woah
I found this thing I wrote in high school. I was so mean! holy crap. and i was an idiot. I sound liek a republican.
Everyone loves amusement parks. I did too- until I got a job taking pictures at Supernatural Heap*, an amusement park near my hometown. The unspeakable horrors that lie in its dark underbelly are enough to cause the bravest of souls to cower in fear. Circumstances this dire could not be created by management alone- this is the result of a conspiracy organized by thousands of drug addicts and high school drop-outs. Those excluded from the plot are left to putrefy like week-old-garbage.
My first day- my name is Ashley, by the way- on the job started out normal enough. Some of the guests were weird, but that was expected. There was a fat balding, hairy man in swim trunks and a few guests treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of their shoes. Of course there were the obligatory groups of oversexed teenagers with hickies the size of Texas splayed across their necks. And we mustn’t forget the throngs of foreigners who are unfamiliar with American customs and think it is ok to stand two inches away from your face when asking a question. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of dealing with such people on a regular basis, but at the end of the day my sanity was still in tact.
On day two of my sentence- I mean, job- I discovered that Supernatural Heap gave me a reason to fear for my life. Its name was Cindy. She was thirty-two, vulgar and she never finished high school. It wasn’t that she couldn’t be a productive citizen; she just wasted herself on alcohol and certain apathy-inducing (and illegal) drugs. Her ratty blond hair was cut to her chin and her inch long bangs curled like ringworm on her forehead. She had small, sharp rat like teeth that would have been a lovely shade of forest green if we were talking about paint.
Upon first meeting Cindy I thought, “Maybe I’m being too judgmental, she could be sweet.” And so, I struck up a conversation. “How long have you been working here?” I asked.
“Six months. How do you like it so far?” she responded in her crackly and slow speech. I couldn’t help but notice that in her rumpled clothes, with that voice and dull gray skin, Cindy bore an uncanny resemblance to Yoda.
“It’s alright,” said I, trying and failing to suppress a giggle at my discovery. “Standing all day in this heat will get to you, though.”
“Yeah, it’s really bad when I have to go to the bathroom. I mean sometimes we are out here for 4 hours with out a break and I have a really overactive bladder as well as IBS. Causes me problems in the best of situations. I wear Depends so I don’t have any accidents. You know what Depends are, right? Adult diapers? Just a tip from a friendly co-worker.”
“Friendly, right. Yes that is it. A friendly funny co-worker who is playing a joke on me because I am new.” I started laughing, but when I looked over to find Cindy looking confused, I quickly shut up.
“I was actually being serious,” said Cindy. With that, I quickly moved away and pretended to be extra busy. When I got the chance I asked another co-worker, Tom, who was a year older than me and trying to make a few extra bucks for when he headed off to UCSB that fall, if Cindy was just playing a joke on me.
“No, she really does wear those things. She carries three in her backpack everyday. She believes she has made some scientific discovery or something and tries to get everybody to try it out.”
“Wow. That is incredibly disgusting.”
On my third day of work, I was relieved to find that Cindy was not working that day so I was free from diaper stories. However, when I looked around I realized that there were thousands of other Cindys- except they were fat. So many people in such a close proximity to me had wasted their lives and their bodies. Now they were stuck working at the supernatural Heap for the rest of their lives, earning little more than minimum wage. I didn’t have to be hyper-observant to realize that my life would be a cake walk compared to what these people will have to deal with for the next 40 years; less if they are lucky and get run over- or overdose.
Good thing for me I am not a compassionate person, otherwise I would have felt sorry for all of the obese, uneducated warts of the earth. Being the heartless person I am, however, I blamed them for their sorry condition. I did feel sorry for myself, though, because the way things are going, there is a good chance that America will be taken over by China when we outsource all of our high-paying jobs. All we will have left is jobs entertaining our eastern counterparts. But I digress. This is not a story about foreigners. It is about Americans, lazy Americans.
I had to find a way to escape all of the laziness and decay. It made me itchy. I had to formulate my master plan. It wasn’t going to be easy. So I plotted my escape. It went exactly like this: I walked to the front gate; quickly, mind you, exited through the sign that says “EXIT” (this is a difficult task for most it seems as nearly everybody asks which gate is the exit) and got on the shuttle. I took that shuttle all the way to the Twatty* parking lot where I got off and ran to my car. Then I drove away.
My dramatic exit was met with a total lack of interest. Turns out most people escape by that method. At least I still had my dignity. So now that the whole ordeal with the land of obese people who wear diapers was over, I realized how pathetic the world really is. Life truly is what you make of it, so when things look shitty, just get off your diapered butt and leave it behind. Move onto something better. Turns out, amusement parks can teach more than just the necessary life skill that is ride operation.
* Names have been changed because I don’t know copyright laws and I do not want to get sued for slander.
Everyone loves amusement parks. I did too- until I got a job taking pictures at Supernatural Heap*, an amusement park near my hometown. The unspeakable horrors that lie in its dark underbelly are enough to cause the bravest of souls to cower in fear. Circumstances this dire could not be created by management alone- this is the result of a conspiracy organized by thousands of drug addicts and high school drop-outs. Those excluded from the plot are left to putrefy like week-old-garbage.
My first day- my name is Ashley, by the way- on the job started out normal enough. Some of the guests were weird, but that was expected. There was a fat balding, hairy man in swim trunks and a few guests treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of their shoes. Of course there were the obligatory groups of oversexed teenagers with hickies the size of Texas splayed across their necks. And we mustn’t forget the throngs of foreigners who are unfamiliar with American customs and think it is ok to stand two inches away from your face when asking a question. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of dealing with such people on a regular basis, but at the end of the day my sanity was still in tact.
On day two of my sentence- I mean, job- I discovered that Supernatural Heap gave me a reason to fear for my life. Its name was Cindy. She was thirty-two, vulgar and she never finished high school. It wasn’t that she couldn’t be a productive citizen; she just wasted herself on alcohol and certain apathy-inducing (and illegal) drugs. Her ratty blond hair was cut to her chin and her inch long bangs curled like ringworm on her forehead. She had small, sharp rat like teeth that would have been a lovely shade of forest green if we were talking about paint.
Upon first meeting Cindy I thought, “Maybe I’m being too judgmental, she could be sweet.” And so, I struck up a conversation. “How long have you been working here?” I asked.
“Six months. How do you like it so far?” she responded in her crackly and slow speech. I couldn’t help but notice that in her rumpled clothes, with that voice and dull gray skin, Cindy bore an uncanny resemblance to Yoda.
“It’s alright,” said I, trying and failing to suppress a giggle at my discovery. “Standing all day in this heat will get to you, though.”
“Yeah, it’s really bad when I have to go to the bathroom. I mean sometimes we are out here for 4 hours with out a break and I have a really overactive bladder as well as IBS. Causes me problems in the best of situations. I wear Depends so I don’t have any accidents. You know what Depends are, right? Adult diapers? Just a tip from a friendly co-worker.”
“Friendly, right. Yes that is it. A friendly funny co-worker who is playing a joke on me because I am new.” I started laughing, but when I looked over to find Cindy looking confused, I quickly shut up.
“I was actually being serious,” said Cindy. With that, I quickly moved away and pretended to be extra busy. When I got the chance I asked another co-worker, Tom, who was a year older than me and trying to make a few extra bucks for when he headed off to UCSB that fall, if Cindy was just playing a joke on me.
“No, she really does wear those things. She carries three in her backpack everyday. She believes she has made some scientific discovery or something and tries to get everybody to try it out.”
“Wow. That is incredibly disgusting.”
On my third day of work, I was relieved to find that Cindy was not working that day so I was free from diaper stories. However, when I looked around I realized that there were thousands of other Cindys- except they were fat. So many people in such a close proximity to me had wasted their lives and their bodies. Now they were stuck working at the supernatural Heap for the rest of their lives, earning little more than minimum wage. I didn’t have to be hyper-observant to realize that my life would be a cake walk compared to what these people will have to deal with for the next 40 years; less if they are lucky and get run over- or overdose.
Good thing for me I am not a compassionate person, otherwise I would have felt sorry for all of the obese, uneducated warts of the earth. Being the heartless person I am, however, I blamed them for their sorry condition. I did feel sorry for myself, though, because the way things are going, there is a good chance that America will be taken over by China when we outsource all of our high-paying jobs. All we will have left is jobs entertaining our eastern counterparts. But I digress. This is not a story about foreigners. It is about Americans, lazy Americans.
I had to find a way to escape all of the laziness and decay. It made me itchy. I had to formulate my master plan. It wasn’t going to be easy. So I plotted my escape. It went exactly like this: I walked to the front gate; quickly, mind you, exited through the sign that says “EXIT” (this is a difficult task for most it seems as nearly everybody asks which gate is the exit) and got on the shuttle. I took that shuttle all the way to the Twatty* parking lot where I got off and ran to my car. Then I drove away.
My dramatic exit was met with a total lack of interest. Turns out most people escape by that method. At least I still had my dignity. So now that the whole ordeal with the land of obese people who wear diapers was over, I realized how pathetic the world really is. Life truly is what you make of it, so when things look shitty, just get off your diapered butt and leave it behind. Move onto something better. Turns out, amusement parks can teach more than just the necessary life skill that is ride operation.
* Names have been changed because I don’t know copyright laws and I do not want to get sued for slander.