| She Brought Me Whiskey In Bed |
[Mar. 10th, 2004|09:15 pm] |
Where was I… oh yes! I was telling you the story about how I got fired as a grocery-bagger!
It was a time of intense confusion in America, a time of uncertainty. But there was one thing you could count on – absolute chaos. Every morning we woke up healthy in our own beds or somebody else's beds, we rejoiced. It's amazing what the human mind can condition itself to. It's sort of impressive that your idea of a good time can go from "dropping limousines from hot-air balloons" to "finding a freshly dead, non-mutated insect in an area not under surveillance" in less than five years.
Despite all that, I had a job to do, and I had just seen "Silence of the Lambs" for the 25th time in less than a week, and I was convinced it was my destiny to become the precious keepsake of one of these fidgety, anti-depressant-addled soccer moms.
My job was bagging groceries, and I did it with absolute dedication. Heavy items on bottom. Meat items plastic-bagged and placed away from canned goods or sharp objects. Fresh vegetables were to be separate, and any sort of toxic cleaning product would be placed in its entirely own bag. Very careful not to squash the bread, which was bagged with other light things. Always washing hands after bathroom obligations. Wore actual tie, not clip-on tie. Called manager "Mr. Floss" even though all the big-haired, freckle-faced cashiers called him "Zippy". Never cursed around customers, never spit or belched. Always smiling, always helpful, always harboring an intense urge to die violently and be made into a garment.
My first victim was… well, I say "victim". It's kind of hard to determine the "victim" when my actual, illegal goal was to be slaughtered by a soccer mom. The first woman who "took me up on my offer" was Valerie Dementia. Mrs. Dementia was 41 years old, with a slim build. She drove a brand new, black Lincoln Navigator with the personalized license plate "HOELADY". She was really into gardening, yet really oblivious to pop culture. She liked to buy crossword puzzle books and she liked "Caffeine-Free Diet Coke". She was about five foot nine.
And her husband was so fat he had to use one of those motorized scooters.
Dr. Ivan Dementia was the nefarious leader of a diabolical shadow government that operated under the guise of an oil company, of which he was the CEO. Dr. Dementia also had several of his big toes serving positions on the boards of several media empires. Dr. Dementia had a hidden fortress in the secret jungles of Antarctica, which lie at the center. Dr. Dementia owned shares of an island in the South Pacific, about 1000 miles south of Hawaii, that cartographers throughout history have been instructed not to map, under penalty of death-in-front-of-their-own-children.
Dr. Dementia was rad, and he liked his steaks thick.
Mrs. Valeria Dementia had just spent about $2000 at American Hero Foods, and I was operating the forklift that would hoist her goods onto her luggage rack. As always, she waved a fistful of hundred-dollar bills in front of my face, and I gave her my usual reply, "Sorry, Ma'am! We can't accept tips!" I placed the stuff on her rack and dismounted my machine to wish Mr. Dementia a pleasant evening, and to implored her to return to "American Hero Food" on her next impulse-buying binge. She kindly reciprocated, and agreed.
Then, I pressed down real hard with my weight and intentionally broke my own ankle, and the pain was so great that I could not emit an audible shriek despite my most furious and desperate attempts. Mrs. Dementia rushed in my direction and knelt at my ribs. "Honey, are you okay? What happened??"
I gasped for air. "Mizz Dumensha? My ankle done give out! Can you take me to the 'mergency ward?"
Mrs. Dementia was all too gracious. "Certainly, dude! But I gotta go right after I drop you off, okay!"
She reached down with both arms and picked me up by my knees and my shoulders, and pressed the button on the remote-control door opener with her teeth. I felt like an overgrown, perverted baby nestled against her bosom. She could feel it. I could feel it, too.
Halfway to the hospital, I just became incredibly bored with the whole situation. I imagined all the other hobbies I could have, like origami or shaving. But, I knew that I had to try to ride out this situation. So, I used my special powers and un-broke my ankle, and leaned forward between the front seats of the SUV that Mrs. Dementia was frantically driving and also ordering some jewelry off the Home Shopping Channel.
"Hey," I muttered. "I think I'm okay, really. Can you just take me back to work?"
"But… but your ANKLE?! I saw it BREAK IN HALF back there!!!"
"Nah," I said. It's just a trick I use to get into women's cars. But I decided I don't want to do that no more. Can you take me back to work, now?"
Mrs. Dementia didn't say anything. She clenched her jaw and floored the accelerator of the SUV, improperly-packaged Pez dispensers and Kool-Aid packets flying off the roof and into eternity.
"Work is the other way," I said, then becoming fixated on her dangling, "No Spin Zone" Bill O'Reilly air freshener.
Mrs. Dementia approached the drawbridge at infuriating speed. She unfastened her seat belt as the SUV bounced onto the incline. As the SUV reached the top of the incline, she pressed the huge, red button on the dashboard that I noticed earlier but had forgotten to ask about. A series of tiny explosions caused the roof of the SUV to separate from the chassis, and in that instant another series of explosions jettisoned her driver's seat upward from the frame of the car, to approximately 500 feet into the air. A parachute was deployed at the peak of the apex, and she floated to safety, yet would later complain about soreness from the impact with the ground.
I, on the other hand, plummeted to certain doom, trying to remember the differences between crocodiles and alligators. As the SUV reached the terminal velocity in its downward trajectory, I decided I wanted to live. I kicked open the back doors and then, in slow motion, ripped them off their hinges. I began to flap the SUV doors in a bird-like manner, until my efforts proved greater than gravity's tug. I flew some 4,000 miles, because I had always wanted to vacation in Hawaii.
And I did not show up for work until I got back. Boss man had already tore up my time card.
<3
jeffR |
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