bleeding ho

If there was ever a habit of visiting my blog, routine has died I'm sure.

Im not proud to report it, but I went to walmart and got into a cranky dispute with the cashier. It ended in her bleeding on my poorly packaged carpet scraper. Trust me in saying, she really deserved it. Back before I sat on my butt I helped people ALOT.I know it sounds righteous, but I spent so many dreadful moments for a customer, and if I didn't I would be really polite in bullshitting my way out of it. Such as the days when I used to 'bleed orange' at the H0me Dep0t. It was one of the best paying retail jobs I ever had and it was kind of a rigorous test to get a job there, requiring a Southwest airlines shit-eating grin mentality and the ability to state that I would NEVER EVER even if my life depended on it, would I ever...steal a pen. My high school tennis partner's dad managed the store: home nepotism.

So while I was there I graduated from cashier college and listened to tons of people volunteer their weekend warrior DIY sagas and I sincerely did not give a shit. I had no idea what I scanned for the long 10 hour shifts except for galvanized things and lumber (as we were told that contractors liked to target young ladies lines in hopes of walking away with some spending dough).

There was a time I was not the diligent worker that I have made myself out to be. One time there was the funnest party of my life. Old high school friends were home from college and we partied throughout the entire night in matching recreation soccer gear until that dreadful 6 a.m. rolled around and I needed to be at work. By 9 a.m., it had occurred to me that I was counting out money like hours, having some serious disconnect when I saw change higher then 12. I am sure someone had a righteous customer service moment with me that saturday.