Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Incompetence & Flagellation
I got fired.
I'm an honest kid, mostly. So here it is: I was doing a bad job. They weren't asking much from me, simply that I order some crap and package it up for technicians. The ugly truth is that I'm lazier than elderly bowels, and frequently waited for the last minute to pull the shit together. This resulted in wasted money in various ways too boring to elaborate upon. Let's just say I deserved it and move on.
I reacted just as any worthless, self-indulgent, addictive fuckpuddle would: I went on a bender. I slugged beer like a divorced man, stuffed my nose with powder like it was a musket rifle, and burned enough weed to give the entire DEA a Twinkie addiction.
After two weeks of this, I remembered food. I resuscitated myself with four trays of napolean flan, two loaves of dark rye, one pound of muenster, and three pounds of pastrami. Over two days. On the third, I shat a freight train. On the fourth, I rested. In diapers.
Then I started another bender that hasn't truly ended yet, although by now it's flitting away like a sluggish butterfly. (bad analogy, but I'm keeping it, fuck you)
I have prospects for gainful employment looming, but I intend to procrastinate. I'm receiving unemployment benefits. (I convinced my former employer not to contest my claim, and they still love me on a personal level, so that was an easy finagle.)
I kept a tight grip on my night job as a waiter at the buffalo joint, though I usually arrived appearing raped and pillaged. One Saturday morning I showed up, my hair askew, raccoon luggage beneath my eyes, stinking of Anchor Steam.
The GM was holding a pre-shift meeting when I staggered in, bewildered, disheveled, and damn ugly.
"Steve, you okay?"
"Mm? Oh yeah, o'course I am. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed."
"You look like hell. Sleep much?"
(keep in mind I have an assembled audience of the entire working staff)
"Well, no. See, last night I was feeling kind of lonely, so I figured, you know, I'd find some company, shoot the shit, pour my heart out and get a few things off my chest. Catharsis was my order of the night. But nobody answered my calls."
"Well, nobody answered, so I went to Best Buy to look for a movie, or a game, or some such distracting nonsense. I was browsing when I saw something called The Baby Simulator. It's an awful product prospective parents put on their PCs to prepare them for parenthood."
"I'm not getting you, Steve. Is this going somewhere?"
"You install it and let it run all night, right? And see, this thing will randomly start crying and wake your silly ass up. There's buttons like burp, feed milk, feed Gerber's, rock baby, sing lullaby, and a couple more I can't think of right now. You pick one and click it repeatedly for ten minutes and hope like hell you picked the right button. If you're lucky, you get to go back to sleep for another half hour. What it needed was an 'I don't fucking know' button."
(people are sniggering and giving each other raised eyebrows)
I continued: "It's supposed to be just like have having an infant in a crib. It was a vile and horrible experience. I don't recommend children for anyone. Fuck propagation of the species, quite frankly. If my baby wasn't fake I would've strangled the little virtual fucker."
(Now they're all outright laughing at me. Even the GM. I'm his longstanding unique comedy snowflake, or he'd have cut me off by this time.)
"So yeah, I'm exhausted and exasperated and downright miserable. I need a new hobby. So far, I've got two ideas on my list. The first is drinking heavily. That works. Trust me, I know. The other is microwaving things that aren't supposed to microwaved, and I'm starting with my goddamn computer hard drive. Then I'm going to drink until I render myself imbecilic. How are you?"
"Are you fucking with me, Steve?"
"Yeah. That was all complete bullshit. I was drinking heavily last night. Got a mint?" 5:15 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
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