I knew it! I knew you ate tacks!
I also had the Mexican Jumping Hymnal, which left my hands five times, inexplicably, during the general worship. The last time it went three pews ahead of me and it could still be there, I am too ashamed to look. It was as if I had spontaneously acquired a nuerological disorder that makes me throw things.
My apartment is haunted and is in the church, it could be that the ghost that inhabits my apartment is not alone here in the church or maybe the ghost (it�s the ghost of a cat) is not confined to the cloister. Maybe one of the ghosts knocked the book out of my hand. Maybe they do not want me participating in church. I need an Ouiji board and some junior high girls to unravel the mystery of the ghost cat and the flying hymnals. This mission is too trivial for Kipp and I to use our super powers. We are needed elsewhere.
A year ago if you said something was haunted I would have mocked you behind your back and patronized you to your face, but this apartment is haunted and I apologize for my snickering. I almost never apologize and when I do, look for my God Mother or Mother twisting my arm.
You will swallow some tacks. You are a little
weird, maybe not so much in a good way. Buy a
yellow tie and wear it on your head.
What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
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Today at work, I became enraged at Bono. He has done a bad, bad thing for the relations among the working poor in America. In doing a four count in Spanish, but ending at fourteen instead of four, he has confused a generation of Americans into confusing our immigrant coworkers by compelling us to ask for fourteen of something when all we really want are four of whatever.
Gordon and Maria did not teach us to count like this. Gordon and Maria are ashamed of us!
I feel bad for the people who have not reached proficiency in English at my part time job. They have an uphill battle when things when go wrong. Also, in an effort to be competitive (for reasons past my comprehension) they do not respond well to attempts to help them. They want to seem just as competent at their jobs those of us who can comprehend the written and spoken instructions.
Sophia is from India, has worked with the company for over seven years and we are wondering what goes on in her head. She does a ton of crazy things at work and there is no reason behind much of it. Everything at the store is color-coded and sub coded with shapes so that if you cannot read or use English, you can still work with us. She just does things haphazardly. Working with her is so frustrating because she is incredibly sweet but her mistakes make things harder for everyone else. Being Sophia Malcovich is something that we are working with and hoping for because we would like to know what goes on in her mind. I wonder what is up in there.
Really, fast food is Mc Dante�s Inferno. The first level of fast food hell is area where you make the food. This is the least awful job that you have to do. You just cook food. The next, deeper level is where the food is assembled. That place is worse because when you make a mistake, or make someone else�s mistake things get bad for you. People yell at you and throw poorly assembled sandwiches at you. The next level of hell, deeper still is the drive through where you take and present orders but this is not too terrible, you get �interacted with� but the �interaction� is fleeting. The next to last ring in hell is the front counter where customers are interacted with, abuse is received for poorly made or assembled orders. The final ring of Mc Dante�s Inferno is managing things. First, everyone in the other rings of the inferno, usually low on the intelligence totem pole are your responsibility. You have to mediate them, their problems, and disputes and guide them in their toil. You have to make customers happy with your product, which is nearly impossible since you sell garbage food to trashy people.
The money is good and the work is easy, I should not complain.
