Night is a lonely period. Filled with smokers and binge drinkers, I often find that the store is a peaceful place where I can be alone with my thoughts and the cash register. Sometimes, when I am working nights I will think to myself, "What would happen if I was the only person in the store when something devastating happened?" Here's the story I concocted:
SlimShaney was an artsy, good looking kid who had grown up on the streets of Redar Capids (I've obviously changed the city to protect my identity). Five years ago, he had been recruited by the FBI and trained in all things martial arts related. He could count on seven hands the number of people he's killed if each of his seven hands had seven fingers because of a birth defect. Sadly, he didn't have seven hands with seven fingers each, so he had to settle for counting the number in his head. He had run off from the FBI two years ago and was now working in a local grocery store called Freddy's. No one had ever found him....until now.
It was a quiet, dark night and the wind hissed like an angry cat who had just been dropped in a bucket of water. A man walked into the store wearing a black trenchcoat and dark hat that covered his eyes. He immediately went to SlimShaney's register and grabbed some gum. "This all for ya' tonight, sir?" Slimshaney asked with the politeness of three hundred British butlers. "I guess there's one more thing you could do for me....you could DIE!" The man pulled out a machine gun from his oversized trenchcoat and fired away at SlimShaney, but he was too fast. SS threw the gum straight at the man's eye and ran for customer service. The assassin grasped at his eye in agony. "Butt-Whooping to Customer Service please," SS called out over the intercom.
Luckily, there was a bag of flour in the Go-Back section. SS took the flour and threw it everywhere. He ran straight for the man who was trying to kill him. How brave! The next five minutes, the two men engaged in an intense karate battle that could have been featured in some sort of Jackie Chan vs. Godzilla battle movie. Eventually, they ended up in aisle five (the one with all the cereal). The two exchanged puns like world-class punmakers. "I'm gonna Crunch-a-Tize you, captain! I'm more than good....I'm great! They're always after me lucky arms!" Making their way into the parking lot, SS grabbed a cart and pushed it around the white lines. The assassin had obviously been in this situation before, because he pushed his cart like an expert. Still, SS being 8-time employee of the month knew his way around the parking lot. He cornered the man next to the salt bags. There, SlimShaney had placed a bomb in case anything like this ever happened. The assassin was startled when SS began running away from the salt bags and took a moment to bask in his glory. SS had just enough time for one witty pun: "Salt and Pepper? More like Salt and Bombs." Not his best one, but it worked. The bags of slat exploded in a fiery-
Then it was ten. My shift was over. I left.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
How I Learned that Beards are Stupid...
Three beards for the three homeless men that live under the bridge.
Seven for the struggling writers who seem to be writing their dissertations for quite a long time...
Nine for the Mortal Men who think beards make them look "cool" and "sophisticated.
One for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his snake.
In the land of No-Shaving where the five o'clock shadows lie.
One beard to rule them all. One beard to find them.
One beard to grow forever and in the morning, shave them.
In theLand of Hogwarts
This beard belongs to a man of pure beauty. A man who defies boundaries and pushes limits. A man that doesn't have to prove himself. This man is none other than the great Albus Dumbledore. His flowing, luxurious white beard hangs down from his face like a monkey hangs gracefully from a tree branch (except, in this case, Dumbledore's beard is well picked and free of bugs).
I, SlimShaney, once tried to grow out a beard. It was....unsuccessful. I figured that I would grow out a goatee. Once it had grown long enough, I noticed that goats were following me everywhere! I tried to run, but their leader, Ba-Ba Black Goat, cornered me in a dark alleyway. He told me, if I didn't shave off my goatee, they would have to do it for me. I panicked. What was I to do? I couldn't shave off my goatee! I loved it! So, I did the only thing I could think of, I used magic. I cast a spell that made my beard invisible to the human/goat eye. The next day, the goats came to my house. "Where's your beard?" said Ba-Ba Black Goat. "I shaved it off. I'm done with facial hair." They didn't believe me. Black Goat grabbed my face and felt that I still had my goatee. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed my mother. He put his mouth up to her neck and said, "If you don't shave off that beard, I'm going to bite her. Rabies ain't somethin' you wanna mess with, kid." Again, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I pulled out my wand, cast a deadly spell, and suddenly, guts were flying everywhere! I narrowly dodged the tongue of one of the goats as it raced past my head. My mother was soaked in goat blood. We embraced in our slimy, putrid clothes and began to collect the shattered remains of the goats I had killed. That night, as we sat around the table, thinking about what had happened, I asked my mom, "Do you like my goatee?" She merely shoved some goat meat in her mouth and said, "No."
And that is why beards are stupid.
Seven for the struggling writers who seem to be writing their dissertations for quite a long time...
Nine for the Mortal Men who think beards make them look "cool" and "sophisticated.
One for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his snake.
In the land of No-Shaving where the five o'clock shadows lie.
One beard to rule them all. One beard to find them.
One beard to grow forever and in the morning, shave them.
In the
This beard belongs to a man of pure beauty. A man who defies boundaries and pushes limits. A man that doesn't have to prove himself. This man is none other than the great Albus Dumbledore. His flowing, luxurious white beard hangs down from his face like a monkey hangs gracefully from a tree branch (except, in this case, Dumbledore's beard is well picked and free of bugs).
I, SlimShaney, once tried to grow out a beard. It was....unsuccessful. I figured that I would grow out a goatee. Once it had grown long enough, I noticed that goats were following me everywhere! I tried to run, but their leader, Ba-Ba Black Goat, cornered me in a dark alleyway. He told me, if I didn't shave off my goatee, they would have to do it for me. I panicked. What was I to do? I couldn't shave off my goatee! I loved it! So, I did the only thing I could think of, I used magic. I cast a spell that made my beard invisible to the human/goat eye. The next day, the goats came to my house. "Where's your beard?" said Ba-Ba Black Goat. "I shaved it off. I'm done with facial hair." They didn't believe me. Black Goat grabbed my face and felt that I still had my goatee. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed my mother. He put his mouth up to her neck and said, "If you don't shave off that beard, I'm going to bite her. Rabies ain't somethin' you wanna mess with, kid." Again, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I pulled out my wand, cast a deadly spell, and suddenly, guts were flying everywhere! I narrowly dodged the tongue of one of the goats as it raced past my head. My mother was soaked in goat blood. We embraced in our slimy, putrid clothes and began to collect the shattered remains of the goats I had killed. That night, as we sat around the table, thinking about what had happened, I asked my mom, "Do you like my goatee?" She merely shoved some goat meat in her mouth and said, "No."
And that is why beards are stupid.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
I Don't Care if She Wears Adult Diapers....She's Beautiful...
It's happened. My life is complete. I can die in peace because finally, I am loved. An old woman at Freddy's told me today that I am a very attractive boy. YES! Too long have I waited in the shadows behind the more attractive male workers of Freddy's! Too long have my charming good looks escaped the eyes of the Grannies that crawl through our store! Too long have I pondered the reason these cranky shrews refuse to recognize my beauty! I am beautiful! I am strong! I am a very attractive boy! YAY!
Let me tell you a story. One day, quite a while ago, when I was still a lowly bagger, A woman came through my line. She reminded me of my own grandma without the can of Pringles in one hand and the cigarette in the other. The woman slowly put her groceries on the conveyor belt with the precision of an elephant dropping apples on the ground. She took one look at the male cashier who was working and said, "Oh my! You're a very handsome boy!" For the next five minutes she continued to flirt with this obviously underage boy. "Alright, Mrs. Robinson, let's keep it moving," I thought to myself. Still, I couldn't help but wonder about what this woman might say to me. Granted, I was younger than the cashier and my muscles looked twig-like compared with his, but I have a nice-looking face. It's nothing extraordinarily special, but I felt confident the woman would at least feel obliged to say, "Oh! Two handsome men in one aisle? It must be my lucky day!" Instead, once she unglued her eyes from the boy who gave her the receipt, she proceeded to look at me, scan me over, and say, "Paper bags, please." I crushed her eggs. On purpose.
So, now you know why I was so excited to be loved by this lovely, old woman. What makes it even better is that this woman was older than the one who had scarred me. If that nasty wrinkle-bag had been a cougar, then my admirer must have been at least a cheetah or one of the older cats in the animal kingdom. Therefore, I win. I should enter a contest where old ladies choose the suitor they would like. It will be the next hit reality show. So long, Bachelor, hello, Cougarette or The Amazing Race....To the Grave (I couldn't choose between the two titles. They're both so catchy).
Let me tell you a story. One day, quite a while ago, when I was still a lowly bagger, A woman came through my line. She reminded me of my own grandma without the can of Pringles in one hand and the cigarette in the other. The woman slowly put her groceries on the conveyor belt with the precision of an elephant dropping apples on the ground. She took one look at the male cashier who was working and said, "Oh my! You're a very handsome boy!" For the next five minutes she continued to flirt with this obviously underage boy. "Alright, Mrs. Robinson, let's keep it moving," I thought to myself. Still, I couldn't help but wonder about what this woman might say to me. Granted, I was younger than the cashier and my muscles looked twig-like compared with his, but I have a nice-looking face. It's nothing extraordinarily special, but I felt confident the woman would at least feel obliged to say, "Oh! Two handsome men in one aisle? It must be my lucky day!" Instead, once she unglued her eyes from the boy who gave her the receipt, she proceeded to look at me, scan me over, and say, "Paper bags, please." I crushed her eggs. On purpose.
So, now you know why I was so excited to be loved by this lovely, old woman. What makes it even better is that this woman was older than the one who had scarred me. If that nasty wrinkle-bag had been a cougar, then my admirer must have been at least a cheetah or one of the older cats in the animal kingdom. Therefore, I win. I should enter a contest where old ladies choose the suitor they would like. It will be the next hit reality show. So long, Bachelor, hello, Cougarette or The Amazing Race....To the Grave (I couldn't choose between the two titles. They're both so catchy).
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