Mr.Reak
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- May 24, 2003
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I sell shoes for living. You know, some people sell cars, others real estate, but I run back and forth, to get a size 9 DeerStags Times Black for some random Indian guy. Do I love my job? No, I don’t, I hate it actually. I am at this place for a year now, a whole ****ing year running back and forth for size 9 DeerStags Times Black shoes. A whole ****ing year smelling people foot, because it’s too ****ing hard to wash your ****ing socks. I mean, if you go shopping for shoes, why the **** not to wash your ****ing socks? It’s a mystery, but then again, most of out customers are Indians, and they always smelled like shit. I guess it’s part of a religion, to smell like shit, so you don’t go to hell, or whatever their religion promises them. Do I hate Indians? Yes I do, that’s why… Actually forget it, this story is not about holy crusades against Indians, this story is about me smelling… I mean selling shoes.
I stand in front of the cash register, when there is nothing to do. I just zoom out, I have low attention span, like most people of my generation. Some people think, if I work in a ****ing store, I am part of customer service. I am not, I am selling shoes, I don’t know where women panties are, I don’t know how to get to the bathroom. Stop ****ing asking me these questions and go to actual customer service across to the left, and no, I don’t give a ****, I still get the lowest wage. Why do I still work there? Two reasons, really. First one is the most important, I need to pay my rent for my apartment. Well it’s not actually my apartment, I live there with my whore-loving girlfriend, about her later on. Second reason, my co-worker is nice looking Asian lady, from god knows what country. I can’t tell the difference, they all look alike to me. She is cute though, has a nice pair of buttocks and well, a real reason why I didn’t went ballistic yet. Well, today she called in sick, and… You know, I sell shoes for a whole year, but I still have no idea what’s the difference between real leather and some shitty look a like. I can’t tell you what shoes cream is best used with what shoes. If people ask, I call Bobby the Gay Manager. He is a manager of our department and he is gay.
So one time there was an annoying kid, who asked for some athletic shoe in white color, I brought it in black.
“Newb!” that’s the only thing he said to me. Jesus, CS players exist in real world too? I was tired, I didn’t care anymore.
“Shut up, ******,” I said back. Nah, not nice thing to say about your customers. Too bad his fat mother was around.
“What did you say to my son? That’s it, GET THE MANEGER HERE IN A SECOND OR I WILL SUE YOUR STORE,” fat mother screamed at me. I hate fat people. I took the phone, called Bobby the gay manager and awaited a storm, which soon would come upon my unprotected ass. It did come, Boddy the gay manager was a fast runner, he always ran in those HIV parades or what ever they were.
“How can I help you?” asked Bobby politely, in his happy-gay voice.
“That dickhead just called my son a ******!” fat woman was angry. I hate fat people.
“What?” Boddy the gay manager turned to me. I don’t really hate gat people.
“I guess…” I said nothing else.
“What the heck did you said to the customer?” Bobby the gay manager spoke in his normal, male-like voice. I don’t really know if he was angry or couldn’t even understand what I just said to him.
“Eh… I don’t remember anymore, “ I lied.
“He called my son a ******!” fat lady screamed again, god how I hate fat people.
“Ah…” Bobby the gay manager didn’t know what to say to me or to that fat lady.
“Yeah, I think I will take my lunch brake,” with these words I took off, to my car. I knew I would be fired one way or another, so why bother even arguing with my manager or that fat woman. That was the last day I sold any shoes.
Now, what kind of car am I driving? It’s Ford Taurus, the one that looks like ass, all green, straight from 1994. Interesting car, too bad you can’t pick up any chick with that. I would pick up that Asian co-worker, but alas I don’t work there anymore. You know what’s the maximum speed that car can reach? 85 miles per hour, plus I got a spoiler on the back and two stickers, so it adds up to about 160 mph.
When you come home early from work, there is tendency to catch your girlfriend cheating. Well, it worked actually, I caught her, cheating with some sexy Latino man. If I wasn’t so tired of everything, I would probably take baseball bat out of closet, beat that guy to death, and then strangle my girlfriend. Too bad I didn’t care much.
“Oh shit…” she saw me standing there.
“Oh man, it doesn’t look the way it looks…” said sexy Latino man, he was bit nervous.
“Well… how is it going?” I asked, seemed funny enough to ask it.
“Good.. it’s going really good,” sexy Latino man whispered. He was prepared for a shit storm.
“I bet it’s going deep too…” my lame joke wasn’t understood. For some reason I felt that my girlfriend wasn’t satisfied with my reaction.
“That’s ****ing it? You going just stand there? What, I mean nothing to you? You don’t love me anymore? Why the **** you act this way! I thought we had a strong bound! ALL MEN ARE BASTARDS!” my girl screamed, running naked downstairs. There we go, it’s my fault again, I am an asshole, I should have cheated on her instead.
“Uh…” sexy Latino man had no idea what was happening.
“So, how long do you guys…. You know,” I sat at the chair near my computer. I was too tired to run after my whore-loving girlfriend.
“It’s my fast time actually…” sexy Latino man said.
“Well, you will get used to that, eventually,” I said.
“To what, cheating?”
“No, to have crazy ass girlfriends running around. You know, once she wanted me to lick her armpits,” I, for some reason, wanted to share that particular experience.
“That’s just nasty,” sexy Latino man even managed to crack a smile.
“It is nasty, but you know, at the time I was in love, so it justified that. So what’s your name?”
“Antonio.”
“That’s a nice name you know.” For some reason I got tired of sitting in the chair, I took my baseball bat, beat Antonio to death and after that I strangled my naked girlfriend. You know, after this selling shoes didn’t seem so bad.
I stand in front of the cash register, when there is nothing to do. I just zoom out, I have low attention span, like most people of my generation. Some people think, if I work in a ****ing store, I am part of customer service. I am not, I am selling shoes, I don’t know where women panties are, I don’t know how to get to the bathroom. Stop ****ing asking me these questions and go to actual customer service across to the left, and no, I don’t give a ****, I still get the lowest wage. Why do I still work there? Two reasons, really. First one is the most important, I need to pay my rent for my apartment. Well it’s not actually my apartment, I live there with my whore-loving girlfriend, about her later on. Second reason, my co-worker is nice looking Asian lady, from god knows what country. I can’t tell the difference, they all look alike to me. She is cute though, has a nice pair of buttocks and well, a real reason why I didn’t went ballistic yet. Well, today she called in sick, and… You know, I sell shoes for a whole year, but I still have no idea what’s the difference between real leather and some shitty look a like. I can’t tell you what shoes cream is best used with what shoes. If people ask, I call Bobby the Gay Manager. He is a manager of our department and he is gay.
So one time there was an annoying kid, who asked for some athletic shoe in white color, I brought it in black.
“Newb!” that’s the only thing he said to me. Jesus, CS players exist in real world too? I was tired, I didn’t care anymore.
“Shut up, ******,” I said back. Nah, not nice thing to say about your customers. Too bad his fat mother was around.
“What did you say to my son? That’s it, GET THE MANEGER HERE IN A SECOND OR I WILL SUE YOUR STORE,” fat mother screamed at me. I hate fat people. I took the phone, called Bobby the gay manager and awaited a storm, which soon would come upon my unprotected ass. It did come, Boddy the gay manager was a fast runner, he always ran in those HIV parades or what ever they were.
“How can I help you?” asked Bobby politely, in his happy-gay voice.
“That dickhead just called my son a ******!” fat woman was angry. I hate fat people.
“What?” Boddy the gay manager turned to me. I don’t really hate gat people.
“I guess…” I said nothing else.
“What the heck did you said to the customer?” Bobby the gay manager spoke in his normal, male-like voice. I don’t really know if he was angry or couldn’t even understand what I just said to him.
“Eh… I don’t remember anymore, “ I lied.
“He called my son a ******!” fat lady screamed again, god how I hate fat people.
“Ah…” Bobby the gay manager didn’t know what to say to me or to that fat lady.
“Yeah, I think I will take my lunch brake,” with these words I took off, to my car. I knew I would be fired one way or another, so why bother even arguing with my manager or that fat woman. That was the last day I sold any shoes.
Now, what kind of car am I driving? It’s Ford Taurus, the one that looks like ass, all green, straight from 1994. Interesting car, too bad you can’t pick up any chick with that. I would pick up that Asian co-worker, but alas I don’t work there anymore. You know what’s the maximum speed that car can reach? 85 miles per hour, plus I got a spoiler on the back and two stickers, so it adds up to about 160 mph.
When you come home early from work, there is tendency to catch your girlfriend cheating. Well, it worked actually, I caught her, cheating with some sexy Latino man. If I wasn’t so tired of everything, I would probably take baseball bat out of closet, beat that guy to death, and then strangle my girlfriend. Too bad I didn’t care much.
“Oh shit…” she saw me standing there.
“Oh man, it doesn’t look the way it looks…” said sexy Latino man, he was bit nervous.
“Well… how is it going?” I asked, seemed funny enough to ask it.
“Good.. it’s going really good,” sexy Latino man whispered. He was prepared for a shit storm.
“I bet it’s going deep too…” my lame joke wasn’t understood. For some reason I felt that my girlfriend wasn’t satisfied with my reaction.
“That’s ****ing it? You going just stand there? What, I mean nothing to you? You don’t love me anymore? Why the **** you act this way! I thought we had a strong bound! ALL MEN ARE BASTARDS!” my girl screamed, running naked downstairs. There we go, it’s my fault again, I am an asshole, I should have cheated on her instead.
“Uh…” sexy Latino man had no idea what was happening.
“So, how long do you guys…. You know,” I sat at the chair near my computer. I was too tired to run after my whore-loving girlfriend.
“It’s my fast time actually…” sexy Latino man said.
“Well, you will get used to that, eventually,” I said.
“To what, cheating?”
“No, to have crazy ass girlfriends running around. You know, once she wanted me to lick her armpits,” I, for some reason, wanted to share that particular experience.
“That’s just nasty,” sexy Latino man even managed to crack a smile.
“It is nasty, but you know, at the time I was in love, so it justified that. So what’s your name?”
“Antonio.”
“That’s a nice name you know.” For some reason I got tired of sitting in the chair, I took my baseball bat, beat Antonio to death and after that I strangled my naked girlfriend. You know, after this selling shoes didn’t seem so bad.
