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1:16 a.m. - 2002-01-08
Me'n Wedgie are sorry, we didn't mean it.
Somebody at some point produced some limes and harvested their seed. Then someone else bought the seed and started a lime orchard of their own. The trees grew and eventually began to bear fruit which was harvested, processed, transported and sold to a distributor who did exactly what their title suggests and distributed the motherfuckers all over North America, maybe the world, I don't care. Some of those limes are allotted to the fancy rich people restaurant that employs me as bar baboon, and are delivered right to the produce cooler in the basement.

Then they really begin their usefulness. I, as bar baboon, go down to the produce cooler, fill my little baboon bucket up with the green bastards and transport them by foot up the stairs. Then I get out my monkey knife (careful! It's sharp!) and slice lime after lime up into sixths. Next comes the precision part, I carefully (very sharp!) run my monkey knife through the center of each wedge so's it can be placed on the edge of a beverage glass by the bartender. I fill up the bartender's supply cup with the ready to use lime wedges and go on about the rest of my bar baboon business.

What a crazy journey those little lime wedges will make. They get placed on the edge of a beverage glass filled with any variety of alcohol, picked up by the server and placed on a tray, and are whisked away to a table where upon a customer partakes of the beverage contained in the glass until satisfied and a busser fulfils their employment requirement by collecting the glass, lime and all, and brings it back to it's origin at the bar.

A part of the rest of my bar baboon business comes in the form of collecting the glasses that have been drained of their beverages by the fancy rich people and returned by the busser, and loading the dishwasher. Before loading, I am careful to remove all of the lime wedges and dispose of them so's they don't clog the inerworkings of the dishwashing mechanism.

My little wedges always return to me, no worse for wear than when they left my monkey mitts earlier that very evening.

Then they go on to a land fill or something, a whole other long leg of their journey that has nothing to do with me so I don't care to wonder about it.

I'm glad that I'm only working at this job for another week. Soon I'd probably start naming the fucking lime wedges or something.

This is my 100th entry. I think if one were to look back at the journey that I have recorded through this online journal, they would conclude that I am even more of a ridiculous waste of resources than the limes.

Well that's okay, cause me'n lil' Wedgie think that you’re a punk too.


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