Sunday, January 27, 2008

I'm too agitated to write. I take unproductive trips to to the DMV. I hope you non-readers enjoy.

I am out of sunflower seeds. And I don't feel like riding the bike to the convenience store to buy more. I totally forgot to buy some at work today. I had to stay late because the freezer busted or something. All I know is I had to take all the frozen food out of the freezers and stack it into carts and take the carts to the big deep freeze.

I wasn't gonna stay and help out. I was tired of working and not in the mood to be nice. But then I remembered that I should have been fired by now, so I decided to help out after all.

I keep making mistakes on taking WIC checks. I got written up for it a while ago. We get written up for any mistake we make. For instance, if I were to make a mistake like giving you too much change, or I forget to "greet you," I can get written up. I have hundreds of customers a day, so I literally have hundreds of opportunities to fuck up everyday.

After a second write up you can get fired. Thing is, they have no intention of firing me. If they did every cashier and worker at this store would be looking for a job right now. Imagine at your work if you could get fired for forgetting to turn you computer off, or something silly like that. I don't know what people with real jobs do or how they could make a trivial mistake. But the truth is we all make mistakes.

The only reason we get written up is because management assumes that we will eventually try to file an unemployment claim. It's an understandable position for them to take. I mean with unemployment benefits, food stamps, and free health care I'd actually make more money if I got fired.

You'd be paranoid too if you paid such crappy hourly rates and forced your employees to wait so long for their benefits to kick in. Frankly, Walmart probably pays better than the company I work for. So I guess Walmart wins. And I lose again. At least now I am no longer paranoid about getting fired. It seems they have no intention of sticking to their guns, I have not had my hours reduced, or been placed on probation, or anything like that.

Nobody has really threatened my since my first couple of write ups. I think that they won't because they know that I will always stay late for them. Management only schedules cashiers for 30 hours a week. I need to work at least 40 hours just to break the 250 dollar mark, and that's only because I claim except on my taxes.

Uncle Sam wants to give me a three hundred dollar tax rebate I have to repay. D-Cup knows that George Bush doesn't like poor people. I won't make enough money to cover my income tax bill this year. And now he wants to give me three hundred more of it back. That's a weeks salary. How the hell am I supposed to pay that back? I can't. Unless I get a second job. Maybe that's what George really wants poor people to do. Take that second or third job they plan on stealing away from the immigrants in Arizona, and give them to us, the working poor.

I think we all know how much I love working in the first place. I can't stomach the idea of getting a second job. Christ, this is only the second job I have had for more than three months in the past 5 years.

None of the preceding has anything to do with the fact that I spent my day off yesterday completely unproductively mired in government bureaucracy.

I took the bus to the DMV. Only the bus route has been changed because of road construction. Only know one felt the need to tell the bus passengers this. So I get jerked around by the meanderings of a crazy bus driver. Eventually I figure out which route and where I have to stand to catch the right bus, but now I am 2 hours behind schedule to get my drivers license back.

I wait in line for just a second and I catch what think is going to be a break. The line taker creates a special line for folks getting permits and licenses who have their paperwork filled out already. Yeah me! I jump way ahead in line and it will be just a few minutes before I am called over to the DMV agent. Just as my number is called though the manager of the DMV stands up and announces that the computer system is down. They can't make licenses. They can't even look up your record in the system.

Great. I just ask my question anyway. I go up to the agent and ask if I need to get my SR 22 insurance before I can get my license reinstated. She tells me "yes." So the trip was for naught. I thought I might need to get the insurance first, but I chose not to. So I am not really disappointed with her news. Now, you would normally assume that money is going to be the hardest part of getting SR-22. You'd be wrong.

A few weeks ago I lost my debit card, along with my state I.d. Because of that I haven't been using my bank account. Which I am sure is over drawn anyway. I can't write a check or pay by check/debit over the phone and I can't fix my account because I need to get another i.d. I sound like some kind of retarded step-cousin or something. My mom wants to know if I am going to deposit my birthday money. Very soon, mommy. I promise.

I feel like a 5 year old who was told not to touch his Aunt's favorite vase, and did it anyway. I am not quite certain how an almost intelligent 37 year old person puts himself in these kinds of situations. I guess I am just Ghetto like that. I blame my Mom. My mom never got a drivers permit until I was 20. So maybe it's just genetics. Two generation of idiots is enough. That's why I only spill my seed into my blanket and never in a real women.

Women don't want my seed. All of my girlfriends are pregnant, have gotten pregnant, or will be pregnant by someone else. Plenty of them have done so while we've been dating. They insist that I wear a condom, but allow some of the skeeziest dudes to go all bareback in them. I guess they just get off on rubbing their big fat bellies while they straddle me. All the time thinking what a genetic loser I am, and hoping I will stick around long enough until the WIC checks kick in. Then they can dump my ass and put the moves on the guy who rides a skateboard to work. "At least he's athletic." Bitches can smell Darwinian fitness, and the world is tuff and set against me.

That's very unfortunate, as you all know, I have something of a lactation fetish, which I why I totally still love Britney Spears. Britney and I have a lot in common. Half the stuff she does, I think, "I can see why." I am not quite certain why the world is so sure that Britney is really all that crazy. If you think about all the crazy shit you've done in your life, and then it magically got reported in the paper or magazines like the Sun or Star, then I think we'd all think your a crazy little pony too.

And am I wrong? Is Britney's body coming back a bit? Lately she's been into wearing strapless and see through tops. Her tits are bigger that when she was a dream queen. And sure they sag a little, but they'd look good if she wore a bra. And from I can tell she still looks good in jeans. That's better than I can say for most of my girlfriends. Most of whom only look better in those mirrors that say objects are larger than they appear.

I am not calling most of my girlfriends fat. They aren't really fat, by American standards. Mostly they are just pregnant with their ex-boyfriends sperm, or their soon to be new boyfriend's spawn. I usually figure this out as soon as they get around to telling me that the reason we haven't had sex in 3 months is really that only I haven't been getting the sex for the past three months.

Ok. I am going to pause here because I am really craving some sunflower seeds. It's 1:32 am and I need to get my ass to Circle K before the homeless people take up spots on all the corners of the parking lot, and I have to worry that one of those asshole homeless vets is going to steal the bike. I don't care what Bill O' Reilly says about all the benefits "unemployed" vets get. One of those benefits is not taking my only mode of transportation.

I just got back from the store. I got my sunflower seeds, and I bought a giant 24 pack of coke. I am set. So sit back and enjoy. If you've made it this far you must enjoy hearing that inner voice of mine. Because this is exactly the way it talks to me all day long. Only I don' t have a voice recorder or a type writer with me at all times.

I warned you about the store I got my seeds from. And with some good reason. As I made my way up the handicap ramp on the bike I spot 3 black homeless people blocking my path. Now don't get me wrong. I've got nothing wrong with black people. I got nothing wrong with homeless people. But you combine the two after 2am and this slow fat white boy with less upper body strenght than the average 17 year old female carryout is going to be a bit intimidated.

I place my bike against the wall and I notice an old man talking to a woman in a black leather skirt and long leather coat. Then I realize the old man isn't talking to women. He's talking to a prostitute. She tells him to buy some beer and they can go back to her place. "No one is home right now." He tells her that he's rented a hotel room for the night. The hooker is quite pleased with her john.

She looks OK for a hooker. She's about 45, blond and thin. She has on high heels and she's painted her toes a bright "hooker" red. Her look says she understands something about fashion, but she get something wrong the way a person who spends most of her nights on the street would get it wrong. Her look says high fashion call girl if by high fashion call girl you mean a 26 dollar motel 6 and a 5 dollar bottle of wine and a 100 dollar a night hooker. There is too much leather going on here. Her hair is stringy and she has that wet hair-sprayed look that is all the rage in the trailer park.

On some young girls before they get knocked up, the wet look is ok. And I guess at one time or another every Mexican woman under the age of 50 has used the look, so maybe it's cultural bias of mine, but I just don't think spraying your hair stringy says "classy." Even if you pair it with nice footwear.

I lug the 24 pack on the middle of the bike frame. It's awkward and I have to shove the sunflower seeds into my front jacket pocket. I ride back home against traffic with my vision obscured by my hood. It keeps falling down over my eyes, and I can't see where I am going. My gloves have a yellow glow to them which I now recognize as the residue from boxes of frozen food. I should have taken the advice of my superiors and used company gloves.

Half way home I hear the pluck of the Frito-lay brand sunflower seeds falling onto the wet pavement. Shit. Now I need to circumnavigate back towards them. As I turn the bike around I feel something give. I think it's one of the muscles that supports my balls. I feel a pain from my thigh to my member. I reach down to pick up the bag of seeds, but I am too lazy too exit from the bike. I squash my balls like I am trying out for a cameo on America's Funniest Videos. "ahh. Fuck me mc butter."

So now I am back and I am just typing it what you just read and what just happened. I still haven't opened my back of seeds and I need to pee. Also I want another coke, but I think caffeine at this point will mean another restless sleep for me. I do have sprite 24 pack in the fridge and I will probably go get one.

Who knew I wrote porn trailers?


Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein said...

You get to have all the fun.

Fredrick Schwartz said...

Well now you've done it you have become the topic of a rant at the Dis Brimstone-Daily Pitchfork blog AND on the front page of the Terran News section.

Keep on rockin in the free world!