justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- And besides, anyone who quotes Bride of Chucky can't be right in the head anyway So in the next four days, I help three people move. Isn't that fun? No, no it isn't. Especially when you have to work at Tony's. For some reason, certain employees feel they can confide just about everything with the stock person. Usually I don't even bother taking off my headphones or even responding, but they just go on talking. I don't get it either. It does make for a good sitcom some day, though, so I bear it. I've been told about STD's, sexual encounters with prostitutes, protection collecting, and various other things that I won't report because it may endanger my life to relate them to you, or even to recall them in the first place, for that matter. Anyway, there's one employee I didn't mention when I gave the rundown, and that's Tony's son. He is the absolute King of anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better-ism. And so yesterday, when one of the sales guys comes downstairs to ask me--I kid you not--if it's "normal for your ass to bleed a little when you're wiping" as if I am a proctologist or have any desire whatsoever to know about any bodily fuilds leaking from any nether reigion he may have, Tony's son overhears and has to top him. "That's nothing," he says defiantly, "when I started playing hockey again I was shitting blood for two weeks. My whole team was." Now, this not only brings the quality of his hockey equipment into question, but it is also about 20 000 leagues under the sea of too much information. Later in the day, there was an argument because one of the salesmen had slowly, day by day, piece by piece, been creating a sculpture out of used gum in a rarely used corner of the stock room. Now, I had nothing to do with this particular piece of art beyond seeing it's creation and not caring enough to reprimand its creator, but still I was blamed. Any problem with the stock room, you see, is automatically my fault. My apologies to those of you who thought I was going somewhere with all of this, but this update is more guilt inspired than, well, ... inspiration inspired. Little over a month until moving day, mein freunds. You all excited? I know I am. Oh, you didn't know? (well your ass better caaaalll someboooodayyyyyyyyyy) Yes, I am moving out. The quintessential mama's boy is finally leaving the nest, much to mama bear's dismay. What, it's a bird-bear. Nature gets bored sometimes. One hell of an impressive wingspan on the kodiak sparrow, let me tell you. Oh, and one last little tidbit that I throw in only because I know Alex-Jack will find it funny. The rest of you are welcome to leave class early. Verbatim MSN conversation: Her: Me: Her: Me: Her: Me: And yet for some reason, I remain single. I only threw it in there for the pulp fiction refference, really, but I also wanted to demonstrate how infuriatingly obtuse I can pretend to be when I don't feel comfortable flirting. Excelsior. 1:27 a.m. - 2006-06-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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