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4:59 p.m. - 2001-12-13
I can almost smell it now...
Pesky teenagers.

Some god damned meddling pesky teenagers must have found a big, dusty book of evil spells in some dark section of their local library branch and read sections of it by the full moon in a grave yard. Or something.

Because I have rejoined the living.

I gots myself one of those deals where I trade my services for payment of a money wage…what's that shit called again…oh yeah, a job.

I am a bar back. (Not bare back you sick fucks, BAR back.) I am basically a glorified bus boy without any glorification. In fact, a busboy is probably the glorified version of me. I start tomorrow at ten am and finish at six PM and will make almost as much pay for that shift as I did in one hour with my old job.

When the manager told me that I would be making minimum wage and that minimum wage in Cali was actually pretty good and that pretty good in his estimation was the figure that he then quoted to me, well, never mind.

IRregardless, it is work, it will get me out of the house and interacting with humans by expelling breath past my diaphragm and mouf-piece rather than by depressing little buttons representing the letters of the alphabet on a device hooked up to a machine.

My wee lil' Sis got me the job. She is a waitress in the restaurant but she doesn't get to boss me around. This actually saddens me a little because having my little Sister be in position of authority over me would be incredibly grand. I'm serious. Only good, good comedy could possibly come from a situation like that.

The job is only for about a month which is perfect for me since I have job offers in my true line of work coming up, and perfect for them since the restaurant is closing in about a month. It will give me just enough time to learn about wines and liquors and whatnot so I'll have more stuff to be a snobby ass punk about.

Win-win-win.

Speaking of pesky teens, I just had reason to recall something I noticed about a month ago that to me seemed more than a little fucked. On a box display for the meat stick snack known as the Slim Jim in my local convenience mart, I saw an action bubble advertising a promotional contest where the grand prize winner would receive as their trophy "The Flute From American Pie!".

Okay boss.

First let me just sway your mind ever so gently to the implications of Slim Jim's and the act that the flute in question is famous for it's involvement in.

Now I'd like you to come to your own conclusion of how wrong that is.

Next think forward to the person receiving their prize and ask yourself what the first thing they are going to do with it upon opening the FedEx box containing the memorabilia. I don't know about you, but I'll give you a hint as to what it would be if I was the lucky winner; it starts with the letter "T".

That's right. "Take a big fucking whiff of it."

Don't get me wrong, I know as well as you that the flute has never been where it reported to have been. It was a movie. It never happened. Even in the movie it was just a story that was verbally related.

Yet I would bet my fucking life, (after it improves and is worth something again even), that that flute gets smelled by nearly everyone it is shown to.

Slim fucking Jims.

PS I get to wear a vest!

 

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