| | red_thistle (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.2){kind=small} red_thistle) wrote, |
- Mood:
groggy
Central-vite and sleepless nights
I am completely aware that I am wearing myself ragged and by the time I even reach my desired destination I will be a weathered, bitter young woman the remnants of last nights hot pink lip stick still making a jagged ring-like pacifier and who’s every breath is a cacophony of insults or nervous laughs. Something to look forward to I suppose. I will also be so fucking sick of customer service jobs that during my first interview it is quite possible I will spew a little bile into the lap of my would be employer after overhearing a couple at the nearby table request another fork from the server because “this one has spots on it”. Serving food has made me hate food more than I already do. Scraping coagulated ketchup, ranch, and half-eaten food with a beautiful array of cigarette ashes and little balls of gum patrons have been working with all night into a trash bin has transformed the way I look at food. Every plate of food is distorted immediately into what I know the end result will be. I try not to gag when I am asked for more sauce by people who have just taken a bite of their rare, juicy burger that drips down their fat middle aged faces. The resemblances are uncanny between that of the animal they eat. I am suddenly approached by several people a night who think the reason I started working here was to find a steady boyfriend. Go figure.
October 16 2005, 22:57:23 UTC 6 years ago
Comprehesive response-attack
- Food is, was, and shall always remain evil. I hate food. I resent the fact that my body requires it to function. Why can't I just recharge during sleep? Serving food (and being forced to be nice about it) must be a fucking blast.- Food. I liked the grotesque bit about the sauce, though; put a charming, viscerally immediate image on yer subject in one sentence... and that's good writing.
- As for the constant attentions of your new best boy-friends, the only thing I can say (at least in my own defense) is that I try to only speak when spoken to, try not to stare, do my best to stay out of the way, and make a concerted effort to never treat anyone like a stripper. Still, I can appreciate your predicament; you're so lovely and charming that it must be very difficult to shake them all off. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I do (occasionally) enjoy watching multiple guys attempt to glom onto you (or other chicks) at once; there's something compelling about the social balancing act that ensues; their insect-like desire reminds me of blood platelettes mindlessly attacking a pathogen (although that analogy is not as flattering as I might like it to be, especially considering that there's nothing pathogenic about you).
- Regardless, I have books waiting in my car for you. My apologies to your poet friend for freaking out on him the other night; I was drunk and thought it was very rude. I love yelling at audience members... and chick singers... and pretty girls (especially if they cry).
October 26 2005, 12:23:48 UTC 6 years ago
blech
After reading this-- I shall never eat again.