?
Johnny (smiling now): Ozkod mene ya.
Me: Okay man, just keep your fucking tard claws off of me and we’re gonna be
great.
By this point my brain had begun to believe it was plugged into The Matrix.
Brain: Get out! Get out! You’re in the wrong place! You
don’t belong!
Me: Chill the fuck out, we’ve gotta drink don’t we?
Brain: I can’t handle this! Look at that fucking guy, he’s playing in
the soap suds like this is a fucking bath tub.
I looked over, and sure enough, Todd was fucking playing with the water like
we were at an amusement park. He had this big amused look on his face. I
politely told him he needed to start doing some work and help us out.
Me: Todd, fucking quit playing in the goddamn water and start washing
shit.
I’m not even joking, this fucking retard glanced over at me with a look that
would’ve scared Satan shitless, and
flicked me off. Now, I’m not afraid of much, but I have heard of Tard
Strength, and I have no doubt that Todd could have thrown me through a brick
wall at that point in time. I quietly looked down at the glass I was cleaning
and moved away a couple of feet. The one thing I refuse to have on my tombstone
is “Killed by a Dishwashing Retard.”
In between looking up to see if Todd was coming to rip my skull from my spine
and washing dishes, I started
seriously considering selling drugs. Here’s the debate that went on inside
my head
Doubt: Don’t do it man, it’s not worth the risk. If you get
caught, you are completely and utterly fucked.
Optimism: Look, you’ve got to do this. It’s the only way out
of this shit hole, and you might be fucked if Todd decides he’s had enough of
your tard bashing ways. Think of all the money man.
Doubt: You’re throwing your career away because this retard
flicked you off? Grow some fucking balls and wash these goddamn dishes. You’ll
have enough money to get drunk, probably not pay your dues for your fraternity
this semester, but fuck it, who does that any way?
Optimism: You have two options here. One, sell for a couple
months and get out. Or two, stand next to Todd, the man with the strength and IQ
of a gorilla for a semester.
That did it for me. I started racing through my mental Rolodex of who I could
hook up with some weed. My student manager, that’s who. I know this kid smokes a
ton of fucking bud.
By that time my shift was over, so I raced around looking for my manager. All
that went through my head was the amount of dope I’d be able to sell, the
alcohol it would supply me with, and the freedom it would provide me. Where
is my fucking manager?? He is the key to all of this! He is going to set me free
from this hell!
Then I saw him. Thank God, it was almost over. I walked over to the table
where he was sitting by himself.
Me: Hey Bill, you smoke bud right?
Bill: Yeah man, you want
some?
I can get it for you cheap as fuck…
FUCK. Everything was gone. My only hope turned out not to be a pothead, but a
fucking dealer himself. I looked to my right. There was Todd, glaring at me as
he flicked me off once more before walking out.
Yep, I’m fucked this semester.
