(no subject)
Mar. 30th, 2007 06:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
x_losAt hour six of my double-shift day, in which I covered for a girl who needed a night off in order to go to a reading/party on Monday with Sam in hopes of further chatting up my crush, the terrible opression of my mind set in. The orders had not stopped for an hour and a half. Work did not end for at least 3 hours and something. The phone rang until my ears bled, and I began narrating my pain to myself aloud in an awful French accent.
"Zie ennui, it has crept in to zie most forlorn corners of mah soul. Why, why do you order sweet 'N sour chicken, as if zat blase aknowledgement of zie sour, malodorous horrors of lahfe through a deeply fired chicken dish could dizipate if you simply consumed a chicken dish with 'sweet' in zie name? Et iz as tragic as mah yearzin le resistance, fahting in ze trenches wit only mah cigarettes for light, mah coffee for food, and zie ticks on mah balls for comrades. Anozer call! Who can carry out when ze world carries in so much suffahring, no?"
I looked up and there were customers staring at me. Shit.
Then a retarded man came in and asked me things I couldn't understand. I tried, but he was pretty incomprehensible. Once I got him a carry out menu he seemed satisfied and just left. Then a dad berrated me for offering his cute child a cookie while thay had to wait, and barely softened when I apologised. No one else could come to the front to help me answer the three simultaneous lines and the line of customers. I also spent my break between shifts getting a drop slip and checking the Die house for a readings packet Will apparently hasn't deigned to Xerox yet.
"Zie ennui, it has crept in to zie most forlorn corners of mah soul. Why, why do you order sweet 'N sour chicken, as if zat blase aknowledgement of zie sour, malodorous horrors of lahfe through a deeply fired chicken dish could dizipate if you simply consumed a chicken dish with 'sweet' in zie name? Et iz as tragic as mah yearzin le resistance, fahting in ze trenches wit only mah cigarettes for light, mah coffee for food, and zie ticks on mah balls for comrades. Anozer call! Who can carry out when ze world carries in so much suffahring, no?"
I looked up and there were customers staring at me. Shit.
Then a retarded man came in and asked me things I couldn't understand. I tried, but he was pretty incomprehensible. Once I got him a carry out menu he seemed satisfied and just left. Then a dad berrated me for offering his cute child a cookie while thay had to wait, and barely softened when I apologised. No one else could come to the front to help me answer the three simultaneous lines and the line of customers. I also spent my break between shifts getting a drop slip and checking the Die house for a readings packet Will apparently hasn't deigned to Xerox yet.
