'hawking up no. 2's hair is like trying to draw a straight line on the head of a small bird.
"hold still. hold still! hold still!!
but in the end i guess it is worth it (no doubt dabblers in the science of psychology will attribute my tenacity with no. 2's 'hawk to the fact i desperately wanted one when i was a teenager and never got to have one. i just think they are fucking cool).
the particular pizza joint i work at abounds in propaganda. there are signs and posters everywhere encouraging us to smile and greet the customer within a certain amount of time, blah blah blahdy fucking blah. not sure how propaganda is intended
to work, but on me it has a detrimental affect: if the sign says smile, i will, but it will be the dumbest most smart-alecky cheesiest most fake smile i can muster.
one of the most apalling and ludicrous bits of propaganda is what the other workers shout at the drivers as they leave for a run: the driver, on his/her way out the door, is required to call out, "driver out!" followed by the elapsed time of the order, and any side items or beverages that he/she may be hauling.
supposedly, this is so the manager's can keep track of how long it is taking, and whether or not they need to restock the pop cooler.
truth is, they rarely pay any fucking attention at all.
in reply, the workers still in the store are sposed to holler back, "buckle up, drive safe!"
here is why propaganda makes me snort: it is unlikely, were i not already planning on either buckling up or
driving safe, that this line would render me so malleable as to change my mind into doing so.
it does, however, afford me with a veritable cornucopia of opportunities to use my trademark sardonic wit.
some of the most common replies to "buckle up, drive safe" that i have offered: "like you guys care!" "if i must!" "no way, crazy as a loon and unbuckled for me, thanks!"
once, with customers lined up and waiting for pizzas, i shouted back, "the more i work here, the less i wanna!" as i zoomed out the door to a hail of raucous laughter, courtesy of all those waiting patrons.
and now, sex:
(got your attention there, didn't i? you pervy little peope. hahaha. which brings up an interesting sidebar: does being a stay-home parent heighten one's perviness and smoldering libido? or is it more just when a guy stays home? or is it just me? i am gonna go with "just me" seeing as i am quite a bit pervy, and always had a plentiful libido. and another sidebar, since we are already here caught between my accursed parentheses and lost in one of my completely unrelated tangents that will force you, the beloved non-existant readers, (and me too) to backtrack to whatever i was talking about before i got sidetracked on this other thing and attempt to reboard my original train of thought (heading for hell and points west, chooo choooo): i know i really don't talk much about sex or sex-related topics within the scope of this small bit of dust under the bed that is the world wide web, but trust me when i say, o my brothers and devotchkas, i love sex. i used to write erotica (for myself mostly--and that is all i am gonna say bout that!) until i reread quite a bit of it and decided that it was all mostly rip-offs from other erotica i had read, and that while i might've added some clever stuff here and there, i wasn't really bringing anything new to the table, and that few people would want to read any of it. it is simply that i feel that discussing sex specifics in here would be putting my wife's and my personal matters, so to speak, right out on public display, and since we have family that read, that would be, in a word, icky. as far as general observations about sex or whathaveyou, well, i just never really find a moment that presents itself. now back to your regularly-scheduled program--)
and now, sex:
one of the drivers (female) that knew me before i left the confines of the pizza joint and my wife left the confines of the country was recently talking to me about my dubious and unplanned return to said pizza joint, and i told her i had done it to pay for my tattoo.
she asked what i was getting done.
it was a bit slow, so i motioned her to the back of the store where we pile up the broken-down boxes for recycling and keep the empty dough trays, and lifted my shirt to show her the tattoo.
i do this all the time. i am used to the reactions: "wow!" "fuck, that is cool!" "dayum!" etc etc.
this girl began to make what i can only describe as fuck noises: "mmmm fuck yeah. ooooh fuck, yeah! mmmm hmmmm."
then, much to my surprise, she did something that no one, and i do mean no one
, has ever done, barring my wife. she reached up, and traced some of the newer lines on one shoulder blade with her finger. while still emitting the fuck noises.
now, last time i checked, i am not made of either ice or wood, so it goes without saying that my lizard fuck-n-fight brain took over momentarily and flashed up all manner of craziness in the form of in-my-head-only porn. (and worry not, o my droogs and only friends, i keep no secrets from my wife. the first story i told her of the evening was this particular one, with one of her friends present no less. we all had a good laugh.)
then i dropped my shirt, smirked my smirk, and hoofed it to the front of the store post haste, because even though she had moved away from me and given me back my personal space, she was still standing there with a look on her face that my lizard brain was reading as "take me now" and the logical and coherent part of my brain was sounding the alarm.
what's the point of this little story? not sure. but it raises a question in my head that i often find myself tackling: as a stay-home parent, one is expected to maintain a certain amount of decorum, shall we say. i mean, i am far from pta material, but we're all expected to behave ourselves.
and i am often surprised, pleasantly, i might add, to find that other stay-home parents (women, mostly, since they outnumber us stay-home dads a million to one) get randy, talk with each other about sex (out of earshot of their kids), scope hot passersby, etc etc.
we are, after all, human.
but i still sorta battle this within myself. it is normal and healthy for me to like sex, it is even acceptable for me to enjoy porn. i'm a guy, shit, what do you expect. but somewhere in my noggin i have the notion that stay-home parents don't do this. granted, it is some kind of convoluted idealistic image based, most likely, on some sort of fifties icon with a woman with perfect hair and ridiculously blue eyes vacuuming in a skirt and heels.
or, you might say, i guess, o my beloved and crazy and randy and vivacious non-existant readers, it is based on a propaganda.
wow, i feel better already!
Labels: low pop suicide, propaganda, randomness, sex, the inner circle of pepperoni hell