April 17th, 2003



One more card. (Because I can. And he asked. :P)

Minor work rant: Little teenage dicktard, comes in and wants 1: to write a check with no ID, but he has a ticket. Manager will ok it (I'm against it. No ID, no checky-writey.) if it goes through the TeleCheck machine. Then said dicktard wants smokes, and that gets the no from the manager because that you do need an ID for, no matter what. She goes to put something away on the shelf, and then the young moron goes and sticks his head up his ass.

"Bitch." And then smiles at me all stupid-like, as if I'm going to agree with him.

Well, guess again.

Don't call the manager a bitch, expecially when said manager is my mom. Then don't try to cover it by saying you were calling the cops bastards, expecially when there's one behind you who just dealt with an accident about 5 minutes before you got there.

Just so y'all know: I'm loyal to my family and close friends to the point where it's both a strength and a weakness. I blame my parents for the morals that they gave me. (With minor tweaking by me. :P) If it wasn't my need to keep my paycheck and the insane military bearing crap I went through in boot camp, I might've jumped over the counter and beat the living fuck out of the idiot. (Then the military would came in handy again, because there's nothing like knowing how to hurt someone fast and hard. :P)

And I'm going (somewhat) blind, not deaf. I know the vocal difference between an 'a' and a 'i', fucknut.