by Jonathan Dy
Yeah so I quit the hell hole and I now consider myself a somewhat free man.
Okay, let's rewind a bit for y'all here. Y'all might already know that I
worked at a video store for a while now and I have been rather unhappy of
late at this place of employment. So after only about 2 years of
unhappiness, I have made my move.
Not only did I quit without giving my boss a couple of weeks to find a replacement (not that it's an easy task to replace someone of my video renting capability), I also happened to quit at a time where my manager apparently broke up with her boyfriend. That's like a double whammy swift kick up the arsehole if you ask me. Yeah she was a bit pissed off that week, and I don't blame her one bit. I mean, first you lose your boyfriend, then you lose the best video store clerk to have never been promoted or given a raise in a span of almost three years, who wouldn't be? Okay, okay, I'm lying, I did get a
raise this one time, and that whole 10 cents an hour really added up in the
end, but at the time, everyone got a raise. Even the newbies got raises.
Anyway, I shouldn't argue when I was fortunate enough to even have a job, and it's not the money I'm complaining about, it's the meaning of getting a raise. Getting a raise is a form of getting praise. Anyway, over are those
days characterized by a frustrating haze of malaise. Fuck, did you see
that? Screw the video store, I shoulda just been a poet.
The major reason why I quit the shithole (pardon my french) is
because I got a job as a landscaper. I mean, might as well make use of the
nice weather we get in the summer right? I figured by the end of summer I'd
have a nice dark tan so all the chiquita bananas would be secretly crying
out "ooo, look at that short, dark, ugly guy mowing that dog shit-strewn
lawn while covered in dandelion juice", and although that might not sound
that great, at least I'll have the 'dark' part, which seems to be a winner
with the ladies. By the first day though, I was darker than night. A lil
earlier than expected. I was so dark that you probably couldn't even see me
at night unless I smiled (I have nice white teeth), but if I closed my
mouth and eyes, I would be as camouflaged as a beetle in a pile of elephant
It really is a good job though. Before applying for this job, I
thought that I would never find myself doing this kinda job cuz I never
even did my own lawn. That's just a lesson in itself fucks... I mean folks.
You never know what you'll be doing at any time in the future, and if you
have to resort to doing something that you never wanted to do, it shouldn't
be as bad as you initially perceived it to be. I'm such a wanna-be preacher
The really good thing about this landscaping job is that everyday
is an adventure, and it helps to have such a great bunch to work with. Take
today for instance, I busted a mower, got whipped in the face (an inch from
my eye) by a psycho bungie cord, and almost got my head bitten off by a
rabid hound named Brando. It really makes for good story telling.
Just the other day, the crew was having lunch at this greasy trucker place called La Belle Province and I felt so sick. Anyway, to make a long story short, after Dildo-ing in the Five on the service road, we scared lil Anakin off his training wheeled bike, who then shit his pants as my buddy Marc
attempted to molest him with a lollipop (don't ask. This is the short story
version). As we laughed our asses off, I felt La Belle Province coming back
up for a visit, so I spewed on the sidewalk and we covered it up with mulch
and water and expect it to grow within the coming days. The weird thing is
when it all came back out, it looked nicer than when it all went in. Tells
you something about that restaurant. If you're totally confused about what
I just said, don't bother trying to understand it. only an elite group of
people will understand this.
Anyway, that's how it's been the past coupla weeks in my world. I'm
sure it's far from the best summer job but it's certainly nowhere near the
worst. All I can say is that I'm glad I'm outta the place that previously
employed me, and although I left the place like an asshole by not giving
her two weeks notice, I believe in the notion that you give respect to
people from whom you get it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to scrape shit
off my boots and pants, wash the dandelion juice from my jeans and scrub
the sweat and dirt off my arms and get some much needed sleep.
(Please note that the previously-mentioned "things to do" are all a result of the hard work of one of the bestest former video store clerks to ever
walk the face of the earth without ever being promoted or getting a
raise... well, all except for the shit I gotta get off my pants, that was
just a lil accident I had after my encounter with Brando... that is, of
course, a joke people).