I have decided it is time for me to get this all down on paper. (monitor) I apologize ahead of time for the following: The typos, (mainly and and like) the foul language, the run on sentences, the misuse of spacebar, the nausea this might evoke, the misuse of words, the inability to actually attach meanings to things, and MOSTLY, the fact that this is a blog about My Life in the Workforce. That's right... "Waiting" but, too little, too late. (Sorta) And it's entirely true... that In The Beginning, There were Hot Dogs.
I decided at a very young age that money was pretty much the greatest thing in the whole world, next to my NKOTB pillow case/lunchbox/trapperkeeper. I began my hunt for money at the ripe age of thirteen years, embarking on the HOT DOG TRUCK COMMODITY in a special little town. For reasons unknown, the owner instilled his trust and truck in me, to sell hot dogs to the general public of Carteret, New Jersey. I believe in that time, I was making only six dollars less than I am actually making now at the riper age of 28... Either way, that's no reason to jump ahead.
I typically obtained hours during the weekends, since I had a budding RUSH to get to my status of "College Drop Out" via Lincoln Elementary then Bishop Ahr Highschool. **Sidebar: I will not be using real names for many people and places. As you will find out later in this story, some consider this SLANDER which is an illegal offense in many odd and unrelated situations.** Moving on... Weekends at the Hot Dog Truck were a few different things. For one, the days were long, and hot. The minutes felt like hours, and the customers felt like crap. That ceased the minute they started talkin' Dogs though. It's really strange, the feeling the average American gets when eating a piece of cased meat. I like mine with mustard and sour kraut. You can tell what breed of person you're dealing with at the counter of a hot dog stand I imagine, but at thirteen years old I could barely see over the fuckin thing, let alone hold a decent conversation.
I honestly recall having one of those pivitol food industry moments. You know, those moments everyone's had, and everyone embellishes on. A man of seven hundred and fifty six pounds comes to the counter. He's wearing a grey T-shirt, and DARKER GREY sweat stains. It's a Sunday, it's noon, it reeks of the inevitable stench of a deoderantless inbred. The Inbred puts his sweaty mitts on my counter, and orders only what I would describe as a SMORGESHBORGALOTTAGODDAMNFOODFORJUSTONEFATASSHOLE... This list felt a mile long and my home made china fan (accordian folded paper gripped at the bottom) was really loosing its appeal. If you think about it, fanning and hot dog making, simultaniously, could be slightly difficult... since The Inbred ordered almost every topping on the truck. I think I saw him put a mini slim-jim under some chili, over some cheese and next to some onions on top of a dog. The climax of this story comes when I complete the order, and triple bag it. No, I do not want to waste food while Haiti is exploding, and tornado warnings are causing oil spills, and tsunamis are wiping out the entire midwest. My real issue here was genuinely the thought of remaking The Inbred's entire order a second time. 1. Angry Fat Man awaiting food and 2. the sweaty get more sweaty when doing double the work. So here begins my end. Here is where I hadn't realized I had basically lost all faith in humanity. The Inbred orders two Diet Cokes. TWO. I look aroung the park, yearning for another soul to want to be in his vicinity, let alone eat with him, and to my complete disdain for adding to his very obvious issue, The Inbred Sits Alone. Moral of Blog # 1: If you have young impressionable children, DO NOT let them work on a hot dog truck. They will either continue a CAREER in the Food Industry, ultimately leading to at least one not-so-serious suicide attempt, or they will eat themselves to an oblivion, and end up alone. I assume The Inbred started at a bakery. Bakeries will have the SAME EFFECT!!
Job # 2 in Blog # 2. Hope you like it enough to come back. I was experiencing creative difficulty today, and just started writing. I plan to Blog a Job every blog... until I get to my current situation... which is basically the most hilarious of them all... STAY TUNED... and for those of you who read the reason I got fired via MYSPACE from "The Fuck" It will be here as well... eventually.
