Monday, February 1, 2010

Memoir Monday: Yesterday.

(Hey guys and gals. It's Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y'all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the book!)



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Before we get started, I just want to say that next week we'll be debuting a NEW BUTTON! I'm so excited! Tamara over at Cheapskate Mom made me one up real nice! 

Also, I really want to do a PICTURE MEMOIR MONDAY next week. It can be one picture, or two, or whatever. I just want it to tell a story. Matter of fact, you can tell a story WITH the picture, telling us what it's about, or you can just post a picture. I have to prove to some people that I was skinny in the 7th grade, and I intend on doing that. 

So there you have it. NEXT WEEK IS PICTURE MEMOIR MONDAY! Let's get 50 people involved in it!

Ladies and gents, I'll be honest. Every once in a while, I have a great deal of trouble pulling a memory out of this fat head of mine, dusting it off, and picking up the remains to type in some sort of legible form for y'alls enjoyment. 

This week, however, proved to be an exception. 

Yesterday was the beginning of the week. 

I already want it to be over. 

You see, my mom got me out of bed at 8 to help her move. She's moving from a house that is pretty sizable, into a house that, while very nice, is about a third as big as the one she was in. 

We received the information, "I'm packed and ready to go."

I've gotten you some pictures:

This is packed picture number 1:




Number 2:




Here is what fell out of the couch as we were carrying through the doorway:




That's a pencil, a butter knife, 3 cough drops and a plastic wrapper. McGuyver could turn that shit into a moving truck. That's real. 

And, for your viewing pleasure, this is The Youngest. 




He is hard at work here, looking sexy for you ladies. Appreciate that. 

I guess this would be Part 2. 

You see, after I did all that moving business, I had to go to work. 

5-10 shift, easy and slow.

Just like your mom.  OH SNAP!

Or so I thought. 

You see, my MANAGER was supposed to open the store at noon. I guess he decided that he didn't want to do that, being the manager and all. He thought that I was supposed to open, and he was wrong. So the store didn't get open till 3, and even then, he MADE ANOTHER EMPLOYEE OPEN instead of coming up there and doing it himself. 

Yeah. He's a douchefuck. 

So he calls me, and wants me to go in earlier than 5, since he has forced someone to go up there that wasn't supposed to. I say sure. 

I showed up at 5. 

Fuck my manager. That's real. 

When I get there, there is a line beginning to form at the poor sumbitch he's got in there's register. I had to go to the back to count the drawers, so I grab a key and get to it. 

When I come back up front, the line is a bit longer, and the guy runnin the register is having some troubles. The customer he was helping was very patient and understanding, but such was not true for the rest of the customers, who were duly upset because the place of business that they usually frequent WASN'T FUCKING OPEN ON TIME. I had to step over and help the guy with the transaction, and shit started getting real. 

The friction. It was palpable. 

Anytension, finally someone broke. This guy, who from henceforth be known as The Bastard, spoke up and said, "Y'all need to hurry the hell up." 

I said, "Sir, we're working as fast as we can."
TB: "Yeah? Well, you need to check me the hell out."
Me: "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you not to cuss in front of the customers."
TB: "Whatever. Just hurry the hell up."
Me: "Okay sir, please leave the store."
TB: "Yeah? You fatass. You're so damn slow, you fatass."
Me: "How clever, sir. You made fun of the first thing you noticed about me."

It was quiet for a second, and the line ERUPTED into laughter. The Bastard was quite literally LAUGHED out of the store. On his way out, and I shit you not, he THREW his movies at me. THREW. THE. MOVIES. 

I ninja dodged that shit, and almost said, "Who's slow now, bitch?"

I didn't, because I think that would have crossed the line he did, and that's not classy. 

Was it over?

Naw. 

Here's Part 3. 

At almost closing time, a middle aged Asian man walked up to the counter and asked me my thoughts on the movie Paranormal Activity. I haven't seen it, because I don't like scary movies, because I like to sleep at night. However, I told him I'd heard a lot of mixed reviews. He then said this:

"Well, my wife wanted it. I'll give her shizzle about it if it's bad."

I'm going to give you a second to let that sink in...and while you're waiting, here's a picture of what the guy looked like. 




It is at this point that I would just like to say:

Congratulations, Snoop. You win. You got the Asians. You had some competition with those Hello Kitty backpacks, but you win. 

Yo bizzles. Fo rizzles, I'm out fo shizzle. Y'all keep it rizzle.  

Other Non-Moving Truck Drives Down Memory Lane: (GO READ THEM!)