anthony michael hall
Tomorrow I will be complained about to my manager because I was rude to someone, and I am disappointed because I did not do it on purpose. I enjoy getting my sarcasm on and then reporting it here to you, but I was not rude to this person on purpose.
It is hard to hear people when they come through the drive through, added to the fact that this clown had a supped-up Honda to make extra noise, his radio blasting (terrible) music and they are chatting on the cellular phone while trying to talk to me. If you are in a drive through and the McTard (like me) is trying and failing at taking your order: hanging up your phone, cutting the engine, and pausing your CD.
The thing that really bothered me, however, as an immigrant who speaks English with a lingering New York accent that when people cannot understand me when I am speaking I assume that I am the one who has the problem. I would never ask someone in a three-layered accent if someone was stupid while trying to use their language. Growing up in Germany, and not speaking the language well, and moving here and not speaking English well, I always assume it is my fault when there is a misunderstanding.
This dude said, �Are you stupid, can�t you understand me?� After announcing that he was coming in the next day to talk to the day manager, I responded, �Not as stupid as your mom�s parole board.� He was already planning to come and complain about me, I decided to do something worth complaining about. I am sure he went home and told his wife-by-arrangement that he told off some retard in a drive through, and felt big about himself; I am glad I was there to help.
Also, do not put your gods on bobble heads and expect me to take your religion seriously.
So, this goofy kid at work, Aric (and I use his real name in the hope that he googles his own name and realizes that I am on to him) has this weird habit of insisting on saying hello to me when I arrive at work or when he does, and saying good bye when he leaves and he keeps doing it until I respond. I am convinced he is making fun of me, that I am the butt of a joke and the only butt I consent to being is the butt of a Chinese New Year�s Dragon. I only do that when Colleen and I are working at our Third Job as Existential Detectives. I make an excellent (are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?) Dustin Hoffman to her Lily Tomlin.
Or perhaps, he is just polite or from the Midwest � one is unexpected from a kid his age and other (being from the Midwest) is unnatural. This matters not, I am just enjoying the paranoia.
Some idiot teenage boys (oh to be sixteen & retarded again) vandalized one of my coworker�s cars the other night. I felt bad about this for two reasons:
I equated this to when Emilio Estevez�s character in the Breakfast Club shares how he earned detention (see I am a teacher, your ass earns detention) and how he felt bad � not that he hurt the other boy but that he had humiliated the other boy in front of the boy�s father. The worst part was thinking of that kid having to explain his actions to his father.
The other thing that made me feel bad was that I had related something in my life to a John Hughes movie and underscored what Shelley from my sojourn in Mall Employment said, that I was Anthony Michael Hall in the eighties high school movie of life. Even my mother sees the Anthony Michael Hall in me, which is the saddest cut of all. I lost focus on feeling bad for this kid that his pretend-a-friend peers trashed his car and refocused on me when Kipp reminds us that there is nothing more important than her hair
I am here, as Anthony Michael Hall was, to remind you all: Dude, it could be worse. There is someone more pathetic than you are. Colleen will play the part of Molly Ringwald, because I have won bets with her panties.
