Day four at the 2nd gig. Interesting thus far. The two jobs have kicked my ass this week. But, it shall pay off soon. Upside to this gig: they have free kettle corn in the kitchen. (insert fat kid drool) And I'm all about that.
The cast of characters I share my workspace with is QUITE colorful. Not all deserve space on my glorious blog, but here are some highlights:
April: Timid redhead. Picks her nose A LOT. Silent for half an hour, then breaks out wit a random story.
"I um, been having problems with my mail. I am supposed to have a Ralphs coupon, cause I shop there a lot. But they keep sending it to my old address. And I keep telling them 'stop that!'. I don't know. I need my coupon."
Or
"My friend broke up w her boyfriend. And said in her facebook status that she is single. Then she clicked that she "Liked" her own status....so I unfriended her. Because I think that's stupid."
Next to her, sits "Aisha", the beefy, jolly colored gal, who, obviously, used to suck her thumb (see: the cul de sac top row of teeth). "Aisha"...seemingly prefers her pre-motherhood clothes. From three kids ago. Today: a cardigan with buttons screaming for emancipation, toes that said "fuck these sandals" and insist on resting on the floor, and an unforgiving white stretch denim skirt, and not a single drop of lotion. Anywhere.
"Aisha" passes time telling the other ipod-less workers stories of her frequent hot, steamy, bonecrushing, blood presha-skyrocketing romps.
The way SHE sees it: "I'm forever getting MACKED ON by skinny boys."
The way I sees it: That thang's unavoidable gravital pull aint nothing to fuck with. There's no way around her. Literally.
A walking double wide, if you will.
"Aisha" has a job interview later, and came prepared. After setting up hour work area with the necessary food rations and pictures of her kids, she grabbed her bag and dashes to the bathroom.
She left with an early 90's Cici Winans look going on. And came back with a third stomach-length, flowing, wet and wavy situation...and the meanest pre-gastric bypass Aaliyah swoopbang you ever did see. Hot Pig! iGasped and clutched my invisble pearls. Way too much going on at 9 am.
Beside "Aisha" and her motion sickness-inducing ass(es) sits Kimber. An LA-born, uber-trashy "white chick with a Spanish accent" (her words), that's "down with [her] black and Latina sisters" (her words) and is way too comfortable calling herself a baby mama and has adopted "Playa, Playa" as her preferred term of endearment. She uses the office internet connection to job hunt and browse Eharmony.com for a man to be Cavernous Vagina Explorer Ken to her Barrio Jumpoff Barbie. Today, she received a letter from her brother. From prison. And saw fit to read it aloud. You KNOW, I'm down for shameless self-humiliation! It started off harmlessly enough, recapping his recent experiences, progress in a degree program of sorts, and a fight that got him in trouble. Then....
"...I'm not the same skinny skater kid that you last saw. I'm 185 now, and ripped up like Hulk Hogan's t-shirt. Can't wait to show you. I know you'll like it..."
She paused, and exclaimed, "DAMN!! Do you HAVE to be my brother?? Are you sure we're related? Whoooo. Shit!" *fans herself*
(silence)
The beefy, jolly colored chick chortled.
Right. Incestual sexual tension. Happy Thursday, indeed!
Then: there's Kunta. *sigh* Yes, KUNTA. As in Kunta "ChoppedFoot" Kente. The first nonmovie character named KUNTA I've ever encountered. Hell, I've even met a CELIE before! Without going off the deep end, I'll say that Kunta is Sudanese and looks like a 2.258 Million Dollar Bill...at the end of a cocaine and Zebra Cake buffet. And I'll leave it at that. Because damn. He doesn't say much, and types 2 fingers at a time, but...who the hell cares!?!? He could type with his forehead and I'd still vote him employee of the month. Because damn.
Beside Kunta: Keith. A portly Milk Dud of a man. Not much to say about Keith, except he apparently buys up the entire grocery store before coming to work each day. That, and his breathing is similar to the way one sounds when attempting to breathe through the nose while congested when slobbing someone's knob....of so I've heard.
Then: Lorelei, who could pass for Debbie Downer's older sister, Xanax Barbie. The only thing that could probably make Xanax Barbie smile is if Trojan released cocaine-flavored condoms. She's beautiful, in a you-were-cute-in-the-club-but not-so-much-in-daylight-so-just-shut-up-open-wide-and-don't-use-your-teeth kinda way. She has the humor of a woman who hasn't seen a penis since Papa showed her how babies were made.
This is merely a temporary gig, which should end right before Christmas, apparently. And I'm fine with that.
Okay, I'm done. Lunchtime.
Enjoy the remainder of your day, mmmkay?
-chris.alexander
3 comments/Ashanti Terminator 5000 credits for this post
DEAD @ the incestual sexual tension. SO.DONE.
You can't make this stuff up.
Are you tryna kill me?!
lmao
I LOVE your jobs. I never thought you'd be able to come up with something funnier than the letter that woman wrote to prove to the housing people that she wasn't dead back in NY, but with the cast of characters, the sky is the limit!