from my sno shack notebook (the shiny new blue one!)


I'd like to start by saying that it's now 6:34 PM, and I'm writing this on the most expensive 80 sheets of college-ruled paper I've ever purchased.  One dollar and seventy-nine cents, to be exact.  That's how much of my ass I handed the lady behind the counter.  Speaking of whom, I'd like to mention that she drinks, smokes, and only has an eighth (8) grade education.  Ah, the joys of working at the Country Corner.  Anyway, I was thinking a lot today and decided to write some stuff down...a lot has pissed me off in the last two (2) hours I've been in this joyful little orange-and-neon-yellow box most people call an "icee shack" when in fact we make sno cones and not icees.

Before I delve into what I was about to say, I'd like to tell you a story: this particular event happened right after I wrote the word "icees" above as the last word of the paragraph.  I felt an urge to look out the side window (with the air conditioner) and witnessed a car recklessly swerve into the Chevron parking lot.  As with most Chevron-goers, this is rather common behavior.  What wasnm't common behavior (thought it still happens often enough), was the fact that this particular metal cage drove along the sidewalktoward the shack, and sharply pulled up along the window I was watching it f0.rom.  As usual, I reached over, turned down the radio, proceeded to drop the F bomb, as I was already annoyed at the newest customer.  Then he got out of the vehicle, and Iwas tipped towards a slightly deeper sense of annoyance.  Not surprisingly, my stereotypical suspiscion was indeed correct: a stinkin Mexican, probably newly-arrived in these United States.  As he walked around the shack and stepped up onto the box from which peope generally order their cavity-inviting, syrup-covered ice particles, I was even more annoyed (nay, mildly pissed off) at what came out of his mouth.  Unabated, he starts going off in Mexican about (I came to learn later) how I work in a sno shack and he'd like two (2) smalls.  Obviously, I do not speak Mexican (I am, afterall, a white guy), so naturally, I don't understand his ignorant slursn and I say "What?"  This sends that dirty little man and his son into fits of laughter.  He looks to his left at his wife, who was just getting out of their vehicle, and tells her the story in their little language, completel with his rendition of my "What?", in perfect English.
    They all haev a wonderful laugh while I'm still standing there, like they think I don't know what's going on.  After their brief enjyoment at my expense, teh man decides to tell me what they call sno shacks in southern Mexico and Guatemala (I think that's what he was saying...his broken English was a little difficult to comprehend).  He gets a small Green Apple and a small Pineapple (the two [2]standard Mexican flavors...it could only have been more gloriously Mexican had he also ordered a Pina Colada.)  So I make him and his son thei sugary idea of an afternoon snack (not the wife, notice...why'd she get out of the car then?) and they're on their merry little way.
What a couple of jack-offs.

    Anyway, back to what I was going to say, before I was interrupted by the Missing Link between apes and humans:
    I looked out the main window and saw this beautiful girl pumping gas into a green car.  I'm serious.  She was hot.  Really hot.  I managed to yank my eyes away long enough to notice two (2) young men of similar height ans age blatantly loitering next to the door of the store.  They leaned against against the outer wall as if waiting for their friend inside so they could walk back to wherever they came from.  Their relevence to the story is introduced in a moment.  Now, to paint the scene a little better, let em describe the two:  gay.  You know the kind of kid who think he's all that abnd a bag of chips but he's really got nothin' at all and everyone sees it but him?  This was them.  You could say they were both a kind of Mikkel Anderson (is that his name?). 
    Anyway, hot girl finishes pumping gas and proceeds to walk to the door.  She says hello to the two (2) rediculous, dickless wonders and opens the door for herself and goes inside to pay for the gas.  SHe returns to the great outdoors a minute or so later, and one of the moron teenage boys (with a hat on mind you...we'll refer to him as the Mad Hatter) proceeds to grab her arm and pull her closer and puts his arms around her.  About this time, I'm both hoping she slaps him for being an asshole, and ticked off that if that's the case then she'll be less receptive to 16-year-old guys hitting on her abnd potentially mating with her.  To my sheer, utter surprise (and dismay, to some degree) she doesn't fight back.  Let's review: asshole grabs her, no resistance at all.  With me?  Okay. Then I had an idea: "maybe she's just really really easy."  That brought up my morale a bit, but it was quickly diminished as she kissed the Mad hatter and they stood there in each other's arms.  Disgusting.  Afterward, the two (2) idiots get into the green car's front seats, and make the hot girl take the back, and they drive away.
Summary:  moron makes hot girl pump gas, open her own door, pay for said gas (all while he lounges around like a lazy ass), and makes her sit in the back while he and his buddy jack off in the front.
    It's times like this that I think hate being a decent guy.  The assholes end up doing just as well, and they do less than a small fraction of the work I do.  Worthless.  Then I pondered the only reasons she was still around either of them:  A) she don't know she's beautiful and she thinks the Mad Hatter is the best she can get, or B) he's one rich little fucker and gets her a condo on the moon if she asks.  In case of A, I'd love to help her with that.  In case of B, poor guy, but it's his own damn fault.  Moron.

    I just went in to buy some candies.  A Hershey's Cookies and Cream, a Milky Way, a 3 Musketeers, a York Peppermint Pattie, and a Twix.  Cost me $4.13 worth of my left testicle.  That's insane.  It's candy.  Jeez.

    Anyway, story number two (2):
if you're reading this, I assume you know me, and therefore know Brett Hawkins.  If not, skip the rest of this.
    I very much dislike Mr. Brett Hawkins.  He's retarded, in my oh so humble opinion.  I could very well go into details as to why, how, what, when, and where it all started and everything since, but that's a little too offensive.  I'm listening to Lifehouse and I just can't be very offensive at the moment.
    Anyway, he and Casey Soelberg and Steve Clements come to the shack.  I have nothing against Casey really, but he asked for a free one, and I hardly ever talk to the kid.  Annoying.  Steve Clements, though, I think, is a total moron.  ANd whatever that is that hecalls facial hair...it's gotta go.  He looks like a thirteen-year-old (13) Mexican.  It's stupid.  Kick him in the....reproductive organs...or something.