I'm sitting in the stands, because who the hell stands if there are seats free right in front of them, thinking to myself: "a period is 20 minutes long? Wait, how many are there? Is hockey the one with three innings-sections-parts to it? Yeah, its gotta be.... Should I get a hot dog or an Italian beef?... Why do I know the name Tony Esposito?...Yeah I'll get the Italian beef."
It isn't that I hate hockey or don't like sports necessarily. I'm from Texas so hockey didn't come up as often in conversation as that golden calf we call "football." High school, college, professional, whatever level it was, if it was football, it was discussed. But not by me. I didn't play, didn't want to play, and didn't really care. I asked loudly "who's Tom Landry?" while in a grocery store, and I think about half the men there wanted to kick my ass on principle. I just went a different path in my interests is all. While my peers built up rosters and stats in their memories I pursued the subjects that interested me the most: academics, drawing, self love, reading and playing video games for example.
As I grew up I came to associate sports participants and fans with the moronic sacks of flesh that paraded around the halls of school to the confounding (to me anyways) adoration of the less imaginative. I just didn't get it. Until I moved to Chicago.
Something about this city is just infectious when it comes to sports. My first year here the Sox had their parade for winning the world series. I lived near Wrigley and witnessed the congestion caused by the mobs of blue clad fans. Memories of Michael Jordan commercials resurfaced to my mind. This is just a sports town. Despite my efforts to fight it, I was drawn in. I'll never remember the stats or the the full rosters but I recognize names. I actually knew most of the sports teams when the Hot Wheels (a die hard sports nut) quizzed me by city. I think I'm getting it. There is some kind of pride found in your team making it, some concerned support when they don't, and just the camaraderie of those who agree with you is surprisingly nice.
I've gone to baseball games, more every year. But I'd never, NEVER, been to a hockey game, and I took the chance to finally go to one. It was damn fun. I don't exactly understand why Tony Esposito was there since they retired his jersey in the early 80s, but I chanted with the rest. I may not have been as enthusiastic with the high fives and the ass patting going on around me (no means no Asshole), but any chance to make fun of funny sounding names and boo strangers from a safe distance (no throat slicing for me please) shouldn't be passed up.
CUBS!! Check. Sox. Check. Blackhawks. Check.
Next up: Bulls and Bears with maybe a smack of Fire added.
::GringO::
Showing posts with label GringO. Show all posts
Showing posts with label GringO. Show all posts
31 March 2008
03 March 2008
Thank You for Choosing Kite, You Sad Sad Man
Last week I received my tax refund check, much to my delight. Large sums of money showing up in the mail for my personal benefit have a tendency to make me giddy for some strange reason. While throwing wads of cash here and there this past week I was reminded of my first refund check in Chicago. I had even written a journal entry about it, and that is what I'm sharing with you starting....now.
4-18-06
After a night of heavy drinking with Rolling Thunder I went to Hell today. A big boss is coming tomorrow so we had to stay until at least 10:30 recovering. In the midst of closing Irish McDrunky stopped by with Mike, a bartender from O'Neils, to flip me off and indicate through subtle sign language that I should join them for a drink.
What followed was various varieties of spirits. I was somewhat snookered but Irish was gone, as he had been drinking for roughly 8 hours. His stagger was impressive, his speech only half intelligible and restraint practically nonexistent. While walking to the Red Line a homeless man with one eye approached and Irish flatly said "I'm a Republican. I pretend that you don't even exist." I thought this particularly humorous, even if he relived it 5 times afterward.
On the train we sat and chatted a bit, then he got off at Belmont. This girl came in, hands shaking, gaunt faced with a blank wide-eyed expression as she openly looked at me. As we began to move she pulled out a packet of Kite tobacco with rolling papers. She proceeded to roll 5 cigarettes within 4 or 5 stops. I simply stared in amazement as I had never seen someone hand roll anything. She tucked the last one behind her ear as we pulled into her stop, and when she left she left the packet.
I'm trying to quit smoking and haven't bought any cigarettes for around a week and hadn't smoked any for 2 days. Feeling the craving I snatched what I saw as free tobacco on my way out of the train car. When I got home I checked my mail and praise God, my refund check had arrived!
Craving a celebratory portion of substance and not having alcohol I decided to hand roll my first cigarettes. However, on inspecting the pouch I found there were no more papers. What to do? I looked down at the counter and saw an empty package of gum. The empty pack had spewed out some slips of the white paper that is wrapped around the sticks of gum, outside the foil. I determined these white slips were good enough.
Having never rolled joints myself all I had to go on was mimicking the girl on the train and Johnny Depp interviews. I sprinkled some tobacco, folded over one side of the flap and tried to make a cigarette. Due to the paper's thickness and formally folded state the tube had angled sides instead of a clearly cylindrical form. I licked the sided of the remaining flap, trying to glue it down with my saliva, even though there was no adhesive strip on the paper like you would find on actual rolling papers. It barely worked but at least I had something. The sorriest looking cigarette ever.
I went outside to smoke it. I puffed on my hand fashioned monstrosity, noting the flavor of mentholated tobacco...and burning paper with just a hint of sophisticated watermelon (the gum flavor). The aftertaste was bitter and towards the end the smoke burned my throat and mouth.
Just stopping and actually thinking about what I was doing made me realize how sad and pathetic it really was. So I made one more then went to bed.
4-18-06
After a night of heavy drinking with Rolling Thunder I went to Hell today. A big boss is coming tomorrow so we had to stay until at least 10:30 recovering. In the midst of closing Irish McDrunky stopped by with Mike, a bartender from O'Neils, to flip me off and indicate through subtle sign language that I should join them for a drink.
What followed was various varieties of spirits. I was somewhat snookered but Irish was gone, as he had been drinking for roughly 8 hours. His stagger was impressive, his speech only half intelligible and restraint practically nonexistent. While walking to the Red Line a homeless man with one eye approached and Irish flatly said "I'm a Republican. I pretend that you don't even exist." I thought this particularly humorous, even if he relived it 5 times afterward.
On the train we sat and chatted a bit, then he got off at Belmont. This girl came in, hands shaking, gaunt faced with a blank wide-eyed expression as she openly looked at me. As we began to move she pulled out a packet of Kite tobacco with rolling papers. She proceeded to roll 5 cigarettes within 4 or 5 stops. I simply stared in amazement as I had never seen someone hand roll anything. She tucked the last one behind her ear as we pulled into her stop, and when she left she left the packet.
I'm trying to quit smoking and haven't bought any cigarettes for around a week and hadn't smoked any for 2 days. Feeling the craving I snatched what I saw as free tobacco on my way out of the train car. When I got home I checked my mail and praise God, my refund check had arrived!
Craving a celebratory portion of substance and not having alcohol I decided to hand roll my first cigarettes. However, on inspecting the pouch I found there were no more papers. What to do? I looked down at the counter and saw an empty package of gum. The empty pack had spewed out some slips of the white paper that is wrapped around the sticks of gum, outside the foil. I determined these white slips were good enough.
Having never rolled joints myself all I had to go on was mimicking the girl on the train and Johnny Depp interviews. I sprinkled some tobacco, folded over one side of the flap and tried to make a cigarette. Due to the paper's thickness and formally folded state the tube had angled sides instead of a clearly cylindrical form. I licked the sided of the remaining flap, trying to glue it down with my saliva, even though there was no adhesive strip on the paper like you would find on actual rolling papers. It barely worked but at least I had something. The sorriest looking cigarette ever.
I went outside to smoke it. I puffed on my hand fashioned monstrosity, noting the flavor of mentholated tobacco...and burning paper with just a hint of sophisticated watermelon (the gum flavor). The aftertaste was bitter and towards the end the smoke burned my throat and mouth.
Just stopping and actually thinking about what I was doing made me realize how sad and pathetic it really was. So I made one more then went to bed.
08 February 2008
A Proud Moment
The Whore, wait, no, THE FUCKING WHORE, contacted me via myspace. I was a ball of sinew, anxiety, rage, and indecisiveness. Should I talk to her and hear her out, like a big mature man? Should I unleash all the anger and pure black viscous hatred that has built up and congealed over the past two and a half years, tell her everthing I always wanted to? (see: I was hoping you were dead. You should lose your kids. You are a whore and a cunt. If I ever see you again I WILL spit in your face, and if I see your husband I will smash his face into a mass of pulp attached to a neck. You are evil....etc etc etc.)
But what would be the benefit of either exchange really? She wouldn't let me finish a rampage of hate, and I wouldn't be willing to hear a single damn apology she offered. If that makes me a bitter foolish man then so be it, and I feel the better for it. Instead this is the only exchange I allowed (read from bottom to top for correct order, but the first thing you read is the most important anyway):
I guessed as such but wanted to be certain. There are only three things I'm going to address:
1) I hope your kids are healthy and happy.
2) I have absolutely no interest in the well being of you or the rest of your family.
3) I have even less interest in hearing or reading what you have to say.
::The GringO::
But what would be the benefit of either exchange really? She wouldn't let me finish a rampage of hate, and I wouldn't be willing to hear a single damn apology she offered. If that makes me a bitter foolish man then so be it, and I feel the better for it. Instead this is the only exchange I allowed (read from bottom to top for correct order, but the first thing you read is the most important anyway):
I guessed as such but wanted to be certain. There are only three things I'm going to address:
1) I hope your kids are healthy and happy.
2) I have absolutely no interest in the well being of you or the rest of your family.
3) I have even less interest in hearing or reading what you have to say.
::The GringO::
31 January 2008
09 January 2008
Gayest Death Ever
A Brief (1) Explanation of This Drawing
Having exhausted my supply of DVD’s I was able to stand watching yet again I knew I needed to do something to occupy my mind. Crosswords or Sudoku would require thought and effort to draw upon certain resources of my brain that I just did not feel like tapping. What to do then? Why not a drawing? Well, OK, a drawing, but what kind? I have made portraits for a long while and though laying out the muscle and skin wrapped around a skull, then altering the arrangement of said elements, is a challenge, after a while it becomes tiresome (2).
Thus, with such thoughts and feelings I decided a figure drawing would be a nice challenge. I prefer to draw female (3) figures, but as I do not possess a readily available and willing body of the feminine persuasion (4), my own masculine build would have to serve my needs. What kind of pose? How about walking with two objects being carried, one in each hand? (5)
The lighting was easy to arrange, the topless pose easily captured with a digital camera, and viewable as a drawing resource. I laid out the drawing in an outline only form. I stepped away, blinked, made a snarl-like face by raising the left side of my upper lip, thus also altering the position of my left nostril as well, while simultaneously raising my right eyebrow. This is the thought that produced such a facial expression: “Man, that looks gay.”(6)
Though I wanted to create a figure piece I knew this was one I would not want for myself. Then who would want it? Eureka! The CSM (7)! Why, I still owed him a drawing for the T.V. he gave me and a warming gift for his new apartment! This decided I went to work altering the body, making it even more intimidatingly testosterone injected than my own (8). I added a portion of lower body, also nude, complete with tasteful and subtle, yet accurate, genitalia (9). The body shaded in, I needed some type of head. But why make it a normal head?
Then it occurred to me that the end of this month has a holiday commonly called Halloween, an English bastardization of the German Hallowe’en (10). Death! Blood! Pumpkins! Wait, no, just death! How about having a cowl emerge from the shoulder, a throwback to the image of the Grim Reaper who is bedecked in a black robe? “The Gayest Death Ever” (11) was thus completed. I hope you enjoy it.
Practical Information
Created using charcoal (12) pencil on acid free sketch paper. It is a standard size suitable for cheap framing.
End Notes
- This is not very brief actually. Quite long really, quite.
- Just as this writing style is tiresome.
- A term used to describe the gender of the species that bears children (with the exception of the Sea Horse, in which species the father has the babies).
- Keeping someone against their will is apparently a crime.
- Allow yourself to contemplate and decide for yourself what the objects are (though given the sexual preference of the intended recipient, I would nudge you toward a type of novelty phallus).
- “Gay" is the current slang vernacular used to describe homosexuality. It can be used in several ways in a sentence, be it noun, verb, or adjective. Other forms are possible though not as commonly used as these.
- CSM refers to the pseudonym assigned to this friend by Zeepdoggie.
- A great Challenge I assure you. I was once assigned “hottest bod” while standing in a group of third graders (13).
- Notice some slight indication of a dorsal vein, and pubic hair, the only kind this Death has oddly enough.
- Absolutely true.
- In light of this title perhaps the method would involve a severe act of sodomy using the tools of his trade (see (5)).
- This is a substance commonly found beneath the topsoil of Earth. It is formed by the decomposition and of carbon-based plant life which is then buried and through time becomes compressed and is, atomically speaking, altered. It is worth note that coal is still used as a power source due to its combustibility which produces the energy to move turbines which provide power for electronic devices. The longer it has taken coal to form the cleaner it burns. Thus we find anthracite coal which in appearance and texture is similar to that of volcanic glass, though created in an entirely different process. If coal has been compressed long enough, with enough heat produced as well by said process, diamonds will form. Diamonds are the hardest of all natural minerals, as well as the most valuable (14).
- Don’t ask.
- If you read all of that, I will laugh at you (15).
- See (10)
::GringO::
25 December 2007
OGDC and the Kids Tenders
Typically one would expect a holiday themed entry on the day of Christmas, but the problem inherent is that you limit the relevance of the writing. Though stories of twinkling lights, epiphanies, gluttony, family, love, and gravity defying mammals all make good fare for writing, I’m going to write about something which is different yet, I feel, equally worthy: perversion.
My Dad has significant hearing loss in both ears. To allow him to enjoy watching television we put on the closed captioning. As the action occurs we get blocks of black with white letters across the screen, sometimes accurate, sometimes giving you reason to wonder if child labor is used in this capacity in Texas (I believe in a child’s right to work damn it!). Yesterday, Christmas Eve, some family members and I caught a boxing championship on some network. Sadly, closed captioning isn’t used to cover sounds as well, so no “thwaps” or “pffts” or “coo coo cachou.’ They did relate the commentary of announcers and officials. “He went at him like an octopus!” was one such line. Shortly later, the following words were said, but more importantly, printed on the screen: “He likes it when a guy comes in hard!”
Seeing the words allowed me to take them out of context in my mind and, like any self respecting man of intelligence, twist them into an entirely different meaning. You may think this is only my own immature, or rather quite powerful, ability to pervert innocent statements. But it wasn’t just me! My whole family laughed. We are all talented and imaginative.
I was reminded of a few years ago when my sister and I discovered the joy of soundboards on the internet. We came across clips for a show which I will call “Oso in the Grande Depressed Casa” to avoid issues with libel and such. OGDC was a children’s program combining actors donning fluffy costumes, puppetry and cheap animation. When looking at the sound clips that were available, every part of my being that loves to laugh tingled and my perverse sense of humor ejaculated forth from my hand onto the mouse, into the computer, and out of the speakers. Phrases of pure perverted gold trickled and dripped from my brain and I created many deliciously decadent statements. “Its too big Oso, it’s too big! Mgghhh!”, “Let me lick it Oso let me lick it!”, “I’m coming, I’m COMING!” and maybe a few others I can’t quite remember.
Some would say this is repulsive. I say it is alluring. Others would say they detest such perversion. I say lay back, open up, take a deep breath and just get ready to take it. Like it or not many people have a sense of humor. This is one of the best parts of a human personality. We may get shit on, things may not go as planned, and you can get red dots in places you don’t want (hypothetically speaking of course). Be it saintly or satanic, anything can be funny. After all if you can’t enjoy a menu item at a movie tavern called “Kids Tenders”* you can’t enjoy life.
::GringO::
*Real menu item.
My Dad has significant hearing loss in both ears. To allow him to enjoy watching television we put on the closed captioning. As the action occurs we get blocks of black with white letters across the screen, sometimes accurate, sometimes giving you reason to wonder if child labor is used in this capacity in Texas (I believe in a child’s right to work damn it!). Yesterday, Christmas Eve, some family members and I caught a boxing championship on some network. Sadly, closed captioning isn’t used to cover sounds as well, so no “thwaps” or “pffts” or “coo coo cachou.’ They did relate the commentary of announcers and officials. “He went at him like an octopus!” was one such line. Shortly later, the following words were said, but more importantly, printed on the screen: “He likes it when a guy comes in hard!”
Seeing the words allowed me to take them out of context in my mind and, like any self respecting man of intelligence, twist them into an entirely different meaning. You may think this is only my own immature, or rather quite powerful, ability to pervert innocent statements. But it wasn’t just me! My whole family laughed. We are all talented and imaginative.
I was reminded of a few years ago when my sister and I discovered the joy of soundboards on the internet. We came across clips for a show which I will call “Oso in the Grande Depressed Casa” to avoid issues with libel and such. OGDC was a children’s program combining actors donning fluffy costumes, puppetry and cheap animation. When looking at the sound clips that were available, every part of my being that loves to laugh tingled and my perverse sense of humor ejaculated forth from my hand onto the mouse, into the computer, and out of the speakers. Phrases of pure perverted gold trickled and dripped from my brain and I created many deliciously decadent statements. “Its too big Oso, it’s too big! Mgghhh!”, “Let me lick it Oso let me lick it!”, “I’m coming, I’m COMING!” and maybe a few others I can’t quite remember.
Some would say this is repulsive. I say it is alluring. Others would say they detest such perversion. I say lay back, open up, take a deep breath and just get ready to take it. Like it or not many people have a sense of humor. This is one of the best parts of a human personality. We may get shit on, things may not go as planned, and you can get red dots in places you don’t want (hypothetically speaking of course). Be it saintly or satanic, anything can be funny. After all if you can’t enjoy a menu item at a movie tavern called “Kids Tenders”* you can’t enjoy life.
::GringO::
*Real menu item.
26 November 2007
02 October 2007
Update
A huge entry from The GringO is on the way. Seriously, it's worth the wait. Until then, enjoy his special, homey rage brought to you by alcohol and bureaucracy.
MGMT.
Monday I encountered one of the most ridiculous policies ever. EVER.
It was Crippy's birthday and we stopped at a liquor store to buy some Jack and diet coke (gotta watch the figure right?). Due to my general level of poverty I don't usually provide all of the booze for occasions, so when I get to its kind of a big deal. I grabbed my liquid refreshments and stepped up to the counter, and this gem of an exchange ensued:
Liquor Lady: "Could I see some I.D. please?"
Me: "Of course." I pull out my wallet with my state identification card in a laminated sleeve.
Liquor Lady: "I need a license please."
Me: I raise my right eyebrow and lower the left and say "...so, you need to see it outside of the wallet?"
Liquor Lady: "No I need an actual driver's license not a State I.D."
Me: "What?"
Liquor Lady: "Its on these little signs right here..." as she points to a 5"x3" card at the register.
Me: "But I'm 21. Actually, I'm 23 so...."
Liquor Lady: "I can't sell to you unless you have a license."
Me: "So I guess I'll just get my friend out of his car to buy it then."
Liquor Lady: "I can't sell to either of you because you both have to have a license."
Me: "Wait, so, I can't buy alcohol unless I can drive?"
Liquor Lady: "Uh...."
Me: "Well great, so you basically want me to drink and drive, nice." I walked away.
Liquor Lady: "I don't encourage drinking and driving...."
End scene
So I may come off a little prickish, a little short in the temper, but that is why I mentioned my rare opportunity for buying drinks. It is important to me. Then I sat there feeling embarrassed and stupid because I couldn't buy drinks. The thing is that in my mind if you have a valid photo I.D. proving you are of age, why does it matter if it is a driver's license or not? I really do think it is extremely idiotic that you can't buy alcohol there unless you can drive away with it. Its like saying you can't buy bullets unless you have a gun...or...yeah.
Maybe I should just get a license, but I'd have to go to the damned Thompson Center downtown and wait in line to take the written test and get my photo taken and I generally have other things I would rather do on my day off. Like staple my fingers together, shave with broken glass, eat rancid milk (you know, because its moved to a chewable form after a while) or smear myself in honey and kick grizzly bears in the nuts.
::The GringO::
MGMT.
Monday I encountered one of the most ridiculous policies ever. EVER.
It was Crippy's birthday and we stopped at a liquor store to buy some Jack and diet coke (gotta watch the figure right?). Due to my general level of poverty I don't usually provide all of the booze for occasions, so when I get to its kind of a big deal. I grabbed my liquid refreshments and stepped up to the counter, and this gem of an exchange ensued:
Liquor Lady: "Could I see some I.D. please?"
Me: "Of course." I pull out my wallet with my state identification card in a laminated sleeve.
Liquor Lady: "I need a license please."
Me: I raise my right eyebrow and lower the left and say "...so, you need to see it outside of the wallet?"
Liquor Lady: "No I need an actual driver's license not a State I.D."
Me: "What?"
Liquor Lady: "Its on these little signs right here..." as she points to a 5"x3" card at the register.
Me: "But I'm 21. Actually, I'm 23 so...."
Liquor Lady: "I can't sell to you unless you have a license."
Me: "So I guess I'll just get my friend out of his car to buy it then."
Liquor Lady: "I can't sell to either of you because you both have to have a license."
Me: "Wait, so, I can't buy alcohol unless I can drive?"
Liquor Lady: "Uh...."
Me: "Well great, so you basically want me to drink and drive, nice." I walked away.
Liquor Lady: "I don't encourage drinking and driving...."
End scene
So I may come off a little prickish, a little short in the temper, but that is why I mentioned my rare opportunity for buying drinks. It is important to me. Then I sat there feeling embarrassed and stupid because I couldn't buy drinks. The thing is that in my mind if you have a valid photo I.D. proving you are of age, why does it matter if it is a driver's license or not? I really do think it is extremely idiotic that you can't buy alcohol there unless you can drive away with it. Its like saying you can't buy bullets unless you have a gun...or...yeah.
Maybe I should just get a license, but I'd have to go to the damned Thompson Center downtown and wait in line to take the written test and get my photo taken and I generally have other things I would rather do on my day off. Like staple my fingers together, shave with broken glass, eat rancid milk (you know, because its moved to a chewable form after a while) or smear myself in honey and kick grizzly bears in the nuts.
::The GringO::
16 September 2007
Thinking Just Slows Down the Tongue
Some direct quotes from the past week:
"I can't stand it when people don't even bother to listen to you. I just want to smack them over the head with, like, a gopher. Becuase it would be ironic."
"I call this one "boa," this one 'constrictor,'" I said while pointing at my left then right bicep respectively.
"Its like a carnival in my pants and all the rides are broken."
Not only do I think a lot faster than I speak which results in my mumbling, even when I am intelligible, I still don't make any sense as the majority of my ramblings is merely word vomit. Meh.
::Gringo::
"I can't stand it when people don't even bother to listen to you. I just want to smack them over the head with, like, a gopher. Becuase it would be ironic."
"I call this one "boa," this one 'constrictor,'" I said while pointing at my left then right bicep respectively.
"Its like a carnival in my pants and all the rides are broken."
Not only do I think a lot faster than I speak which results in my mumbling, even when I am intelligible, I still don't make any sense as the majority of my ramblings is merely word vomit. Meh.
::Gringo::
10 September 2007
Too Much?
Go fuck yourself. And you know what? Go beyond that and fist yourself, up to the elbow. No lube. Maybe a little spittle to get things moving; otherwise, just shit and blood.
Sorry, that was a little graphic.
::GringO::
Sorry, that was a little graphic.
::GringO::
10 August 2007
Bah-dum-dum-ching!
You know what people really can't drive?
Quadruple amputees.
True story.
::The GringO::
Quadruple amputees.
True story.
::The GringO::
19 March 2007
Job Desciption
The other week one of the managers of Hell was walking around asking employees what they were going to do to help the store that day. I suppose discussing the various stages of drying paint or whatever it is the managers talk about all day had run its course. My answer was honest, which is never a good thing at work:
"I'm going to focus on ringing."
She looked at me like I had just smeared shit on her chest or something. Suffice it to say, she didn't seem too satisfied with my answer. After reviewing her clipboard (she literally had one, Zeepdoggie) I noticed other associates saying the programmed responses of adding clothes or credit and such.
Nestled in that list of bullshit my answer looked like it came from a mentally subnormal rat. The manager (she of the head that whistles as she walks due to absence of matter between the ears) implied that my answer was not satisfactory.
I internally turned the red switch to MOTHER FUCKING ENRAGED.
"What am I going to do to help the company?! I'll do my fucking job you useless bag of overly tanned skin! I mean to say, what is my job description? I'm a ringer. What do ringers do? They fucking ring. What kind of fucking idiotic quiz were you giving out, you with the intellect of a shriveled monkey testicle? I get paid to perform a specific task within the boundaries set by a guidebook, and perform that task excellently; so don't judge me as being lazy or stupid just because I couldn't care less about this job as it isn't my career. Loosen the pigtails because they are obviously too tight and cutting off circulation to the dried and blackened husk of a gerbil on a rusted wheel that is your brain!"
Instead I did what I said I would do, I rang. I really have not point other than it feels good to feel the rage sometimes. Its like a shot of good coffee. Mmm...good.
::GringO::
"I'm going to focus on ringing."
She looked at me like I had just smeared shit on her chest or something. Suffice it to say, she didn't seem too satisfied with my answer. After reviewing her clipboard (she literally had one, Zeepdoggie) I noticed other associates saying the programmed responses of adding clothes or credit and such.
Nestled in that list of bullshit my answer looked like it came from a mentally subnormal rat. The manager (she of the head that whistles as she walks due to absence of matter between the ears) implied that my answer was not satisfactory.
I internally turned the red switch to MOTHER FUCKING ENRAGED.
"What am I going to do to help the company?! I'll do my fucking job you useless bag of overly tanned skin! I mean to say, what is my job description? I'm a ringer. What do ringers do? They fucking ring. What kind of fucking idiotic quiz were you giving out, you with the intellect of a shriveled monkey testicle? I get paid to perform a specific task within the boundaries set by a guidebook, and perform that task excellently; so don't judge me as being lazy or stupid just because I couldn't care less about this job as it isn't my career. Loosen the pigtails because they are obviously too tight and cutting off circulation to the dried and blackened husk of a gerbil on a rusted wheel that is your brain!"
Instead I did what I said I would do, I rang. I really have not point other than it feels good to feel the rage sometimes. Its like a shot of good coffee. Mmm...good.
::GringO::
09 February 2007
'Tis the Season
Retail during the holidays. Yay.
All of our customers have one thing on their minds: size. Size of bags, boxes, and other stuff.
“You could fit four small children in this bag. Sounds good for Christmas!”
Customer: “Are your boxes big?”
Me: “Oh, yeah! Our boxes are really deep!”
And as we all know, selling is all about sexy!
Hot Wheels, to attractive female customer and whether she should buy an ivory coat:
“It depends on the person. It depends on, uh…well, how dirty you get.” (smiles lecherously).
Watching a customer walk away, with the Cock-Sucking Mohican:
“Her legs are thinner than my dick. Which is pretty thin for a leg but pretty thick for…hey, where are you going?
“My breath is kicking like a drowning whore.”
“No exchanges in Hell. This isn’t Wall Street!”
There’s your random blather concerning the holidays in Hell. Are you happy now?
::GringO::
All of our customers have one thing on their minds: size. Size of bags, boxes, and other stuff.
“You could fit four small children in this bag. Sounds good for Christmas!”
Customer: “Are your boxes big?”
Me: “Oh, yeah! Our boxes are really deep!”
And as we all know, selling is all about sexy!
Hot Wheels, to attractive female customer and whether she should buy an ivory coat:
“It depends on the person. It depends on, uh…well, how dirty you get.” (smiles lecherously).
Watching a customer walk away, with the Cock-Sucking Mohican:
“Her legs are thinner than my dick. Which is pretty thin for a leg but pretty thick for…hey, where are you going?
“My breath is kicking like a drowning whore.”
“No exchanges in Hell. This isn’t Wall Street!”
There’s your random blather concerning the holidays in Hell. Are you happy now?
::GringO::
08 February 2007
27 January 2007
19 January 2007
Happy Birthday GringO!
Happy Birthday, GringO! He’s twenty-three, everybody! Can you believe it? All growed up, just about. And what do we have to show for it? Well, there are pics from his birthday bash! I only have two, because other folks had cameras, notably Wheels, who will hopefully share the images they have of that night with me so I can share them with you. Here are the pics that I have. Actually, the other pic is too dark, so I guess I just have the one. Aren't we cute?
But what I do have to share with you are some random quotes that came up that night that I feel I should share with you all.
And away we go!
“Everybody’s face looks Asian from far away…”
“I’m bringing my flask to work!”
“Your what?!”
“My FLASK!”
“Oh, I thought you said ‘Flash,’ like your Flash costume.”
“I am not an asshole; I am a dick, because dicks fuck pussies and assholes. If they didn’t, the world would be covered in shit.”
“He called me a Jeffersonian!”
“aHaH!”
“So, Nietzsche…”
"Yeah…those wacky Germans!”
After that, it all got really drunk.
Happy birthday, GringO! Did you get what you wanted?
-Zeepdoggie
09 January 2007
My Dishes
Lately I have not been able to muster up the drive to wash dirty dishes. Possibly it is due to this idea that slithers around in the back of my mind: what is the point?
You can try to clean dishes so well. Soak, scour, rinse, dry, polish, everything it takes to make them ready for the next meal even though afterward your hands are chapped, cracked and bleeding. Then comes the inherent problem. The next meal just makes the dishes dirty again.
If you don't wash the dishes they pile up. Some bits harden and cling to the dishes, solid and almost a part of the dish. Sometimes the dishes become stained from use, besmirched by a powerful and thick hue in the meal. As they stay there, untouched, unwashed, bacteria cultures, organic elements decay and rot, creating a foul odor about your dishes.
What is the alternative? Disposable plates? But then your old dishes still stay dirty and what you have now is not really yours. It does not require responsibility and ownership for one's dishes. Out of the package, used for a single meal, then thrown away.
Maybe we need someone to wash our dishes for us if we cannot do it ourselves. Someone who does not mind cleaning up after the last snack, meal or feast. This would be ideal if we could find that person and actually allow them to wash our dishes. But ultimately it would be an unfulfillable and one sided arrangement. All giving on one side, consuming and discarding, with only receiving on the other, endlessly cleaning up another person's mess.
I think the answer is to look for someone who's dishes you would not mind cleaning, in exchange for them washing yours. Though my dishes are now still sitting in the sink, untouched by me, I can only hope that one day they will be clean again.
::GringO::
You can try to clean dishes so well. Soak, scour, rinse, dry, polish, everything it takes to make them ready for the next meal even though afterward your hands are chapped, cracked and bleeding. Then comes the inherent problem. The next meal just makes the dishes dirty again.
If you don't wash the dishes they pile up. Some bits harden and cling to the dishes, solid and almost a part of the dish. Sometimes the dishes become stained from use, besmirched by a powerful and thick hue in the meal. As they stay there, untouched, unwashed, bacteria cultures, organic elements decay and rot, creating a foul odor about your dishes.
What is the alternative? Disposable plates? But then your old dishes still stay dirty and what you have now is not really yours. It does not require responsibility and ownership for one's dishes. Out of the package, used for a single meal, then thrown away.
Maybe we need someone to wash our dishes for us if we cannot do it ourselves. Someone who does not mind cleaning up after the last snack, meal or feast. This would be ideal if we could find that person and actually allow them to wash our dishes. But ultimately it would be an unfulfillable and one sided arrangement. All giving on one side, consuming and discarding, with only receiving on the other, endlessly cleaning up another person's mess.
I think the answer is to look for someone who's dishes you would not mind cleaning, in exchange for them washing yours. Though my dishes are now still sitting in the sink, untouched by me, I can only hope that one day they will be clean again.
::GringO::
08 November 2006
Counter-Point: A Pirate's Life for Me!
I want to be a pirate. As a pirate you are outside of the law in that you don't care about it. You also don't have to rely on anyone else for means of support. Need money? Take it. Wanna drink some alcohol? Take it. Want a cheaply acquired DVD collection? Hell, I stole this computer I'm using. Piracy is the way!
Unlike the silent cowardly tactics of ninjas pirates will give you the courtesy of a monologue and there is no mistaking a cannon ball trailing a tail of smoke hitting you in the stomach and taking you overboard into the briny depths. Ninjas are the silent yet deadly farts in elevators of crime while Pirates are the raucous raspberries of tomfoolery and mirth. Providing a little pizazz to spice up your untimely demise, Pirates put the "balls" in ballistics.
Ninjas are the goth-kids-hiding-in-basements of the criminal world with their ridiculous all black pajamas rule whereas Pirates are the glamorous leather boot, frilly yet stylish shirt wearing rock stars. This helps for the ladies. Ninjas are bound to attract women who like the strong silent type and probably want commitment and babies and all that dither. Pirates appeal to the rich heiresses of nobility who are in for some adventure or just some simple slumming. No need to buy them gifts, put up with emotions, or meet the parents, no responsibility. Nail and bail, that's the Pirate way. In other words, complete freedom!
How many ninjas do you know? None if they are real ninjas. In this world of relative anonymity Pirates have catchy names and go down in history and live on as legends unlike countless ninjas who have left about as much personal renown as as stray dog. With their quirky phrases, outlandish behavior and awe inspiring fighting tactics, pirates get the most fun out of life.
-Sneaky Pete
::GringO::
01 November 2006
Four Ways to Save Your Spot In Hell
1) Random conversation while closing:
Gringo: I get all my muscles by carrying old ladies across the street.
Jazz master: Whatever.
Gringo: ...then down an alley and into the back of a van.
D: Gasp!
Jazz master: Oh my God.
Gringo: Oh come on, they don't care, they don't have any memory.
D: OK, you've been reading too much Catcher in the Rye.
2) In reference to the Star Wars' Christmas Special
Gringo: They might as well show a competition where people throw Downs Syndrome kids.
3) Fun with a customer signing up for a free program:
Customer: Does it cost anything?
Gringo: Two pints of cat blood.
4) In response to coworker Crazy Lady's comments about the inferiority of eau de toilette as compared to perfume:
Gringo: That is why I only wear scent made of sweat from the breasts and thighs of 17 virgins.
Cock-sucking Mohican: You straight people are disgusting.
::GringO::
Gringo: I get all my muscles by carrying old ladies across the street.
Jazz master: Whatever.
Gringo: ...then down an alley and into the back of a van.
D: Gasp!
Jazz master: Oh my God.
Gringo: Oh come on, they don't care, they don't have any memory.
D: OK, you've been reading too much Catcher in the Rye.
2) In reference to the Star Wars' Christmas Special
Gringo: They might as well show a competition where people throw Downs Syndrome kids.
3) Fun with a customer signing up for a free program:
Customer: Does it cost anything?
Gringo: Two pints of cat blood.
4) In response to coworker Crazy Lady's comments about the inferiority of eau de toilette as compared to perfume:
Gringo: That is why I only wear scent made of sweat from the breasts and thighs of 17 virgins.
Cock-sucking Mohican: You straight people are disgusting.
::GringO::
14 October 2006
All Work and No Play Makes for a Loco Gringo
I Appreciate Irony
ME: "I'm the king of apathy."
GIRLY: "No you aren't."
ME: "YES I AM! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT!"*
* All caps represent outburst of emotion
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Customer Relations for a Sleep Deprived Gringo
1) A customer interaction concerning loss prevention sensors on product.
Customer: "Needle nose pliers will take care of it."
Me: "Needle nose pliers are pretty much my favorite tool for anything. Except for when I need to hammer something. In which case I use my palms. I'm that good.
2) A customer and an associate (Jazzmaster) noticing me writing notes while at the work place.
Customer: "He's writing notes."
Jazzmaster: "Are you plotting Gringo?"
Me: "Yeah."
Jazzmaster: "Against who?"
Me: "The man. [The founder of this company]. I will find his site, exhume, and punish severely."
3) Jane Blow, a random customer fills out an address field in a short form and the following situation ensues.
Me: "I'm sorry, I'm unfamiliar with the area. What does "DP"* stand for [as a city in Kansas]?"**
*DP is an abbreviation for the term "double penetration" and how it applies to the pornography industry. I used this purposely.
**It turned out it didn't say DP, and Jane Blow seemingly did not know the definition found in asterisk one (though she could just have been oblivious).
4) On shoving several items into Hell's smallest offered bag.
Customer: " I don't know if it will fit."
Me: "Well I'll just grease it up a bit and see if I can't shove it in there."
Gringo's Note: All of these are real life interaction with customers in Hell, while working. When I don't get my sleep several reactions are possible, but namely annoyance, inhibition of spoken thoughts, and delirious giddiness.
Also I must wonder if people are honestly this obtuse, if I am that subtle, or if the general public doesn't expect someone to be that offensive while at work? Oh if they only knew the assorted mental ruminations of the average retail jockey.
::GringO::
ME: "I'm the king of apathy."
GIRLY: "No you aren't."
ME: "YES I AM! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT!"*
* All caps represent outburst of emotion
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Customer Relations for a Sleep Deprived Gringo
1) A customer interaction concerning loss prevention sensors on product.
Customer: "Needle nose pliers will take care of it."
Me: "Needle nose pliers are pretty much my favorite tool for anything. Except for when I need to hammer something. In which case I use my palms. I'm that good.
2) A customer and an associate (Jazzmaster) noticing me writing notes while at the work place.
Customer: "He's writing notes."
Jazzmaster: "Are you plotting Gringo?"
Me: "Yeah."
Jazzmaster: "Against who?"
Me: "The man. [The founder of this company]. I will find his site, exhume, and punish severely."
3) Jane Blow, a random customer fills out an address field in a short form and the following situation ensues.
Me: "I'm sorry, I'm unfamiliar with the area. What does "DP"* stand for [as a city in Kansas]?"**
*DP is an abbreviation for the term "double penetration" and how it applies to the pornography industry. I used this purposely.
**It turned out it didn't say DP, and Jane Blow seemingly did not know the definition found in asterisk one (though she could just have been oblivious).
4) On shoving several items into Hell's smallest offered bag.
Customer: " I don't know if it will fit."
Me: "Well I'll just grease it up a bit and see if I can't shove it in there."
Gringo's Note: All of these are real life interaction with customers in Hell, while working. When I don't get my sleep several reactions are possible, but namely annoyance, inhibition of spoken thoughts, and delirious giddiness.
Also I must wonder if people are honestly this obtuse, if I am that subtle, or if the general public doesn't expect someone to be that offensive while at work? Oh if they only knew the assorted mental ruminations of the average retail jockey.
::GringO::
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