Friday, September 15, 2006
Mopping is for clean bakeries anyways.
I refuse to mop any more at work. But I don't think any of you who visit Palmghetto's 'ghettoiest' bakery will notice much of a difference though.
I refuse to notice some things too. Like the way you cough up your 27 year old lungs each morning like you're already half dead from emphysema. Or the way you have meticulously place the paper waste basket directly opposite the commode against the wall, so each time I take a shit I can get a clear view of all the bloodied tissues face up in the basket.
You could at least put a clean tissue over all that stuff, nobody wants to watch your lung slowly decompose. You are only 27 after all. Not quite like the old men who sit out in front of Walmart coughing like they are talking into a tin can, three seconds from having a hole drilled in their necks.
I get paid an embarrassing low amount of money. I have already thrown my back out mopping with a standard kitchen mop. Now that is broke. I can't seem to locate a large "industrial" sized mop and bucket together at the same time.
I think it's some sort of conspiracy, started by the Visitors. Sometimes I think they are talking to me. "C'mon man, don't you wanna make some more of those cinnamon rolls?" Never buy the cinnamon rolls here, it is simply impossible to keep flies out of the breakfast glaze.
This post is dedicated to the indentured servitude now festered on to me by a growing and demanding readership.