I talk a LOT, that is a truism that no one can deny. However, I do actually listen to what is occurring around me. In the past five years, I have made changes in my life that I never thought would happen. In February of 2010, a move was necessitated that required me to leave behind the last incarnation of my life, and I moved to rural Pennsylvania to start the newest phase of who I am. I was reticent to give up all vestiges of my old life, so I delayed the inevitable as long as I could. I continued to work in NJ throughout the summer, but come September, I needed to find a job, and find one quickly. I had six weeks of unemployment left, so I began hitting the job fair circuit.
Discovering that two fine art degrees, twenty five years of the restaurant business, working in the non profit sector, selling real estate, managing construction and landscaping companies, working in fashion as a buyer, and being a successful fundraiser for a variety of charities made me virtually unemployable, I applied for work through a variety of staffing agencies who supply warehouse workers. I eventually found a job working for the National Retailer Who Shall Remain Nameless (butwillbediscussedatlength).
Now this job involves working with a HUGE variety of people. Most of whom were either just like me, professional people from 35-55 who needed income and discovered that no one is hiring, men and women who have worked in warehouse environments as a career, and horny 18-25 year olds. This leads to some interesting conversations, and is great fodder for my sense of humor.
Lord Dork Ass is a twenty two year old moppet with a Justin Bieber haircut, too tight black jeans encasing his skinny legs, a leather string around his neck from which some type of pseudo surfer pendant hangs, and the pale pasty skin of an avid video gamer. He began working about 3 weeks after I did, and quickly developed two nick names, Mush Mouth (due to his inability to form a decipherable sentence), and The little Cheater. Within this warehouse, we are graded on "rate", meaning we must make a minimum rate of X pieces processed per hour. There is ample opportunity to break the rules, and this cat exploited them all. Hence the second nickname. Needless to say he was quickly promoted, and the position went to his head (in the restaurant business we call this Podium Head, make a waitress the hostess, and she believes she is now in charge)
Well, the powers that be decided that all the computer pushing floor staff needed to go back to the rate based job part time. Since Lord Dork Ass believed he was superior to the rest of the staff, and that he was untouchable, he returned to his slacker cheating ways, making a great rate, then spending hours standing and chatting with his gamer buddies in the aisles. One day while my grumpy old ass was in the next aisle, I over heard a conversation between Lord Dork Ass (LDA), and his buddy, Prince Chubby Bottom Heir Apparent to the Throne of Loser (PCB). It went something like this;
Lord Dork Ass: "Dude. I don't know what to do. I think I am going to break up with my GF"
*in my head* "Wait, you have a GF?! Or is that code for what you call your left hand?"
Prince Chubby Bottom: "Really. Which one?"
* in my head* "WHICH ONE? Which one?! REALLY?"
LDA: "Well she isn't really my GF"
* in my head* "No shit Sherlock, she is some whore that you watch on cam4"
LDA: "She is just some girl I fool around with, but she thinks we are dating"
*in my head* "Calling her and hanging up 14 times a day is not fooling around, and just because she caught you staring at her house at 3AM four different times does NOT mean she thinks you are dating"
PCB: "Well that sucks man, but free ass is free ass"
*in my head* "True...."
LDA: "Yeah well, I met this great Elf chick online, she was really impressed with my level 14 magic skills, and she wants to get together"
*in my head* "Level 14 Magic Skills? WTF does THAT mean?"
PCB: "Level 14 IS pretty advanced, she should be impressed"
*in my head* "Of course you know what this means"
LDA: "Yeah she wants me, because I rock"
*in my head* "Yeah. 'SHE' wants you alright, there is a 500 pound pedophile in Iowa with an bbq chicken wing stuck to his back since Tuesday of last week salivating over your 'magic skills', did you send her a pic of your dick yet?"
Laughing the whole way to the back of the warehouse, I am grateful that I no longer have to worry about impressing anyone by breaking up with my non-girlfriend, and leaving her for an elf girl.
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