Annoying girl was working again today.
She started to tell me about how she refuses to use a meat slicer and how she almost cut her thumb off, and I FLED, I didn’t make eye contact and left the room. Left her dashing at Chris with her thumb in his face showing him the scar.
Oy.
And then she asked Chris if he wanted her to do up a floor plan for the dishwashing area behind the kitchen. His answer was a plain and simple, but utterly confused “Um nope”
When Chris asked if she was able to take the garbage out or did she need his help lifting it her answer was..oh yup I gathered it all up and it’s in the back of my truck. my truck…that is parked NEXT to the HUGE green garbage bin.
IN THE BACK OF HER TRUCK! What the fuck? Because…now get this…ready for it? Because she LIKES GOING TO THE DUMP!
Moving along…
She came and asked me if I was a “shoe lady” “purse lady” or a “coat lady”
at first I was APPALLED she as calling me lady…and was having a hard time even deciphering the question, and then I answered…I’m a shoe lady…no! Purse lady….well…I DO own a few coats. And she goes “Well I am a purse lady (this chick is NINETEEN) and I would love to trade some purses with you.”
TRADE PURSES?
Now any self respecting purse lady knows you DO NOT EVER RELINGUISH A PURSE…ever. You keep it. Even if it’s from 1982 and it’s a scrunchy banana-shaped patchy leather thing…YOU KEEP IT, you might need it for a wedding someday. Plus there are a few sales reciepts in there you need to keep, and also some tampons and a cert.
Also since she LOVES the dump so much it worries me a little about where she might be getting her purses.
And then…and then…and then…she started with the cooking advice…for Chris,..can I make some bread pudding..brownies I thought me might kill her…but no..that fuscia thong waving at him everytime she bent over (which is REALLY often) must’ve clouded his better judgement.
But WAIT, it gets better. Remember her father is a regular of ours. He is in there several times a day for coffee with his pals. Well today (he is very friendly and genuinely enjoy him) he looks over at me and goes “You’re Bert’s daugher right?” “Ummm………..yes?” “Oh! I used to work with your father for years and years and years” (which is sometimes a good thing and sometimes a bad thing). Sooooo now…he’s totally gonna tell on me if I can his daughter. But maybe if I slice her up and serve her on top of bread pudding, no one will ever know.
Ok…Brendan is wearing Chris’s old suit and tie and a paper krispy kreme hat…my super duper snow boots…and somehow…somehow in his whitebread small town life, he thinks he looks like a rapper!
HA!
also
oy oy oy
