The Epic Return And Other Shit

“Beefy! Just where in the fuckin’ fuckity fuck have you been?!”

Where the fuckin’ fuckity fuck, indeed.

Shortly after I started my new job at a gas station working the graveyard shift, my wife decided she wanted to rearrange our living quarters. This meant moving everything but my computer. The new location for the router was too far away for the cable to plug into it and give it internet, so we had to put it in a different, temporary location, which meant my computer wasn’t going to be able to hook into it until it was in its new permanent location. So I went without internet.

For about four months.

I could have easily rigged something up, but I didn’t want to bother with it. We could have easily went to the store and got what we needed to fix it, which wasn’t much, but we didn’t. And I found the longer I went without internet, the more I didn’t miss it. It got to the point that when we finally did fix the problems and get my computer hooked up, I almost didn’t hook it up.

I was done with Facebook, all of my email accounts, and even blogging. I still used Twitter all the time because I have it on my phone. That was all the internet I needed.

But, I did hook it up and now I’m back. I feel like I have no time to be on it anyway because all it seems I do anymore is work and sleep, but I will try to get all of the blogs written that I’ve been thinking about lately. We’ll see if I can stay awake long enough to hash them out.

Speaking of my job, oh man. I can’t say I don’t like it, because I actually really enjoy my job. But that line from Clerks, “This job would be great if it wasn’t for the fucking customers,” is so spot on. It’s almost prophetic.

I have a ton of regular customers and most of them I love to see every day. And sometimes they’re even happy to see me. But there are a couple of them that I wish would go across the street to our competition and never come back. And there are those I only see once or twice that I could completely do without as well.

These people are either completely inept, assholes, both, or worst of them all, animals. Thoughtless, primitive, filthy fucking animals. How these people are allowed to leave their nests and intermingle with the rest of us educated, complex beings is beyond me.

I have people who regularly piss all over the bathroom floor, all over the toilet but not inside it, on top of the tank’s lid until there’s a puddle, all over the garbage can, inside the garbage can… and I’m almost 100% positive it’s a really old man who most likely knows what he’s doing but he just can’t help himself. Fuck it, he’s 96 and about to die. Why not have a little fun before he goes out? Hopefully soon.

We have garbage cans all over the store, yet people leave their trash laying all over the floors, the counters, and all around the holes in the counters that go right into the garbage cans. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the used paper towels in the bathrooms are almost always piled up on the floor around the garbage cans.

Construction workers will come in with dried mud all over their boots and the mood will fall off of their boots randomly, all over the store, in chunks of all sizes. Because they don’t knock any of that shit off of their boots before coming in the store.

I’d hate to see what these peoples homes look like. Is there piss covering everything in their bathrooms except for the inside of the toilet bowl? Garbage laying all over the floors and furniture, while the garbage cans are completely empty? Dirt and mud all over the floors? Human body parts in various drawers?

I can’t fucking stand it. They’re animals, all of them. They have only basic instincts, eat, live, survive. These people won’t say hello to me when I say hi to them. This conversation literally happens at least a dozen times every shift.

Me: Morning, how are you?
Shitty fucking animal customer: Pack of Marlboros.

I can’t stand it. I already hate people as it is, and I do my damnedest to be nice and polite when dealing with these fucks, but you have to know that it’s literally killing me inside. I will die an early, unhappy death because of dealing with the general public. Actually by that point it will be a very happy, welcomed death.

The one thing just slightly less annoying as customers is, everybody in my life who knows I work third, but doesn’t understand that I work third.

Working third shift means I work from 10 PM until 6 AM. Yes, that’s night time.

“Beefy, you work when I sleep! I don’t get it! If I’m awake during the day then surely you are too! So if you’re awake during the day like everybody else on the planet is and you work at night, just when the hell do you sleep?”

That must be how these people think. We’re talking friends and family here, folks. I love these people, but damn.

I sleep during the day, like all third shift workers do. Yet on almost a daily basis when I wake up to go to work I discover texts or missed calls from these people. They want to know what I’m doing, or where I’m at.

Recently I asked my dad why he never calls. He said he wasn’t sure when to call because he knew I sleep during the day. So I told him, for the dozenth time, that he can call me any time before 11 AM. That would be perfect. Two nights later he called me for the first time in months… at 10:30 PM, a half hour after I went to work.

I called him in the morning and discovered he was just calling to say hi the night before. That’s when I just shook my head. Originally I thought it was serious or an emergency, as I tend to think when he calls me at odd times, like the one time he called at 4 AM, just to chat.

One time I had a friend stop by just as I was about to go to bed. He asked what I was doing and I told him I was headed to bed because I had to work that night. So he hung out with me for an hour and a half just bullshitting about nothing. Thanks, I needed that sleep.

And the coffee drinkers… I don’t have time here, and it deserves its own blog. Fucking Coffee Nazi’s.

I’ll be Bach.

4 responses to “The Epic Return And Other Shit

  1. Oh the piss is horrid. Trash is one thing, bodily fluids another. Ick.

    I sometimes nap while the girls are at school. No one wants to call me after three no matter how many times I say after three is the best time. It’s impossible for people to remember because I mean so little to them, I presume 😉
    They call me at not the right time, and then wonder why I’m so mean, lol. Whatever, people, whatever.
    Too bad you’re working when I have insomnia! Love those late night chats.

    So is your wife still working nights, too? That must be a lot more convenient.

    • Yeah, she works nights. That’s why I am, because I have to take her to work. I’d love to have another chat with you! That was fun. One day I’ll be rich and won’t have to work and then we can chat all night long lol. The piss does suck, and I don’t mind cleaning it up because it is what it is. It just bothers me that people do that crap. They belong in the jungle, not amongst the human population.

  2. Fuckity fuck yes…wondering where in the fuckity fuck hole you were. Glad you are okay, but my gosh…I wish you could transport yourself to those peoples’ homes and piss in their places, leaving them wondering, ” where the fuckity fuck did this come from?” End rantlett. Welcome back.

    • Thanks. I wish that all the time, too. Just last night I wanted to go to the house of the person who tore off the corner of a ketchup packet and left it on the counter instead of throwing it away in the garbage can 2 feet away. Little tiny ketchup packet corner, just sitting there. I see it all the time. I’d love to trash their homes, but something tells me they have that covered. Now if I could just get everyone who actually pisses in the toilets to learn how to fucking flush them…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s