Why Don't You Get A Job?

My first job (that wasn't babysitting) should have never happened. I am certain that had it not, I would swear less, never have smoked, and would be far less versed in verbally destroying lesser individuals.

The summer of my 15th year, I was living in a town CCR allegedly got stuck in, California. You know what there is to do in the aforementioned town? Not a damn thing. Sure, people hung out in the Walmart parking lot til all hours, saw one of the two movies playing at the only theater in town, went partys out in the vineyards, and if you were me and my not-yet-ready-for-hard-shit friends, hung out at Sno-White Drive In across from Town Name Lake. Oh, and by lake I mean man-made cesspool of filth and river waste that was closed most of every summer due to high Ecoli levels.

Sno-White used to be part of a chain in California, but I choose to believe that when the health conscious hippies took over the state, so went the way of awesome burger stands. These chains got sold off to locals and even with it's burnt out sign that read "Home of the Super Burger", cracked paint, even more cracked wooden picnic tables, and all around dilapidation, people still flocked to Sno-White. Or Super Burger as people sometimes called it because they were idiots. There was (and is) a Foster Freeze in town, complete with the ice cream cone named Mr. Freeze neon sign, but their ice cream wasn't as good and their bathroom was too clean. Everybody knows the food is always better when they have a nasty bathroom.

So the summer of my 15th year, my girlfriend KiKi and I (not to be confused with a one Ms. Quiverbone) were sucking down some bomb-ass milkshakes and spotted the ice-cream splattered help wanted sign in the corner of the window. We both applied on the spot. Who wouldn't want to work across from the lake and flirt with all the hot guys that were sure to flock there? About a week later I received a call from Jade, the manager. I was excited, my first real interview, but she manically explained to me that I was the youngest who had applied and no one else had called her back and could I start the next morning and somewhere in all of her crazy, I said yes. I called KiKi right away and told her. She wasn't happy. She was almost 8 months older than me and was higher on the hire list, but apparently didn't get a message. She implied that I should have turned down the job, but I didn't care. I was going to be making money all summer and shopping and flirting and she should be understanding of that.

I took the GrapeLine (our town's bus equivalent) from my place to Sno-White and showed up a good 15 min early. Even before the AF I was prompt. I knocked on the back door and the oldest living hunchback I have ever seen opened the door. "Are you Tiffany?" she asked in an obvious Arkansas drawl. I nodded and said yes as she ushered me inside. I should have ran to catch the bus as soon as I saw the inside. Ick. The outside was dilapidated but the inside? The inside was comparable to what I would imagine I would see in a third-world country's diner would look like. Straight ahead from the door was the front window and the view of the pristine Lake Ecoli. But to my right was a walk-in freezer and sink area, to my left was a set of deep fryers and a grill, and right next to the back door was a mini-freezer that was dripping some sort of fluid. I'm still not confident it was really only water.

Joy led me to the front left of the establishment with a waddle and a wave and sitting at a tiny desk surrounded by shelves of cups and napkins sat Jade. She had buck teeth that gap in the front, a femme-mullet, broad shoulders, a broader waste, and she wore a man's XXL polo with coolots and sneakers. I saw a hint of mustache over her sweaty lip (in all fairness, it was like a sauna in there), and she reached out her hand for me to shake and said "Heya kiddo. Welcome to Sno-White. Let's go out back and chat." We stood outside for what seemed like hours as she smoked Marlboro Red after Marlboro red and talked mostly about herself, her kids, her grand kids, and her husband, all of whom (mind you, I had not seen them yet) seemed like they would go well on a Jerry Springer stage. I nodded and tried to ask questions about the job when I could, but eventually gave up. 1130 hits and Joy yells out for us that there were cars pulling in. Jade hands me an apron and a pencil, literally pushes me towards the cash register and says "You've done this before, right?" and goes back into the freezer to grab some stuff.

I made due. It wasn't rocket science, but you'd have thought I was Stephen Hawking. Joy cooked the orders and Jade made the shakes and Ice cream when those orders came up. I filled drinks, wiped tables when it was slow and with every good deed, praise could be heard from both women. "Girl, you're so smart. I ain't never seen somebody work that hard" Joy said to me at the end of my shift. I smiled and said thank you, despite my thoughts that they must have the worst employees ever if doing your job made you "so smart." Within 3 days I was making shakes and perfect swirls on ice cream cones, working the deep fryer, slicing buns for our Super Burger (Big Mac rip-off), restocking and organizing, and each day, Jade and Joy sang my praises. I worked from 9 to 1 for the first week and had only met the two of them. The night crew didn't come in until 4pm and the owner, Dan, hid in his trailer/office that sat behind the building.

I eventually would meet Dan, a reservist Warrant Officer (Helicopter pilot), who had a white hair comb-over, 1980's clothing, and a pedophile smirk. He never looked at my face, always my chest (yes, they were big then too) and I always wanted to bathe immediately after being remotely near him. Years later, his only son would be killed execution-style in a meth deal gone bad on the outskirts of our town. Very sad and still unsolved. He sold the business to some woman who painted it pink.

As the summer progressed, I started meeting the rest of the employees. Robin ran the night shift. She was barely 5 feet and skinny like a crack whore. Sores in the corners of her mouth made me think this could have been true. She had a smokers growl and a Lorrie Morgan hairstyle. I made the mistake once of telling her she looked like Lorrie and she said "You know what, I get that all time 'cept I sing better." I laughed but she wasn't joking. She spent the rest of the night singing "Watch Me", "Something in Red", "Except for Monday" and "Fancy" which I wanted to tell her was a Reba song but I let it go. She quit not long after that and the last I had heard circa 2004, she had hanged herself in her garage.

Shawn took over for Robin after she quit. Big, burly, tatted up, fucked up grill and a woman. She never wore a bra and her tits hung down to the middle of her belly button. She fought with everyone, had a boyfriend who was just as nasty and abusive (and she hit him too), and had a southern accent for no apparent reason. Seriously, how do you have a southern accent when your are born and raised in CA? I hated working with her. She gave me the willies. I was always scared she might hit me or eat me or touch my no-no places. Her and Chris, the other night shift "manager", hated each other. Chris was a single mother of two and a super Chola. Butt crack lip liner, sharpied eyebrows, actually used to be in a gang, but she liked me. Said I was the baddest white chick she knew, because only a white chick who was bad would talk back like I did. She would tell me, while pointing at me with a knife that never left her hand, "Girl, you're a funny white chick. I wouldn't have kicked your ass back in the day." Thank you? She also gave me pointers on how to fight white bitches. Always punch, don't slap. Don't pull hair unless you're going to rip that shit out. Oh, and my favorite, "don't stop crackin' theys skulls til the cops pull you off." I actually took notes once, you know, in case I ever had to testify. Chris ended up with another kid and a parole violation and Shawn went head first into an overpass after a night of heavy drinking. She died.

Tony was a teenage boy who worked there as well. He went to the other high-school in town and was the definition of in the closet. He was over-weight, super feminine, and the biggest drama queen I have ever met. He would start a fight over who had to do dishes, who had to clean the ice cream machine, who touched his apron...it was never ending. I told him once that he didn't have to be a stereotype. He asked me what I meant and I said "No one cares if you're gay. Just don't be a catty little bitch." He raised his hand like he was going to slap me, but I didn't bat an eye. I just said "Tony, that is soooo Dynasty of you. And Chris taught me how to fight." He walked away crying, from that and several more verbal beat downs I gave him. It wasn't because he was gay, I have to make that clear. It was because he was a bitch. I love me some gays, I just hated me some Tony's. He tried to set me up on a date with his "friend" once. But he came along too. We saw a movie and Tony sat in between us. I'm pretty sure I was the beard. I got a free movie out of it, plus popcorn and a soda, so I'm not complaining. He found me years later on Myspace (you read that right) and he looked great, lost a ton of weight, started taking care of his skin, came out of the closet...called it. He was going to school in Southern California (Not SoCal because I am not a douche) and modeling. He thanked me for being the only person who understood him, to which I wanted to ask what the fuck he was talking about, but just let go and said "Your welcome." He looked happy. Good for him. Probably still a bitch though.

Tasha was our resident Teen Mom, before it was cool to be knocked up and still in high school. She had the roundest, fattest head I have ever laid eyes on and the intelligence of the grease that coated the walls. She had this rolly polly of a boyfriend who knocked her up my second summer at Sno-White. She was such a smug bitch. I know most pregnant women are smug bitches, the way they rub there belly when talking to you as if to say "You want what I have", but Tasha was super smug. I'm sure her mother's life's ambition was to have an unwed teen mom for a daughter and her mother's before her. That's not sarcasm. She had her baby shower at Sno-White and bragged about how her daughter beat her because she was pregnant at 15 and she had Tasha at 17. While writing this, I think I found her on FB through a mutual friend. I was horrified and deleted the mutual friend as well. Anyone who knows that can't know me.

There were random coke heads, perverts, lesbians, and other low-lifes that Sno-White employed over my tenure there, but they all came and went so fast, I can barely remember them. I still pride myself on all that learned there, you know, don't be filthy, work hard, how to make the most amazing mint-chocolate chip banana shake ever, and I loved having a job. When all my friends had to bum money off of there parents, I didn't. Very liberating. And while I picked up some awful habits there such as smoking (also where my mom caught me but that is it's own blog), swearing, and talking down to everyone I saw, I can look back and see how far removed I am from that. I don't smoke anymore, I don't curse...as much, and I treat others with respect. Okay, the smoking part is true at least.

I Miss My Friend

I have changed this blog title/song name more times tonight than I can count. I thought about Johnny Cash’s "Fair Weather Friends", Pink’s "Who Knew?", even We Used To Be Friends by the Dandy Warhols.

I have written this blog in as many different ways. Probably more.

One started with me referencing this article I read about the break-up of a friendship. It covered everything. When you grow apart because of distance, when you’ve had a big fight, and why it’s sometimes harder than a romantic break-up. I get that. If my husband and I were to separate, I would go to my best friend about it, but who do you talk to about your separation from your best friend? For those of you that though “your husband” I get that. Your husband can be your best friend and I am not saying I don’t feel that way about mine, but it’s not the same. Husbands of women like me are conditioned to take our side, right or wrong, tell us we look pretty and say how awful the other person must be. I don’t want to hear that.  And, the whole article was about best friends who are both women, not the case here.

I started another that rehashed all my best friend break-ups in my 27 years. My first was with CeCe in Kindergarten. She moved or I did. Saw her years later and it was like “Oh hey, you got fat. Oh, no you’re a teen mom? Wow.” Yeah, all kinds of awkward. There was a pretty good retelling of my many-a-stupid spats with my friend Kooie (yeah, if you’re reading this…it’s YOU) in middle school and the beginning of high school. We always made up but they still stung. I was delving into the fact that as women, it seems like we are genetically predisposed to fighting and bickering with each other and how great it was to finally have a BFF that didn’t have ovaries. But then I got sad and realized that now I DON’T have a BFF without ovaries.

I wrote one where all of his flaws were listed. One by one I destroyed his character in trademark Fat Bottomed Girl form. It was better than any Thursday Thrashing. Every time he let me down, didn’t call, hurt my feelings, etc. was on here. Every woman he every scorned (even though I had condoned it) was vindicated with my words. The latest one, eviscerated with the click of my keys. But for what? He was my best friend in spite of and sometimes because of his flaws. And the new broad? Maybe she has something to do with this, maybe she doesn’t, but he’s the only one responsible for his actions. Besides, it kinda made me seem like a jilted ex and that’s not the route I want to take. 

One of them retold our friendship from the beginning. It was actually pretty sweet. Mostly good, minus a few drunken moments here or there. It was quite long too, six years worth of wonderful times with your best friend can get lengthy. I recounted the million times we went to dinner while my husband was deployed and I was pregnant. How he would warn me not to eat the buffalo wings because I would just throw them back up and me cursing him that he was right as I puked. BBQ’s at our house, talking shit together to anyone who dared to not root for Texas; every fun time or meaningful conversation filled the page. When I got to the past few months though, I trailed off. I didn’t want to write about our end. I didn’t want to talk about the not returned phone calls and the disinterest and the wedge that turned the 500-mile distance between our homes into light years. I still don’t. I want to take back the angry text messages I sent, no matter how truthful they were. I want to pretend that he’s not a bad friend. I want to believe he’s just been really busy, that he hasn’t had time for anyone, not just me. I want, I want, I want. But we don’t always get what we want.

Sometimes, you just have to walk away. Or in this case, stop trying. Sometimes it just hurts too much to put in effort when the other person doesn’t. It’s like a friendship version of He’s Just Not That Into You except I didn’t get my copy until it was already a national best seller.

I don’t even know how to end this. I’m at 750-ish words and I’m not even sure if I’ve said anything at all. I have 10 different Word docs filled with priceless gems of blogs that all convey how I’m feeling and I don’t want to post a single one. I don’t want to share this with any of you because it makes it final. What happens if he says sorry tomorrow? Will he read this and change? Will he read this and not change? Fuck, like he can read. (I had to get in one zinger.) 

I just didn’t see this coming and yet, I saw it coming all along. 

I miss my friend.

Everyday I Write The Book

It may not be a good blog tonight, or it may be the best I've ever written.

I-USA walked into class (consisting of Typhoid Maria, some chick, and myself) wearing a blue polo that had Captain America's shield embroidered on it. Yes, that really happened. I wouldn't have noticed, but he announced to us that "Captain America will be teaching tonight. Assemble!" Wow, thanks for making The Avengers uncool. The other two offered obligatory giggles, but I starred at my computer screen intently trying to hide the disgust and horror I am sure my face conveyed. He said "Apparently Tiffany is not impressed. Are you a Thor fan? That's it. You like those long, girly locks." No, I'd prefer to tap Captain America's ass over Thor's any day, but a grown man donning a super hero polo and calling himself said super hero is Sad. As. Fuck.

He took a phone call and dramatically conversed (in front of us) with the person on the other end, someone from his office I'm sure, because when he hung up, he stated "I took a beating in court today. It was brutal. It actually has a lot to do with criminal procedure." I could not resist and said "Maybe if you had worn your Captain America polo, you would have slayed them." Sarcasm not lost on him, he replied "I think the judge was a DC fan." I see what you did there, trying to bond over comics. You're still awful.

STILL as Yet to be Named Clown Face, fuck, we'll just go with Clown Face (since no one offered suggestions), came in and excitedly asked "We get to watch a movie tonight, right?!" Bitch must really love movies, cause you'd have thought a no answer would make her kill herself. She had this anxious expression on her face that contained the slightest trace of sorrow. He told her "I see no reason why we won't get our movie on" and then WINKED. Yes, winked. What kind of movie does he have in mind? Fucking pervert.

We're watching video clips of dogs to warm us up for the night. I am trapped in that South Park episode where every one is getting high on cough syrup and watching a TV show that consists of nothing but dogs in cute hats. Every one is laughing and saying how cute this is, everyone but me. I am dutifully blogging for you, my peeps that would scorn these videos. Or would at least tell me that you'd scorn these videos and never let me know you secretly enjoy them. I-USA just giggled and said "Oh I love doggies." Well, you'd have to because no woman loves you.

Speaking of other things he loves, I am certain I am one of those things. Check out what he said about my paper:

Light years? With the exception of Katniss, a measurement has not been invented that properly expresses how ahead of my classmates I really am. I'll take light years, for now. I wish I could pull up last years instructor remarks. They were, um, suggestive to say the least. I'll leave it at that. Hopefully, this class will produce even more gems.

He gives out his official US Attorney coins for performance. I got one last time. I actually have it in my purse right now as I decided that at some point, I will give it back to him and tell him that it is for his wonderful instruction. I'll have to stage it just right, get Katniss on the camera. He was just digging around his bag for this weeks performance award but couldn't find it and said it would have to wait until later. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it's going to me. Come on, just because I'm light years ahead doesn't make me less of a show off. Give me my coin and chocolate motha fucka. If it does not go to me, I'm still going to lie and make up a scenario in which I still won. Just kidding, like I'd leave out one of these slack-jawed sloths' acceptance speeches. Momma likes to take care of her babies. Ew. That's disgusting. My bad.

Fat Alberto said his first gem of the night. "The police like to make sure the stuff they find is there." If you found it, isn't it there? I am equally as confused as he is. I'm about to add something except I haven't been paying attention. We're all up in the Fourth Amendment according to the power point. Fuck. I should be killing this. I might have to step away from the blog for un momento....

Someone (I-USA) is very jealous of state court. That's where all the action is. "You know, rapes, murders, the fun stuff." Fun to try or fun to do? He makes me wonder. He's got this laser pointer key chain that he has yet to use and keeps flipping it around his finger. Repetitive motion drives me bonkers and it makes him look even creepier. He just referenced his Captain America polo again. Some one wants to feel special. We just talked about searching a trunk of a vehicle and that line from 99 Problems just came to mind. "The glove compartment is locked, so is the trunk in the back. And I know my rights, so you gon' need a warrant for that." Yeah, I'm thugged out. It came to mind every time I had to do a vehicle search back in the diz-ay. Shit, more proof that I am an urban liberal.

45 minutes past the hour and Blond Sonja shows up. Just in time as we are starting to talk about vigilante justice. I doubt she'll have an opinion, but one more person to witness my opinion always makes me happy. I-USA brought up a case in NM where two retired Marines caught the guys breaking into their homes and cars and executed them. He explained how that isn't allowed under the law and I had to counter. I reminded him of the man in Texas (because Texas is AWESOME) who shot and killed the burglars who broke into his neighbors house as they fled, even though he was told by the 911 operator to not shoot. He said flat out that he would kill him. And guess what? He wasn't charged. At all. And one of those fuckers died. Bam! Every reason why Texas kicks ass. He stammered some BS about why that would have been the DA's call. Yeah, and Texas DAs make the right call.

When he asked the class if your cleaning lady can grant the police permission to search your home when you aren't there, I said yes. She is left at the home and is essentially in charge of the home and can allow the police access. He asked if anyone disagreed with me and while I am sure most of them did, they're starting to learn that I am always right. He said "Tiffany is probably right." Probably? Didn't you go to law school? No wonder you got your ass handed to you in court. 

"There was a guy in some other country who was having a seajure and the cops thought he was resitting and they pulled him from the car and he was kicking but it was really a seajure." Thanks for sharing that, who else, Fat Alberto. Gordo Hipster added "The same thing happened in Socorro. A guy was reaching for his pump and the police thought it was a gun and they shot him" How is that the same thing? Mistaking a "seajure" for resisting, probably some poorly trained cops who didn't notice eyes rolling back into the mans skull. Guy reaching for something when police are telling him to put his hands up, stupid guy. Yep, not the same thing. Nice try boys, but you suck.

I-USA has a picture of Barry "The Motha-fuckin' Man" Goldwater up on the screen. I don't even care why, I just love that Barry be representin' yo. He started talking about Michael Dukakis and how he ran against the first Bush. The Other Side of the room all scoffed. Bitches, please. Y'all don't even know anything about this. Some of them, okay like 3, are old enough to have voted in that election, though I am sure they didn't. They just heard Bush and wanted to talk shit. Fucking liberal idiots. The saddest part is that, while I am 99% sure they don't actually know what they stand for, they're conditioned to vote for whoever promises them the most free shit. I'll take comfort in knowing that no matter how much education they are given (yeah, I doubt they have to pay for it), they will not show up to the voting booths come November. I'd bet money on it. Sun City will have a less than 30% turnout this fall. 

Okay, no more politics. That's a whole 'nother blog. Can I just say that I detest women who hold in their bowl movements in the restroom? I'll explain, though it would be more funny to just not. We had about 15 minutes before break and I had to pee. I thought I could hold it but said fuck it and excused myself from the room anyway. I get in the restroom and handle my business and I hear a tiny fart. We all know what a tiny fart in a public restroom means. Some body's gotta shit and they are trying to wait until the bathroom is empty. I flush and you could hear her relief, and some more farts, because she thinks this is the beginning to her window of opportunity. I know her shit is not my business but I don't care. I speak up and say, "Honey, you might as well just let it out because I am wearing Spanx and it'll take some time to get my shit together." She gasped and then said, "Fuck it." I should have kept my mouth shut because something died in her anus. I could not wash my hands fast enough. When I came back to class, I had to knock on the door as it was locked and I-USA tried to be cute. He cracked it and said "Are you selling something? te he he." That's the best you can do? I smiled coyly and simply said, "Nice shirt." 

We're back from break and back into the swing of things. Apparently, Training Day is a great example of the exclusionary rule. No explanation as to why, he just felt the need to include it. I did just realize half the fucking class never came back from break. It's 15 after. Either they all made a McDonald's run and hit traffic or they said fuck it and left. Clown Face is still here. She must really want to see that movie. Maybe she senses it will be about Nazis and that's why she is soooo excited. Can Mexicans be Nazis? Are they both going to look at me after he hits play?

Okay, seriously, seven fucking people didn't come back. And Stoner White-Boy Cop totally just rolled his eyes when I started talking about search warrants. Maybe he's pissed he doesn't get to play subject-matter expert? Fuck you, white boy. Hipster Gordo just told us a story about his cousin who's house got raided by the cops but the cops had the wrong house. Yeah, I am so sure that he was innocent. Well, Sun City cops might actually fuck up that bad. Whatever. He really didn't have a question, just a story. Clown Face asked if the cops can tear up your car during a search, like at the bridge. I-USA said that, basically, yeah, they can. He advised them to never piss off a a Customs Agent. I added "Or just don't go to Mexico." Katniss stole this one and said "They can't. They live there." We LOLed in real life.

Katniss and I have decided that we would probably get along well with Stoner White Boy Cop and his cohort, a stalky Hispanic male with a Charlie Brown shirt. They seem to laugh or roll their eyes at Fat Alberto when we do. Maybe I judged them too soon. Also, during the break, I-USA told me I did and excellent job on my paper and then told Stoner White Boy Cop he did "pretty good too." Oh SWBC, always a bridesmaid, never a bride. We were talking about specific consent and Blob Zombie asked "Can you say you can search this but not this?" Seriously, that is what specific means. I did add that now you've told the officer what to get a warrant for. I'm pretty sure she wrote that one down. Might need it in the future.

SWBC finally said that he is in fact one of Sun City's finest. Albeit, a shitty one as he said he would not stop a guy walking into a 7-11 at 1 am with a ski mask on in the middle of the summer. Really? When we all basically said he was fucking stupid, he said he would probably stop the guy. Probably. Glad you would probably do your fucking job. It's called a fucking Terry Stop, bro. Look it the fuck up. I have changed my mind. We would not get along well.

We are covering some of next week's lecture but I-USA has advised us that we WILL get a movie. Clown Face can hardly contain herself. She pounded her fists on the desk and said "I wanna see the movies!" like a toddler demanding a snack. I wanna see you get a makeover, but I have to be patient, so you do too. Gosh darn it, he caved and is starting it. AND it's not about Nazis. He really is playing the documentary about the murders in Juarez. Fuck me. Everyone seems to be excited about the flick. I guess they fail to realize that if we didn't watch the movie, we could have left by now.

I'm going to pack my shit up now, that way I can leave as soon as I-USA shuts it down. See you Saturday...if I feel like it.