Hypothetical Question

I cannot believe all the illegal immigration ruckus going on now - illegals demanding rights they are not entitled to - upset that they don't get the same benefits and privileges as U.S. citizens do, when U.S. citizens would be laughed at if they tried to do the same thing in Mexico as what illegal immigrants are doing here right now.

And we'd be lucky to just get laughed at if we tried this kind of stuff in Mexico - we'd be lucky to evade being locked in prison.

Illegals are trying to get the Star Spangled Banner to be sung in Spanish, they are trying to get free amnesty so they don't have to make a genuine effort to go through the legal process of becoming a U.S. citizen, and they expect the U.S. to cater to their every demand, as if our denying their "right" to have a political voice is an infringment on the entire race of Mexicans. And they actually have the guile to march in our streets, waving the Mexican flag, insisting that we give in to their demands.

You are illegal. You do not have a political voice in our country. Go back to your own country and exercise your rights and your political voice there, and reform Mexico so you can actually be proud to live in your country, and not have to sneak off and expect the U.S. to babysit you while you live off of our tax money, crowd our freeways, schools, and emergency rooms, and expect a mint on your pillow too.


Boy, do I feel better after that rant.

So my question is...

How long will it be until illegal immigrants demand that the U.S. start accepting pesos and other Mexican currency as legal tender?

I thought of this during work today. After witnessing all the absurd political madness currently going on with the illegal immigrant infestation and the subsequent demanding of rights, and the fact that there are actually people in the U.S. sympathetic to their asinine requests, from the liberal media to politicians to who knows who else, and since the state or federal government doesn't seem to be doing much of anything to stop any of this, I would not be a bit surprised.

Interesting E-mail

So I got an email from amazon.com yesterday...


I open it, and I see that it is an ad from their Health and Personal Care department. The border of the email is light purple, and the text is written in teal. So I assume they are trying to push some new beauty product or weight loss program designed to help me lose weight - like I need that.

So I scroll down, and what do I see?


Dear Amazon.com Customer,


Since you have purchased extreme sports gear or beef snacks in the past, we thought you might like to know that Slim Jim, Original, Case of 12 15-Ounce Canisters is now available for ordering. Order yours by following the link below.


Okay, I'm sorry. What did I miss here? Amazon's Health and Personal Care department is recommending that I try Slim Jims?!? Why? So I'll be in need of their other products to nurse me back to full health after eating AN ENTIRE CASE OF SLIM JIMS?

And I'm sorry, but I don't believe I have ever purchased extreme sports gear or beef snacks from amazon.com. I prefer to purchase my cliff diving nose plugs and my cow testicles from more local establishments, thank you very much.

Of course, we can't forget the product description.


Product Description:
Slim Jim, the number one brand of meat sticks, is a convenient, one-of-a-kind snack with the intense flavor and snap that people love. It’s a unique combination of spice and attitude, made from beef and real smoke flavoring.

I took the liberty to mark with bold, and in one place of heightened dictional emergency - italics, words or phrases which cause an English major great distress and alarm that something like this actually gets passed off as acceptable advertisement material, or acceptable writing in general.

Let me explain why.


1. "Meat sticks". When a product like dried beef inherently defies a more dignified name, is this really the best they can do to market the product? "Here, try this. It's brown, we got it from a cow, and it's in the shape of a stick. What's that? Oh, yeah, I think there's meat in there, somewhere."


2. "Snap". People love it when their food snaps at them? Do meat sticks snap?

I did some more research on this, and found an excerpt from a product description of the Hot Beef and Cheese Slim Jims: "A "Snap" moment occurs when you reach a physical or personal milestone, even if you don't know if you can do it."

Gee, what better product to keep at your side in order to reach your physical and personal milestones than the incredible meat stick.

Disclaimer: Meat sticks' meat content may exceed fat content. Proceed at your own risk.


3. "Attitude". I'd imagine that it would have to be essential for an obviously poorly marketed product to have some sort of moxie or attitude to avoid the ever-looming depression I'm sure meat sticks everywhere are faced with. "If only I had tried a little harder, maybe I could have been a steak" is a sentence which I'm sure is heard reverberating around the Slim Jim Play-Doh Extruder Factory. (Hey, how else do you think they make them into those little tube-stick shapes, anyhow?)


4. "...made from beef and real smoke flavoring."

WOW! It's made from the real smoke flavoring? That's amazing! If that's the case, where are the "Slim Jim Real Smoke Flavoring Sticks?"


Anyway, here's to your health...

Finally!

A Home Depot story worth blogging about!


Sunday night, I was working at a register that was adjacent to a soda cooler with various drinks for sale - coke, diet coke, sprite, lemonade, energy drinks, and so on.

As I'm working through my line of customers, the next customer turns out to be an Asian lady with no merchandise in plain view. I greet her expectantly.

Me: "How're you doing, ma'am?"
Her: (In a thick Asian accent) "Hi, I'd like to buy some lemonade."
Me: "Lemonade?"
Her: (nodding) Yes.

I'm trying to think this through in my head. Lemonade. Surely she couldn't be so oblivious as to not see the huge soda cooler behind her, in plain view of the line she was standing in a minute ago. So why is she asking for lemonade? Does she want a whole bunch of it, even more than what's in the cooler?

These types of thoughts were going through my head, as I visibly contorted my face in an attempt to figure it all out.

I continued:

Me: Lemonade???
Her: (still nodding)

Wondering if I'm misunderstanding her, and reluctant to make a fool of myself by saying that there was some behind her, I tried to think what Home Depot could possibly sell that sounded like "lemonade".

I decided to make a fool of myself.

I pointed towards the cooler behind her, and began to say:

"We have some over there..."

But before I was able to finish my semi-coherent thought, a customer behind the lady had a brilliant thought.

"Laminate?" he suggested.

Her: Yes, "lamonade".

(My proverbial language-barrier light finally goes on...)

Me: Ohhh, laminate flooring?
Her: (nodding vigorously now) Yes!


Sigh. I hope there's an equally prestigious place in Heaven next to those who give food to the hungry and give drink to the thirsty for those who give a clue to the clueless. I'm a natural at that.

A Joke...

...That I made up:



Q. How many fish did the singer catch?


A. Tenor twelve bass.

A Special Night

My latest assignment: To write a 1 page story containing a flashback. I had to start in present tense, shift to past tense, and revert back to present tense at the end.

Too tired to write anything else about it. Enjo...zzzzzzzzzzzzz...


A Special Night

“Ughhhhhh…” The struggle to open my eyelids seems extraordinarily difficult this morning. They feel as if they are encrusted with some sort of hardened film, or as I like to call them, “eye boogers”. I force my eyelids open and attempt to ascertain my surroundings while rubbing off the gunk that is hanging from my eyelashes.

What is that smell? As I turn over and look at where I am laying, I see piles of large plastic bags, empty cans of food, boxes, a few banana peels, and what appears to be the remains of some long deceased rodent. Suppressing a sudden wave of nausea, I peer over the side of what appears to be a large blue container, about seven feet long and four feet wide. The cement ground is about three feet below my current elevation, and is covered in a large pile of vomit. On the side of the container, I see the words “Rainbow Disposal”. As I attempt to get out of the refuse bin, I become all too aware of the intense pain in my stomach.

How did I get here? Where is here? Why does it feel like my stomach is being pierced with sharp knives wielded by indigestion goblins? These thoughts pervade my brain as I try and remember what could have possibly happened last night to grant me an experience of such agonizing woe.

Let’s see. I was walking down the street, going to my favorite little delicatessen for a late dinner. It was past 10 pm already, and I was quite hungry after my two hour workout at the gym. I stepped inside, and the place was uncharacteristically crowded for this time of the night. As I meandered my way through a crowd on my way towards the bar, I was intercepted by an old friend of mine whom I hadn’t seen for a while -intentionally - the guy’s a tactless schmuck.

“Jake! How’s it hanging man?”

“Shut up Ricky. You know it hasn’t since the ‘squirrel incident,’” spat Jake.

“Hey man, just joking with you. I thought you were okay with it since you got your prosthetic Italian dinner,” smirked Ricky.

“My what?” demanded Jake.

“Your spaghetti and meatballs,” said Ricky, laughing.

“Yeah, real funny, jerk.”

“Hey, come on man. Take a joke. Here, I’ll buy you something,” offered Ricky.

Looking forward to this dinner about as much as a toilet looks forward to its dinner, I tentatively took a stool at the bar next to Ricky.

“Hey, I dare you to get the Special,” said Ricky nonchalantly.

The Special was the least ordered item on the menu, and for good reason. No one really knew what was in it, not even the locals. Even the chefs and waitresses were bewildered and intimidated enough by it to dissuade anyone who wasn’t wearing a full body radiation suit from ordering it. Rumor has it that a curious customer managed to sneak in the back one day, and reported seeing five burlap sacks in the back, which were dated “1856”, and had the words “Special”, and “May Contain Traces of Nuts or Other Genitalia” marked on them.

Against my better judgment, and even against my worst judgment, for some reason, I order the Special. What it looks like, I don’t know. What’s in it, I don’t remember. Whether or not I’ll ever be able to eat again, time will tell.

“BLARRRRRGGGHHHH,” I retch.

A Fair Fight

Here's another one pager I wrote, this time for my Creative Writing: Fiction class. I basically made it up off the top of my head as I was writing. My original thought for it was that I would start it off with some guy wrestling a buffalo, and somehow make it into an interesting story, but that was a little too far-fetched even for me. I nearly scrapped the whole story, but I was able to work it into this. It's not terribly funny, in my humble opinion, but it was a fun story for me at least. Enjoy.


A Fair Fight

Jeremy was an extremely talented fighter. He had spent many hours sparring with his best friend, Dave, who had two left fists, but who served as a decent punching bag. After each practice match, which usually resulted in Dave lying on the ground, bleeding, Jeremy would always stand tall and exclaim, “No problem.”

So one night, they were sitting in their apartment together, in El Paso, Texas, wondering what to do with the money they had just stolen from the 1st National Bank, about 30 minutes away. They had escaped with over $25,000 before the police arrived at the scene. Unfortunately, Dave had slipped up during the robbery and called Jeremy by his real name, instead of his alibi, which happened to be Snickers - for his affinity towards the candy bar, not for his cheerful laughing. And Jeremy, furious at Dave for blowing his cover, proceeded to tackle him and, amidst the scuffle, dropped his wallet, though that was unbeknownst to him at the time. After thoroughly pummeling Dave, he rose to his feet and exclaimed, “No problem.”

So, realizing that the police could perfectly identify one person in the crime, and could probably put the pieces together and identify the other member without too much effort, they decided it would be in their best interest to migrate down to Chihuahua, Mexico, because it was within driving distance, and it had the funniest name.

During their stay in Chihuahua, they encountered a rather large and dilapidated building with an eccentric-looking yellow neon sign which read “Extreme Mexican Fighting”. The name alone intrigued their criminal minds, and at Jeremy’s suggestion, they decided to go in. He figured that whoever he faced in that building, it would be “No problem.”

Inside, Jeremy expected to see a boxing ring or some sort of barbed wire cage. Instead, all he saw was a large empty room, save for a loud boom box in one corner which was blasting mariachi music, and three Mexicans at the far end of the building, next to what looked to be an enormous steel storage vault.

As soon as they had entered the building, the three men at the far end of the building approached them. The leader, a short yet burly man, spoke first.

“You gringos lookin’ for a fight?” asked the leader.

Stepping up, Jeremy said, “I’ll fight your best guy. Heck, I’ll fight all three of you. No problem.”

The leader laughed. “Yo homes, we ain’t fighting you. Chill man.”

Confused, Jeremy asked, “Well, who am I fighting?”

“You be fighting our luchador numero uno – his name is ‘No Problemo’.”

And with that, the leader pulled out a remote device, pressed a button, and ran out the door with his two comrades. Surprised, Jeremy and his two buddies turned to see what that button did.

The door to the vault had opened, to reveal a huge, angry, seething, and advancing bull. This was not just any bull though. This bull was named “No Problemo”, and for good reason. Mounted on its head was a double barreled shotgun, which was controlled by an apparatus attached to its neck which fired the gun whenever it jerked its neck back.

“N-n-nooo…” stuttered Jeremy.

“BANG!!!” said the shotgun.

Assorted Hodge-Podge

I've made up these little tidbits over time, but never had a chance to work them in a blog, so I figured I'd just give them a short blog of their own.


A Self-Help Book That Will Never Be Written:

10 Habits of Highly Effective Migratory Vegetation - by Lettuce Leaf


A Book of Modern Innovations That Will Never Be Written:

Yellow Bait - by P. Fischer



Two Random Jokes I came up with:


Q. What did the leprous pimp say to his feet?

A. Yo, where my toes at?


Q. What do you call a Web Browser for those with especially profane mouths?

A. Intourette Explorer.

Cloudy Words

Wow, mine is pretty stupid, methinks.

After reading Aaron and Sara's blogs, I thought I'd do one to see which words are used most in my blog. It seems it mostly takes into account my more recent posts, but I may be mistaken.

Yeah, so basically, like, one cup of books, in time, doesn't read like two phones in school. My turtle went pee.

Back in School, Back in Blogging

I hope at least.

I am taking four English classes this semester, three of which are creative writing classes. Therefore, I hope to blog most of my stories and such, as I'm sure many of them will end up being funny.

About myself: I am no longer working at Taco Bell. I now work at Home Depot, and have been for the last 3 months. And yes, I know I need to change my title description...

Unfortunately, there have not been many funny stories of the same caliber as my Taco Bell stories. The only two that even come remotely close I will relate to you.

The first was when an older lady came to my register to purchase a few things. I rung up her stuff, and told her the total. She proceeded to write a check. When she handed me the check, this is what I saw:

The check was made out to "Builders Hardware"
The check was dated "January 14th, 2005"

The problem with the date was the fact that it was actually the 18th, and in the year 2006.

So I informed her where she was shopping and that today wasn't the 14th. She then said, "Oh, the 15th?" I kindly corrected her by saying, "No, actually, it's the 18th. And it's the year 2006."

"Oh", she said. "I guess I'm behind a little."

O RLY?


The second funny thing I came across was when someone was purchasing a sledgehammer. The funny thing about it was the sticker which was located on the handle of the sledgehammer. I actually just finished writing a one-page story for a homework assignment, and I based my original idea for the story solely around what that sticker said. Here is the story:


Hank, a rather portly and uncivilized fellow, whose personal life motto happened to be “More Pork, Less Fork”, never was the type of person who, when presented with a question, answered it in a socially acceptable manner. Hank was what some would call a cerebral sadist. When faced with a question that caused him great mental anguish in obtaining a suitable answer, he tended to strike himself repeatedly in the cranial area until such a response stumbled, slipped, and spilled from somewhere inside the shadowy depths of his pebble-sized brain out through his mouth and whichever nostril had been blown within the last month. Of course, this was contingent on how often he cleaned his cat, Snuffles, between his mucus migrations.

As he made his way through a local hardware store, he stumbled upon a large and rather colorful display. It advertised the sale of several rather hefty and heavy sledgehammers. Each one consisted of a three-foot long yellow fiberglass handle, with the typical black mass of metal formed in an optimally “wrecktangular” shape at the end, which constituted the head, or the thing that breaks stuff.

He picked one up to inspect it closer, and something caught his eye on the handle. It was a promotional-looking sticker, like the ones which are typically found in other retail stores, which read, “Buy One, Get One Free”, “Financing Available”, or “Hands Off You Scum!” This one, despite the inherent logical contradictions, simply read, “Try Me.” Hank, lost in the intricacies of the irony, simply stood there, staring off into space.

“OWWW!!!!!!! SON OF A…TURNIP” said Hank, as a few of his brain synapses failed to connect in order to remind his arms about the heavy instrument which they had just dropped on his feet. After having experienced that initial burst of podiatric pain, several other synapses disconnected, just in time to make Hank forget which expletive he was about to yelp, only to have it replaced with some vegetable-related tangent long forgotten within the depths of his brain.

Not being a huge fan of pain in other areas of the body besides the head, Hank became understandably enraged and unexplainably constipated, possibly adding to his indignation. He proceeded to pick up the sledgehammer and smash everything in sight. Displays of power tools and designer wrenches, cash registers, contractors, hicks, hick contractors, and in a fantastic display of acrobatic ability – the twenty-foot tall drywall ceiling, causing a downpour of gypsum to rain all over the now demolished store.

The next thing Hank noticed after coming out of his savage trance was that his beefy hands were being thrust behind his back in a vain attempt to have them meet closely enough for handcuffs to be effective. Unfortunately for the police, Hank was an average American male, meaning he was an exceedingly large man, whose unnatural girth defied the standard size of handcuffs. Once properly detained, with the aid of 3 consecutively linking pairs of handcuffs, and several rolls of duct tape, Hank was placed in the police cruiser, and approached by two police officers. The first, Officer Jurks, asked, “What’s your name, son?”

Feeling the first premonitions of a head-bashing urge coming, Hank replied, “Steve.”

“How come your license says Hank Banks, then?" asked Officer Suie.

Twitching slightly, Hank answered, “I lied.”

“Oh weeeellll then. We got a scallawag on our hands, don’t we now?” presumed Officer Jurks.

“Seems to be the case. We’ll have to ask you lots of questions to be sure you’re telling the truth once we get back to the station, Steve.” said Officer Suie.

Veins nearly popping out in his head, Hank’s only prevailing thought as they drove out onto the sun-drenched streets was, “If only I still had that sledgehammer…”

CSU Schools Scam Their Students

Catchy headline, isn't it?

I have absolutely no sympathy anymore for educational activists, politicians, and college teachers who whine about how crappy their schools are and how the government is hindering sufficient funding. All the liberal loudmouths and the students and voters they infect with the mindset that the conservative government is neglecting education are supporting a blatant lie fabricated to mislead the impressionable masses who blindly accept what they are told is correct by these biased and uninformed sources.

If CSU schools are indeed suffering, it is because of poor financial management and spending within the school, not because of a lack of funding.

For those of you who do not know, I am currently attending CSULB, and majoring in English: Creative Writing. And I just sold my books back today. These books, which originally cost me more than $300, were only able to be exchanged for a comparatively meager $53 when sold back to the campus bookstore.

$53 for over $300 worth of books. That's 1/6 of what I paid. Three particularly underbid books were ones which I had bought for the same class, which is going to be identically offered by the same instructor again at CSULB next semester. One book, which originally cost $25, was bought back for $1. Another, which was originally $50, was bought back for $2. Yet another, originally costing $70, was bought back for $4. Seems fair, right?

And what's the lame excuse the guy gave me for offering such a low price? When I asked, he said that basically no one else in the country is using these books except for my professor at this school.

A problem I see with this excuse:

Why would the price go down if the only people using them are the ones taking this specific teacher's class at CSULB? The price wasn't $1 when I bought it, so obviously they aren't having any trouble selling them. Why not be honest and just tell me what they're really going to do? They're going to sell them back at this same bookstore next semester, for an approximate 2500% profit on each book, to each new student taking the exact same class with the exact same teacher.

Now, let's speculate about this.

There are approximately 33,500 students attending CSULB. Each student needs books. How many books depends on the number of classes being taken and how many books are required in each class. From what I understand, $300 is a pretty standard if not moderate cost for textbooks in a typical semester. So let's just assume that each student is going to pay approximately $300 in books, as some students will pay less, and some students will pay more.

Let's do some math.

(And again, this is purely speculative, as there are factors which will affect these numbers, such as those who buy and sell their books via a third party like an off-campus bookstore or from other students. So this serves to show how staggering of a profit college campuses can make through textbook and other sales.)

33,500 students x $300 in books = $10,050,000. 10 million dollars in textbooks each semester.

1/6 of $10,050,000 = $1,675,000. $1,675,000 dollars being given back to the students in exchange for their books.

$10,050,000 - $1,675,000 = $8,375,000. $8,375,000 dollars being earned by the school each semester by selling books at high prices and buying them back at cheap prices.

Of course, this number varies as some people get more than 1/6 of their money back. And then again, the school won't even buy back some books, so who knows what the exact amount is.


Now, we cannot possibly forget other such exorbitant fees being charged to students who attend CSU schools, such as tuition and parking. Tuition at CSULB costs each full-time student $1,432 dollars, and a parking pass costs about $95.

Not everyone drives to school, so for our analysis, I'll be conservative and say that 1/2 of the students will buy a parking pass.

16,750 students x $95 = $1,591,250. That's not including those students who use the metered parking and who buy day parking passes.

Now, for the big money.

33,500 full-time students x $1,432 dollars = $47,972,000.

Of course, this is not totally correct because not everyone is a full time student. Part-timers pay $904 per semester in tuition. So let's say 1/4 of the students are part-time, which would yield 7,571,000 for those students, leaving the 3/4 of the full-timers (25,125 students) remaining to pay $35,979,000.

And what about those in more expensive graduate programs, and those living on campus? Even more revenue for the school. But I won't even speculate on those.

So according to my very crude and very incomplete calculations, CSULB makes around $40 million dollars each semester from tuition alone. Add the $1.5 million from parking, and the $8 million from book profits, they get around $50 million dollars every semester to throw around.

Don't even tell me CSU schools are poor and need funding. It's simply not true. Not with the prices they charge. And especially not with the current wages being paid to teachers. So where is all that money going, anyway?

Do Not Read This Blog On Your Computer. It May Cause Explosions.

I recently bought a new phone a little more than a month ago, when I switched from Verizon to Cingular.

Now, as you look at this phone, you'll probably notice that it seems pretty normal and harmless right? Wrong! If you happen to read the novel which is the instruction manual, you'll quickly find out this innocent-looking phone could very easily qualify as the most intricate, complicated, high-maintenance, and potentially dangerous object in your entire house, and quite possibly the entire world. And yes, I'm holding it up to my ear, pressed against my head, every single day. Yippee.

What makes this phone such a fright you ask? Well, allow me to quote numerous safety guidelines taken directly from the LG C2000 User Guide, and you can make your own decision on whether or not my life is in immediate danger by owning this phone, or if the technical writer(s) who wrote this booklet were being overly melodramatic.


Safety Instructions

• Never store your phone in settings that may expose it to temperatures less than 32°F or greater than 104°F. Exposure to excessive cold or heat will result in malfunction, damage and/or catastrophic failure.

Catastrophic failure? As if malfunctioning and damage wasn't enough? Now you have to subject my fears to the possibility of such an intimidating and vague term like a catastrophic failure? I associate a word like catastrophic to something like the engine of a plane exploding or all four stomachs of a cow ceasing to function...not my cell phone failing to work. "My phone doesn't work! Help! The world is coming to an end!"

• Be careful when using your phone near other electronic devices. Never place your phone in a microwave oven as this will cause the battery to explode.

Explode? Explode?!? First of all, who in their right mind would ever put their cell phone in a microwave in the first place? And is this such a common problem that it is necessary to include in the user guide? Do people often confuse their TV dinners or Tupperware products with their cell phones because they look so similar? Maybe some distracted person might put the phone down to warm up a leftover meal and in his ineptitude place the phone in the microwave while sticking last night's pasta in his ear, prompting a completely different canelloni-related (or should I say Canaloni?) problem aside from the recently exploded cell phone in his microwave.

• Never place your phone in a microwave oven as it will cause the battery to explode.

What, again? Is it really necessary to tell people this twice? I think we get the point by now. Microwaves + Cell Phones = Things Go Boom.

• Do not dispose of your battery by fire or with hazardous or flammable materials.

Oh wonderful. Not only will it explode, or so I'm guessing as that seems to be the common theme so far, but this means I can't make my famous battery acid, gasoline, and dry brush bonfires anymore. I don't think the people who wrote this book ever have any fun.

• Make sure that no sharp-edged items such as animal's teeth, nails, come into contact with the battery. There is a risk of this causing a fire.

Fire? From biting and scratching? Hmm, sounds like an obvious case of severe animal-related explosion fires to me. Possibly quite catastrophic.

• Store the battery in a place out of reach of children.

Wait. So I have to disassemble the phone and store the battery separately from it in a child-proof, and more importantly, explosion-proof place? That's practical.

• Be careful that children do not swallow any parts such as rubber plugs (earphone, connection parts of the phone, etc.) This could cause asphyxiation or suffocation.

(Or explosion.)

• In a car, do not leave your phone or set up the hands-free kit near to the air bag. If wireless equipment is improperly installed and the air bag is activated, you may be seriously injured.

Yeah, the one thing that actually can potentially blow up: the air bag. Yet ironically, it only gets two measly sentences of mentioning, though its chance of "exploding" and deploying is infinitely greater than any of these other ridiculous situations.

• Do not use a hand-held phone while driving.

No cell phone while driving? Yeah, that could happen. Shya, and exploding cell phone batteries might fly out of my butt.

• Do not use the phone in areas where its use is prohibited.

Duh?

• Never store your phone in temperatures less than -4°F or greater than 122°F.

Yet, as previously mentioned, I thought the acceptable range was 32°F to 104°F. But I doubt this is really a problem, unless you're either an Eskimo or an extremely sociable sand dune.

• Do not use harsh chemicals (such as alcohol) or detergents to clean your phone. There is a risk of this causing a fire.

You're supposed to clean your phone? I guess this just means that if you actually want to clean it some day, you can't ask Jack Daniels to help you.

• Do not use your phone in high explosive areas as the phone may generate sparks.

In other words, no using your phone in your local TNT factory or land mine emporium.

• Do not disassemble the phone.

I guess if we can't be trusted not to stick our phones in the microwave or clean them with a six-pack, then this disclaimer really is necessary because we obviously can't be trusted to resist the urge to take them apart and see how the infernal devices work...because heaven knows if we can't tell the difference between a plate of food and a phone, we'll never rebuild it into any semblance of what it used to look like without somehow blowing ourselves up in the process.

• Only use the batteries, antennas, and chargers provided by LG.

Translation: We want more money.

• Only authorized personnel should service the phone and its accessories. Faulty installation or service may result in accidents...

...Yeah, accidents. I.E. Explosions.

• Do not hold or let the antenna come in contact with your body during a call.

Why? Will I explode?!?

• An emergency call can be made only within a service area. For an emergency call, make sure that you are within a service area and that the phone is turned on.

I give up. If anyone is so utterly ignorant to the fact that your phone has to be on in order to make a call, no user guide on the face of this earth is going to save them now. And you have to be in a service area? You mean there has to be a signal too? My goodness, how complicated these devices are!

• Using a damaged battery or placing a battery in your mouth may cause serious injury.

NO KIDDING!!!!!!!!

And then, last but not least, there's my personal favorite:

• Do not paint your phone.

Do people actually do this? "My phone is boring. I think I'll paint it red and give it racing stripes so it'll go faster! I...hey, why can't I open my phone?"


So basically, what I've learned from all this is:

You can't do anything right as the owner of a cell phone. Anything you do can and will cause your phone to spark, spontaneously burst into flames, and explode without warning...several times over.

Ah, the joys of technology.

If technology had a motto, it would be: "Live longer. Die faster."

The BIG Change

The time has come. My days at Taco Bell are coming to a close. Just tonight, I told my manager, Thaddus, that I was quitting, and he was very supportive and said that he would miss having me around.

Why am I quitting, you ask? Taco Insurrection? Bad Gas? Finally had your fill of stupid people?

Not yet. Often. Yes.

Actually, the main reason I am quitting Taco Bell is because I have been offered a job at Home Depot. It pays $8.75 an hour to start, goes up to $9.25 an hour after 90 days, while at the same time, my benefits will kick in. My benefits include full life, dental, medical, animal, vegetable, mineral, not to mention lots of others which I probably will never need. However, the most significant is something called "Tuition Reimbursement". Basically, Home Depot will pay for 50% of my school tuition/fees/books as long as I am working for them and going to school and am in a major which can potentially help my job skills. And, as an English major, I qualify because it is such a broad and versatile major that covers so many different aspects of learning.

So it all seems very exciting. I have to wait for my background check to be finished before I can start training. Also, I had to go take a drug test today, which was interesting. For those of you who haven't taken a drug test before, what it basically consists of is you going into a medical facility, them handing you a plastic cup, and you going into the bathroom and attempting to pee into the seemingly undersized and uncomfortably thin layered cup. It is a very uncomfortable and unnatural situation, because essentially, you no longer have a large porcelain bowl to pee into. Instead, it is replaced with a plastic "toilet" which has seemingly shrunk to minuscule size.

So I go to the pee place, fill out a small form unrelated to pee, and sit down and wait in the lobby. Eventually, an Asian man calls me in. He has me sign something not dissimilar to a specimen-permission-slip, basically allowing them to take my urine on a field trip to see the Space Needle in Peattle, Washington, or possibly to see the capital in Washington P.C.

He then hands me the proverbial cup, and directs my attention to the side of the cup where there are increments in milliliters, and instructs me to fill the cup to the 50 ML line. He says that I can fill it more if I want, but that it needs to be at least 50 ML. I look at the side of the cup, and determine how much of the cup I'd need to fill in order to get 50 ML of urine. The line looks to only be about an 1/8 of the way up the cup.

So I proceed to the bathroom with a purpose in mind: To pee into this cup to the best of my masculine ability.

As I enter the bathroom and lock the door, my self-confidence flies out the window. All of a sudden, my head begins to be filled with question after question of things that could go wrong.

Do I set it down? Do I pee directly into the cup while holding it? Will it splash? What if the stream is so powerful that it knocks the cup out of my hands and it gets all over? What if I pee on my hand? What if I get the sudden urge to pee really badly and I fill the cup up so much that it begins to spill over the edge? What if I drop it on the way back? What if...what if I get thirsty...?

And these questions were coming from someone who many years ago as a lovable yet ignorant child had to do a urine test for some reason or another. I remember back then thinking that peeing into the tiny cup was ridiculous, so I thought of another method. Basically, I ended up peeing into the toilet and scooping out the urine from the toilet into the cup, thinking that I was doing it the correct way. Needless to say, I got the results back as being heavily diluted. So I knew that today, I was going to have to conquer my fears and pee directly into the cup.

It is a very humbling feeling to know that you are holding a cup filled with your urine and the only thing separating it from you is a mere thin layer of plastic.

It didn't take me long to realize that it wouldn't be hard to get the required 50 ML of urine. So I did what any guy would do: Fill it up as far as I could. Most guys are not overachievers in anything. However, all guys are overachievers at peeing. (Case In Point: I used to sleep over at my friend David's house when I was younger, and every day when I'd wake up, I'd go to the bathroom and pee for the better part of the morning. And every time, David would be amazed at my endurance and thought it was so cool that I could pee for longer than he could). Anyway, if a guy is asked to pee in a container that holds 16 ounces, yet he is only required to provide 1 ounce, your typical guy sees it as a challenge to fill up all 16 ounces. Most likely he won't fill it all the way, but as long as he surpasses the measly requirement, he can rest easy at night knowing that he has surpassed the requirements necessary to maintain his manhood. Either that, or guys are just afraid to try and make the difficult transfer in midstream back to the toilet. Guys can't aim. Ask any guy. He'll tell you. And for that reason, I was frightened to trust myself to pee in this little cup and ONLY in this little cup.

However, all turned out well. I managed to return back to the Asian man without falling and/or spilling. I greeted him with a big overachieving smile on my face as if expecting a friendly male congratulation, like, "Hey, nice effort", or "It's so warm!" He took it from me rather nonchalantly, and told me that he was going to pour it into a vial and seal it in front of me, I guess to ensure that he wasn't going to swap it with his own pee or something...or to prove that he really wasn't as thirsty as he looked. Once he finished that, he told me that the test would be completed in 2-3 days, and then he bid me adieu.

So I walked back to my car, thinking about how much of a goof I must have looked like earlier, carrying a cup of my own pee around. In retrospect, it would have been funny to try and offer a complimentary glass of warm lemonade to unsuspecting people in the lobby area.

So yeah, I made P-Dripple proud today. I peed in a cup successfully, without turning my shorts into Wet Side Slacks.

Essay? What Essay?

Yeah, so, as always, I leave things to the last minute.

I've known I had a 3 page essay due today (It's past 1 AM right now, Thursday morning) for several days now.

So I figured I had better take a look at the prompt and get around to writing it pretty soon, seeing as how it's due in 10 hours, and I'll need to sleep for at least 6 of those hours, and spend a few more of those hours driving and vainly attempting to find a parking spot in the "parking" (And I use the term loosely) lot at CSULB.

So lo and behold, I crank out a three-page essay which takes me a grand total of about 30 minutes. This is surprising for me at least because I had no idea what I was supposed to write about until I looked up the prompt online, and I even spent some of that time looking up quotes for a movie we had to write about. (The movie is entitled, "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum", which is a hilarious movie made in 1966, which also happens to be quite sexual and dirty, unfortuntately. But besides that fact, the dialogue and characters are brilliant and it was a lot of fun.) The essay was about how the movie and also a play which I mentioned in my last blog, "The Braggart Soldier", are self-referential, among other things. I dunno, I wrote it in 30 minutes, I didn't have a lot of time to memorize the prompt.

Yeah, so being an English major at CSULB rocks, as long as you a) get there before the cars in the parking lot are so tightly packed together that they are stacked on top of each other, and b) you don't get stuck in traffic.

Today, a drive to school that normally takes about 25 minutes took 55 minutes because there was a completely isolated accident in the carpool lane on the northbound 405 freeway, the side I was on. Not only was our traffic stop-and-go, but the other southbound lane was slowing down and becoming bumper-to-bumper, even though the accident wasn't even on their side! So basically, thanks to everyone killing their cats, traffic was completely slowed down so these curious *coughnosycough* people could absentmindedly gawk at an accident that didn't appear to be more than a fender bender.

And of course, as soon as I passed the accident, traffic speed went from 15 MPH-30 MPH to 65+ MPH. It's amazing what idiotic gawking can do to a perfectly good freeway.

Reminds me of people who don't have the multi-tasking skills necessary to drive and maintain their speed and stay at or slightly above the speed limit while yakking on their cell phones about who cares what. I honestly don't understand how some people cannot have the basic foot-mouth coordination necessary to keep their lead foot pressed on the gas while at the same time talk about how Aunt Sally's cookies don't taste as good since she moved next to the pet cemetery. I don't care. Seriously. Are they so caught up in listening to their own voice that all other bodily tasks cease to function? I really don't get it. If you can't handle talking and driving at the same time, if idle chatter takes up such a substantial portion of your mind that you can't pay attention to what is going on around you, do us all a favor and either hang up your phone and throw it out the window or sell your car and burn your license.

Yeah, I'm tired and I spent too much time on the road today. I'm going to bed. More sarcastic blogs on the way...

Books, Books, and More Books!

I promised myself I'd do this "book meme" thing that Aaron (Wow! You've been mentioned in two straight blogs! Aren't you proud? Aren't you??? Goochie goochie goo! Who's the big boy? Who's the big boy?!?!? Youuuu areeeee! Wheeeeeeeee!) "infected" me with about thirteen years ago. So who's ready? Memememememe!



1. Total Number of Books I've Owned:
Hmm, including school textbooks I've saved and the books I had as a child (Garfield, Calvin and Hobbes, and Hardy Boys books anyone?), probably about 125-150, give or take a bunch or two.


2. Last Book I Bought:
The last book I bought for personal reading was Small Gods by Terry Pratchett, which I will talk more about later. Technically, the last book I bought was for school though, and I bought a few: Plautus' Four Comedies, Machiavelli's Mandragola, and Emile Habiby's The Secret Life of Saeed.

I read "The Braggart Soldier" by Plautus, which is a play, and it was pretty humorous and witty, which surprised me as Plautus lived from 254-184 BC. I guess I just expected that people who lived that long ago didn't have senses of humor or something, because when I found myself laughing at this play, I was almost caught off guard. Of course, it is translated for a modern audience, but I was impressed at how well it adapts to a modern audience.

I haven't finished "Mandragola" yet, but I'm about halfway through it. So far, my conclusion is that even though I'm sure Machiavelli was an outstanding thinker in his time, this play just proves the fact that just because you're well learned doesn't mean you're inherently funny too. The dialogue and overall setup of the whole thing is so pretentious I can hardly keep myself from skimming through it half-heartedly. It just seems to be following the common cliche of that time involving a treacherous love story with plenty of conniving, back-stabbing, lying, and cheating. Hey, that's what "The Braggart Soldier" was about too, but at least Plautus has some wit and sarcasm in his bitingly fast-paced humor, unlike the slow crawl that is "Mandragola". But hey, I've still got 20 pages left, there's still hope. Right? RIGHT!?!?!

3. Last Book I Read:
For Fun: Small Gods. To be honest, the reason I didn't do this blog topic when I was first "infected" with it was because the last book I had read at that time was A Passage to India by E.M. Forster, and I had just written an essay about it and I didn't really like the book all that much, so I didn't feel like putting it down as being the last book I had read. I wanted to be able to mention a book that I could be proud to proclaim as being the last book I have read. And this book, my friends, is worth all the praise worthy of being called the last book I have read. For fun, that is...

For School: Heart of Darkness. I read this book once before, in my last semester at OCC. We had about a month to read it, so I happily took just about the whole month to plow through it, reading a few pages a day. That's probably why I wasn't too fond of it, because I didn't really give myself a chance to get into it. So this time, I read it in two days, and I enjoyed it much more since I knew what to expect this time and I was looking forward to getting to some of my favorite parts. Plus, my teacher only gave us a week to read it and I left it to the last two days.

Procrastination is an amazing motivator.

4. Five Books That Mean a Lot to Me:

(In no particular order)

a) Small Gods by Terry Pratchett - Finally, I get to talk about this book. First, some background:

I had recently finished reading The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, which was, at that time, probably one of the funniest novels I've ever read. I wasn't really looking to get a new book at the time, but Erica and I went to a Barnes and Noble anyway. As we stepped in, I remember just letting the book store floor plan do with me what it would, and it took me straight to the science fiction section. Looking for nothing in particular, I was looking at various titles of books, seeing if anything struck my interest. After about 5 seconds, I saw a picture of a turtle on the spine of a book. My reptilian instincts kicked in, and I was immediately drawn to it. I picked it out, and looked at it. It boasted a picture of a smirking turtle with a black eyepatch over one eye, and it was entitled, Small Gods.

As you can see from my previous blog, I will buy anything with a turtle on it. If someone manufactured a Scratch N' Sniff that smelled like week old underwear, marinated in sewage-covered roadkill droppings, but there was a picture of a turtle on it, I'd buy it in a second.

Back to the story. At this time, I had no idea who Terry Pratchett was. I had no idea he was a British writer similar to Douglas Adams, with quite a reputation and an entire ever-growing series of books. So the turtle intrigued me. Now it was time for the book to win me over with its content. As we walked through the store, I read the first few pages, laughing out loud more than once, reading select parts to Erica to gauge her reaction to make sure it wasn't just me being partial to its humor due to the fact that there was a turtle on the cover. And sure enough, she laughed too. I think she sensed that if she didn't put in a good laugh for the book, we'd be there all day trying to decide if I should get it or not. So I decided to take a chance and buy it, and let me tell you...best $7 I've ever spent.

I really can't do this book justice with a short and/or concise plot summary, because I'd be leaving so much out. Lets just say that I've never laughed so much or so hard at any book in my life, ever. And it's not just funny in certain parts either. It is hilarious throughout the entire book; there's never a dull moment.

My favorite character (of course!) is the turtle, who happens to be the great god Om, who accidentally manifests himself into the form of a turtle, and is then too weak to change himself back into a more prestigious creature to inspire his believers. So he's forced to see the world through the eyes of a turtle for three years, until he meets a young yet rather dense worker who believes in him, and the story expands from there, and I won't go any further into it because it's such a fun story that I wouldn't want to spoil it for any potential readers.

Om is the funniest character in the book. For anyone who has seen the show Family Guy, think of Stewie the baby, take his biting sarcasm and wit, remove his swearing and sexual innuendo, place him into the feeble and slow body of a turtle, and increase his comic capability by about 300%, and you have the great god Om.

I could go on and on about this book, and I hope some of you go and read it, especially if you like/love/appreciate turtles and their behavior and mannerisms, as some of the funniest parts are playing off of the fact that this once-powerful god is now shamefully imprisoned in this pathetically weak turtle's body, and the frustration that emanates from these situations is laugh out loud funny.

I have to say it is one of my top three favorite books, if not my favorite. I'll have to read it another time probably before it can claim that prestigious spot.


b) Sphere by Michael Crichton - I promise the rest of my book explanations won't be that long. I first read Sphere back in middle school I think, probably around 6th grade. I have since read it 5 times, and it has been my favorite book for a long time now. It basically got me starting to read other Michael Crichton books and exploring the fiction/science fiction genres. I like Michael Crichton's other books, and I want to read State of Fear when it comes out in paperback, but Sphere's incredibly fascinating story still stays strong in my memory after all these years.

(By the way, don't ever watch the movie version of Sphere. It is horrible. I fell asleep.)


c) The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, by Douglas Adams - These first two books in the Hitchhiker's Guide series opened my eyes to great British authors who can write a fun and interesting story while keeping good-quality humor a constant and ever-present force in the novel. Ever since reading Big Trouble by Dave Barry, I was of the impression that most humorous novels have some funny parts scattered throughout the book, but having something funny on every page, oftentimes more than once a page, just was too much to ask for and didn't happen. And I was disappointed with Dave Barry, as I love his columns and other non-fictional books which are mostly his columns in book version, with some original exceptions, like his famous guides to guys, travel, and so on. But his novel just didn't cut it in the humor department.

Enter Britain. Enter writers such as Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett and I'm sure many others whom I have not heard of yet. Douglas Adams made me realize that humor can happen on every page, and Terry Pratchett accentuated that fact by making me laugh even harder on every page. Yes, the first two Hitchhiker's books are hilarious, but I personally am of the opinion that Small Gods beats them both in terms of overall hilarity. But it's a very close call, mind you.


d) Out of the Silent Planet and Perelandra by C.S. Lewis - Why not the trilogy? That Hideous Strength just took too long to develop for my tastes. After what seemed like 200-300 pages, they're still slowly building up to the climax, which admittedly, is a fun read, but the trip to get there just was too drawn out for me. But the first two books are fictional/fantasy masterpieces, filled with wonder and exploration and action and fun. I really enjoyed reading them, and I'm sure most everyone has read them at one time or another, so a long explanation isn't needed.

e) The Impatient Turtle by Janette Oke - Yeah, so what? I'm obsessed. I admit it. This was one of my favorite books to read when I was a kid, and was probably part of the reason why I love turtles so much now. It's one of the few books from my childhood that I insist on keeping in the house while almost all of my other childhood books are stashed away in the garage. To be honest, I haven't read it all the way through in a while, so I don't remember the story too well, I just have fond memories of it as a child. And turtles rock.


f) Honorable Mention: Dean Koontz, and pretty much any book he's ever written. I've read probably at least 15 of his novels, and I've enjoyed every single one. He's a fantastic storyteller who usually has some kind of a positive moral at the end of his stories, even though some horrific things can happen to his characters along the way. But the reason he isn't up on the list is because it's 2:30 AM and I don't feel like trying to remember which book of his is my favorite, but it didn't feel right to leave him completely out. So here's to you, Mr. Koontz.


5. People I Will Infect With This Meme:
I don't think it's necessary to infect anyone else on purpose at least. If reading this blog inspires someone to do one of their own to try and make theirs longer than mine or something, then go ahead. Be my guest. And be sure to stop by your local bookstore and pick up a copy of Small Gods by Terry Pratchett. The power of Om compels you!

Flippin' Floyd

I am forcing myself to blog. I have lots of other things I could be doing at this moment, but I've decided to spend some time trying to fix my "broken blog" as Aaron so candidly put it. I'm curious to see if I remember how to form a complete sentence without succumbing to the frivolous temptation of slamming my fist down on the keyboard for no particular reason.

jhymnjhymn.

Nope.

And before any of you smart alecks contest the fact that I have, in fact, completed two sentences already before battering my keyboard with a barrage of brutal blows, stop thinking so hard.


Erica and I went to the Greek festival over at St. Paul's yesterday because she had to write a report about a specific culture for her anthropology class. Of course, there are the typical booths you see at any festival, carnival, or restaurant with an exceedingly corpulent clientele. We went to those first to look at all the crosses and ornate jewelry they were showing off. As we progressed along one side, I looked across the way to a booth where there were dozens of what appeared to be small rectangular fish tanks. Since Erica already has David IV and I've had my fill of sushi throughout the years, I passed along without giving it much regard.

We continued along, looking at various food, clothing, and jewelry booths, watching a Greek dancing exhibition, and wondering where the games and carnival rides were that the brochure promised. Giving up my hope of finding a bounce house, we headed back towards the entrance to look at the things we had missed on the other side. As we approached the booth where the aforementioned rectangular mini-quariums were, my attention perked when Erica exclaimed, "Sean, look! Turtles!"

As I helped up the poor unfortunate people I plowed over in my attempt to instantaneously place myself from my former turtle-deprived position to a more advantageous turtle viewing point next to the newly christened "Turtle Booth" with utter disregard to the basic properties of matter, namely, that two forms of matter cannot occupy the same space at the same time, I glued my eyes on what were now manifesting themselves in front of my very eyes as tiny turtles!

(For those of you who do not know, turtles are my favorite animal.)

There were dozens of them! Tiny red-eared sliders, no more than two inches in diameter, each in their own colored mini-quarium with gravel and a little plastic plant for decor/exercise. Of course, I was intrigued. But, seeing as I already have Floyd, who up until today has been hibernating...in the middle of summer/beginning of fall...I was reluctant to impulsively buy one. However, contrary to my usually indecisive ways, there was one little guy who stood out immediately to me. He was climbing up his little plant, which is about 3 inches tall, and he made it to the top, and just sat there for a bit, basking in his triumph.

This reminded me of Floyd, who once climbed up to the top of some books on the first level of a large wooden bookcase we have in our house. Some of the books are anywhere from 6-12 inches high, yet somehow, Floyd managed to climb his way to the top of them, only to look around imploringly, wondering who would get him down from this precarious spot.

So naturally, I was immediately drawn to this little turtle, this natural climber. But I still wasn't sure if I should buy one yet. However, after much deliberation, I finally decided that this was going to be the water turtle I've been wanting for a long time. As we walked back to the car to temporarily store my new friend, Erica decided she wanted one too. So we went back, and she picked out a female who happened to be climbing up her plant also, and the next thing I knew, there were two tiny turtles in the car waiting to get to their new homes.

And right now, little Flip the Red-Eared Slider is hanging out between his plastic tree and a flat rock I gave him to bask on, waiting for me to go to a pet store and get him a bigger place so he can have even more glass to bang his shell against in a vain attempt at liberation.

And what does Floyd think of this new addition to the family? He's asleep in my closet.

Floyd and Me In 100 years

(Floyd is my Russian Tortoise for those of you who don't know)

















TORO!! TORO!!!

Err...I mean...

TORTUGA!!! ­TORTUGA!!!

A Fun Day At Work

What? Another loser? Trying to scam at Taco Bell? No!

Well, fortunately, not when Sean is working.

Some guy came through the drive-thru in a run-down white-trashish-looking van with 2 other adults in the back, one male, one female. All three individuals appeared to be rather seedy, sprouting seeds of deception and deceit. The driver had a very nice mullet going on, he enjoyed off-handedly telling me crude jokes, and most likely did not have immediate possession of all his "permanent" teeth. His other companions looked equally distrustful and had the appearances of people guilty of a crime they were just about to commit, watching and wondering in anxious anticipation if it would work.

So the driver casually orders three number nines (Supreme Pizza, Breadsticks, Large Drink). I tell him it will take seven minutes for the pizzas to cook. He says that's fine, and decides that he might as well get three chicken quesadillas to eat while they are waiting. So he orders those, along with two...no...four tacos. And that's all. The total comes to over $25 dollars.

He comes up to the window and hands me a credit card. I look at the name, as I always do, mostly for the sake of my own amusement, as I like seeing people with funny names, like Dolly Dalowitz, Robin Moore (Author of the best-selling book entitled "Advanced Shoplifting"), and Ann Drew (Author of the controversial book entitled "Tale of a Transexual Transvestite").

Anyway, the name on the credit card which the guy hands me is Maria Hernandez. We are not required to check for ID with credit card purchases, but whenever someone hands me a credit card for a person of the opposite gender (and in this case, a completely different race too), I get a tad bit suspicious. This situation was especially fishy because the order was so pricey and they seemed to spend without any regard. Plus, no one in the car was Hispanic. I bet none of them have even been to Hispanica before.

But I went ahead, against my better judgment, to slide the card and punch in the amount. The credit card machine went through its duties, and when it got to the part where it says either "Approval" or "Denied", it gave me a big fat "No Stairway!"

So I tried again, in case there was a mistake. Same deal. Both times, I had classified the transaction as "Credit", so I decided I would try "Debit" for kicks, which requires the cardholder to enter his PIN. So I did that, and extended the PINpad out the window, explaining to Mr. Mullet that the credit card machine was rejecting his credit card, so I was trying it as a debit card, so please enter your secret PIN. That shouldn't be a problem, right?

His response was a dismissive one, mumbling that he didn't know what his PIN was. Right. So he says take off everything except the pizza combos. The total still comes to $15+, and by this time, the quesadillas and tacos have already been made. I try "his" credit card again, with the same results. He then says to take off one of the combos and try again. No difference. At this point, I'm pretty convinced this card is stolen, but I'm willing to try one more thing. I tell him that I'll try charging one cent onto the credit card, because maybe, just maybe, Maria is just really low on money. But, as I intuitively suspected, not even one cent could be sucked out of that ill-gotten plastic card.

So I tell him the unfortunate news about poor Maria's card, and he says that it's fine, and that they'll just go to another restaurant. Yeah, good luck. Maybe you'll find one with no credit card security features.

There was one nice thing about all this. It happened after I had already gone on my break and eaten my first dinner. Since the cooks had already finished making the quesadillas, I got to eat an after-dinner-celebratory-farewell-to-the-Apostles-Fast-chicken-quesadilla. Mmmm, heavenly.

The Best Part of Waking Up...

...evidently isn't all that great unless certain people get their breakfast burritos.

Something needs to be set straight. Just because Taco Bell serves burritos doesn't mean we cater to every type of burrito need. I guess some people just don't know that. Apparently, it's a common misconception that our Taco Bell carries breakfast burritos when in fact, we don't.

1. Last Saturday, I was working from 9-5, and at around 9:30 or so, the first drive-thru customer of my day came, and asked me the following question:

Customer: What do you have for breakfast?
Me: The Taco Bell menu.
Customer: Do you have breakfast burritos?
Me: No we don't...(While I am saying this, he interrupts me and says...)
Customer: I don't see them on the menu.
Me: *rolls eyes*
Customer: Ok, I'll take two breakfast burritos.
Me: We don't have breakfast burritos.
Customer: You don't have breakfast burritos?
Me: No we don't.

And he leaves.

2. The VERY NEXT customer comes through a short while later, and asks the following:

Customer: Do you have breakfast burritos?
Me: No, we don't...

And he leaves.

3. The VERY NEXT customer after that, a woman this time, comes through and asks:

Customer: Do you have coffee?
Me: No we don't, sorry.
Customer: Ok, thanks.

And she leaves.

4. The next customer orders something we actually sell, so that was nice. But the next car to come after him, two ladies, come a-ordering:

Customer: I'll take a small raspberry iced tea and a medium pepsi.
Me: Ok, anything else?
Customer: No thanks.
Me: Ok, $2.35 at the very first window please. Thank you.

So naturally, after my very clear directions, they proceed to drive past the very first window without even glancing at it, so I shout, "Hey! Right here!" The driver stops, backs up, looks at me innocently and says, "Oh, I didn't see you there."

NO KIDDING!! That's what happens when you a) Don't listen to directions, and b) Don't open your eyes and look where you're going. The line, "Oh, I didn't see you there" has about as much validity as saying "Oh, I didn't know that was yours" to the Fire Department after using one of their truck's fire hoses to play with a Slip N' Slide. If I had a nickel for every time someone drove past my window without paying, I'd have enough money to fix a few of the transmissions which will probably retire at an early age due to excessive gear shifting.

I Don't Get No Respect

No respect at all.

Ever since I've had to say, "Hi, how are you doing today?" to the customers at my Taco Bell, I've gotten the feeling more and more that no one listens and/or no one cares about anything I say when I'm working the drive-thru.

Me: Hi, how are you doing today?
Customer: Just one taco.


Me: Hi, how are you doing today?
Customer: *silence*

About 15 seconds passed, and then apparently the lady in the car rolled her window down because I could now hear the end of what seemed to be an extremely important phone conversation the significance of which I was not worthy or important enough to comprehend at that period of my life and which obviously couldn't be put on hold for half a minute just because she was at the drive-thru. She was most likely confirming her pet Poodle Champion of the World's hairstyling and fecal deodorizer appointment or some similarly illustrious daily chore. The lady in the car said her goodbyes to her equally distinguished counterpart, and then impatiently turned her exceedingly important attention to the order menu, and uttered an indignant "HELLO?!?" as if suddenly I was the one at fault and I was making HER wait.

So I gave her a questioning-as-if-to-say-why-are-you-giving-me-an-attitude? "Hi...?", and she proceeded to dictate her order to me in a condescending manner. So I made her a special burrito, and you'd better believe this one wasn't deodorized.


Of course, not everyone is snobbish to me. Some people do listen to what I say, but just don't have the presence of mind to form a coherent and articulate response.

Me: Hi, how are you doing today?
Customer: Hungry is how I'm doing!


And then some people are too irritable to take a joke.

Me: Hi, how are you doing today?
Customer: Do you have fish tacos yet?
Me: No, sorry, we don't.
Customer: *Assorted grunts and groans* Ok, I'll take a steak taco, no, make it two.

At the window, I jokingly teased him and said in a very lighthearted voice:

Me: Steak is almost like fish!

This customer was quite a surly looking fellow who didn't look like he'd shaven for a few days, and had a cigarette hanging out of one side of his mouth. He looked like the kind of guy who experiences excruciating pain when he smiles, so he maintains a poker faced frown at all times. And apparently, my silly comment that attempted to chip through his hard-nosed exterior into his gooey and potentially-hilarity-filled innards failed, and bounced off only to hit an innocent bystander three miles away, causing him to break out into a fit of laughter and fall down into a nearby busy intersection, causing a chain reaction pileup injuring thirty people, decapitating a very confused and disoriented-looking giraffe, and stubbing the big toe of the very conveniently placed "World's Biggest Foot" Man.

But that is beside the point.

Getting back to the story, his resentful response to what I said was:

Customer: No it isn't.

At that point, I pretty much figured it wasn't worth my time or effort to try and make this guy crack a smile anymore, so I just let the joke die, right next to that poor misplaced giraffe.

Don't Forget to Flush

Recently, at Taco Bell, we not only have had our automated greeting machine disabled, but we have been given a general rubric of what to say to the customers. Now, we are supposed to say something along the lines of, "Hi, how are you doing today?" to every customer that comes to the drive-thru. I suppose this is nice and all, but does the average customer really care if some random cashier asks how they are doing? Most customers don't even listen to what the drive-thru person says, especially since most of the time they are asked if they would like to try some promotional item that they really don't want. I think I prove my point with the following quote that a customer said to me:

Me: Hi, how are you doing today?
Customer: No thanks.


On a school-related note, I was assigned to write a 14-line sonnet for one of my Brit Lit classes. It has to start with the line "Shall I compare thee to...", and the rest is up to me. I figured that since I haven't been able to have much creative leeway in my assignments this year, that I'd let out all my frustration from having to write "serious" (translation: "boring") essays and reading responses by being completely random, silly, and disgusting for this assignment. Enjoy!


An Ode To Poop

Shall I compare thee to a soggy log
Floating in the murky depths of a porcelain lake?
Thou art slender as a rocket
And as chunky as peanut butter
Thy colors art ever-changing
From breakfast, lunch, and dinner
How refreshing it is to hear your victorious ploop!
And feel the inevitable splash of cold water that follows
Thy aromatic smell flirts with my nostrils
As it wafts its way all throughout the room
Inviting me to look down…
And thus, I must ask this question:
Is that a fecal gold mine, newly born?
Or have I just been eating corn?