Thursday, November 29, 2007
Grapes of Wrath
So I must start out by saying that not only are we a gas station we are a premier tobacco and alcohol outlet (state's lowest legal prices guaranteed!). As such we offer a very diverse line of what I like to call Bum Wine. Now Bum Wine is that of the Arbor Mist, Boone's Farm, Vineyard something, etc persuasion...it's cheap and awful. Not that any wine has been that pleasing to my buds, but I'm fairly certain that this stuff is exceptionally terrible.
We keep all these delectable treats in what is commonly referred to as the "Beer Cave". Not that there's anything particularly cavernous about it, but more so that it shares the same temperature as a majority of caves I guess? Who knows? (yeah I know, spelunkers...smart asses.) Anyway, I spend a lot of time in there trying keeping up with all the hobos ravaging the 40s selection (this keeps me pretty busy). So I generally field a myriad of queries and quips while stocking all legal beverages such as, "How much does this 6-pack of Parrot Bay cheer beer cost?", "Where's the Amber Bock?", or, my personal favorite, "Man, it's fuckin cold in here." To which it takes every reasonable bone in my body to not reply with, "Fuck yeah it is, but you should go see how fuckin hot it is in the "Beer Sauna" in the back!", or, "That 18" lift kit on your '82 F-150 makes you look like even more of a redneck than your 8" long mullet you have going on back there! What?! We're not playing a game of State The Obvious? Fuck ME!" But it was up until recently that anyone had asked for my advice on which would be the best selection from our diverse line of Arbor Mist wine products.
The guy comes in with a little pep in his step. Really having a good day, probably a big date later on in the evening and he wants to show up to the spot lookin' extra fly. He makes a few laps around the Cave and comes back to the Arbor Mist. He then proceeds to pick up every bottle of wine and inspect it quite discerningly. The following conversation went something like this.
"Yo man, which one of these bottles would you recommend?"
"Well dude, I don't really drink this stuff. It's pure gasoline, and I'd rather singe off my ball-hairs with a blow torch than put it in my mouth."
Shifting his weight to his other foot and barely comprehending anything I'd just shared with him he replies, "Yeah I know, but if you had to choose one which would it be. You know, which one would get the mood right?"
"Well sir, I can see that you're a man of fine tastes and judgment. So unless you're planning on toasting a corpse tonight before splitting that delicious quarter-pounder w/cheese I can already tell you're gonna spring for, I would personally recommend NONE OF THE ABOVE. But let's see...hmmm...if you really wanna get laid I'd go for the Merlot."
"Nice! Thanks man, good lookin' out!"
"No problem dude."
And said dude exits the Cave never to be seen again. I hope his evening was as fantastic as he'd planned.
T
Since we're on the subject of the wine, and since I have the day off tomorrow and won't be posting I'll leave you with a little extra. Today I had the pleasure of stocking all of the Boone's Farm (the fact that someone felt the need to put their actual name on that shit is beyond me). So I go about it pretty normally, lining them all up as I grab them out of their respective boxes. But once I'm done, the artist in me pitches a fucking fit. ROY G BIV that shit motherfucker! I then proceed to ROY G BIV that shit. They are the ones with the white caps. Enjoy!
Strawberry Margarita, Strawberry Hill, Snow Creek Berry, Mountain Berry, Watermelon, Orange Hurricane, Mango Grove, Fuzzy Navel, Wild Island, Melon Ball, Blue Hawaiian, and Sangria. (yes those are all the real names in order.)
PS. If you enjoy reading this. Chances are one of your friends probably would too. Spread the love you selfish fuckers!
We keep all these delectable treats in what is commonly referred to as the "Beer Cave". Not that there's anything particularly cavernous about it, but more so that it shares the same temperature as a majority of caves I guess? Who knows? (yeah I know, spelunkers...smart asses.) Anyway, I spend a lot of time in there trying keeping up with all the hobos ravaging the 40s selection (this keeps me pretty busy). So I generally field a myriad of queries and quips while stocking all legal beverages such as, "How much does this 6-pack of Parrot Bay cheer beer cost?", "Where's the Amber Bock?", or, my personal favorite, "Man, it's fuckin cold in here." To which it takes every reasonable bone in my body to not reply with, "Fuck yeah it is, but you should go see how fuckin hot it is in the "Beer Sauna" in the back!", or, "That 18" lift kit on your '82 F-150 makes you look like even more of a redneck than your 8" long mullet you have going on back there! What?! We're not playing a game of State The Obvious? Fuck ME!" But it was up until recently that anyone had asked for my advice on which would be the best selection from our diverse line of Arbor Mist wine products.
The guy comes in with a little pep in his step. Really having a good day, probably a big date later on in the evening and he wants to show up to the spot lookin' extra fly. He makes a few laps around the Cave and comes back to the Arbor Mist. He then proceeds to pick up every bottle of wine and inspect it quite discerningly. The following conversation went something like this.
"Yo man, which one of these bottles would you recommend?"
"Well dude, I don't really drink this stuff. It's pure gasoline, and I'd rather singe off my ball-hairs with a blow torch than put it in my mouth."
Shifting his weight to his other foot and barely comprehending anything I'd just shared with him he replies, "Yeah I know, but if you had to choose one which would it be. You know, which one would get the mood right?"
"Well sir, I can see that you're a man of fine tastes and judgment. So unless you're planning on toasting a corpse tonight before splitting that delicious quarter-pounder w/cheese I can already tell you're gonna spring for, I would personally recommend NONE OF THE ABOVE. But let's see...hmmm...if you really wanna get laid I'd go for the Merlot."
"Nice! Thanks man, good lookin' out!"
"No problem dude."
And said dude exits the Cave never to be seen again. I hope his evening was as fantastic as he'd planned.
T
Since we're on the subject of the wine, and since I have the day off tomorrow and won't be posting I'll leave you with a little extra. Today I had the pleasure of stocking all of the Boone's Farm (the fact that someone felt the need to put their actual name on that shit is beyond me). So I go about it pretty normally, lining them all up as I grab them out of their respective boxes. But once I'm done, the artist in me pitches a fucking fit. ROY G BIV that shit motherfucker! I then proceed to ROY G BIV that shit. They are the ones with the white caps. Enjoy!
Strawberry Margarita, Strawberry Hill, Snow Creek Berry, Mountain Berry, Watermelon, Orange Hurricane, Mango Grove, Fuzzy Navel, Wild Island, Melon Ball, Blue Hawaiian, and Sangria. (yes those are all the real names in order.)
PS. If you enjoy reading this. Chances are one of your friends probably would too. Spread the love you selfish fuckers!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
"You Dickhead!"
So I show up to work today, as per usual, and after a brief exchange with Brent (the day stocker, which would make me the night stocker...hmm that has a nice ring to it I think.) I make my way to the restroom to take a leak. Now you must know that the lock on the men's restroom door is broken at our place, which can lead to a multitude of awkward encounters as this is not a roomy toilet closet. So I bust in like I own the joint to see a man washing his hands at the sink. No big deal, he's performed and ready to vacate. He does.
At this point, as I'm jockeying up to the urinal, I notice that the stall door is closed (a tell-tale sign that it is in use, because otherwise it just sort of hangs open slightly). It is milliseconds later that my nose discovers the second and more obvious tell-tale sign immediately erasing all doubt of 'no. 1 or no. 2?' So I'm in there doing my thing and he's in there doing his thing right behind me, and I'm just thinking to myself, 'I wonder how uncomfortable he is right now, and I wonder if he can see my shoes (they're bright yellow and a dead giveaway if he sees me on the outside and felt intruded upon.)?' Because in all honesty, it doesn't sound like he's having the easiest time of it. Well, it wasn't my problem so I wash my hands and I vacate.
Now it gets good.
I'm just exiting and walking down the short hallway outside when I hear,"Hey, come back here!" At this point I'm not really sure what I heard or where it was coming from, but it doesn't take long for it to register and I'm thinking, 'What in the hell could this guy deucing one off in the bathroom want with me that can't wait until he's out of there?'
"You dickhead come back here!!"
Now I'm thoroughly confused. I am the only dickhead around, so it has to be me. But why in god's name would I go back to the bathroom at this point, when I'm not even sure why I am being so rudely summoned by the angry shitter. The following line is where it all makes sense, and will forever go down in gas station lore as the greatest line every yelled from the men's restroom.
"Hey asshole, turn the light back on!"
Oh....fuck. That is what this asshole thought first. Naturally, my next thought was, "Well since I am in fact an asshole, maybe I just let that mad bastard shit in the dark. I mean he could have at least said please right?' Not only that but he could be up by now and ready to take me on face to face at the door. That thought was quickly shot down with, 'Well shit you work here. It's not like you can just run back to your car and take off.' So whilst operating under complete stealth, I slide my arm about elbow deep into the bathroom and flip the switch back on.
I then proceed to position myself at a point in the store where I can see this guy come out, and he can't come at me if he sees me laughing. I also told Brent who it was too, as well as the story so he could get a kick out of it also. Of course he comes out, and I don't stare too hard, as to not get recognized as the switch flipper. He was definitely a mulleted, fuming redneck.
My next thought, 'I can't wait to post about this one.'
T
At this point, as I'm jockeying up to the urinal, I notice that the stall door is closed (a tell-tale sign that it is in use, because otherwise it just sort of hangs open slightly). It is milliseconds later that my nose discovers the second and more obvious tell-tale sign immediately erasing all doubt of 'no. 1 or no. 2?' So I'm in there doing my thing and he's in there doing his thing right behind me, and I'm just thinking to myself, 'I wonder how uncomfortable he is right now, and I wonder if he can see my shoes (they're bright yellow and a dead giveaway if he sees me on the outside and felt intruded upon.)?' Because in all honesty, it doesn't sound like he's having the easiest time of it. Well, it wasn't my problem so I wash my hands and I vacate.
Now it gets good.
I'm just exiting and walking down the short hallway outside when I hear,"Hey, come back here!" At this point I'm not really sure what I heard or where it was coming from, but it doesn't take long for it to register and I'm thinking, 'What in the hell could this guy deucing one off in the bathroom want with me that can't wait until he's out of there?'
"You dickhead come back here!!"
Now I'm thoroughly confused. I am the only dickhead around, so it has to be me. But why in god's name would I go back to the bathroom at this point, when I'm not even sure why I am being so rudely summoned by the angry shitter. The following line is where it all makes sense, and will forever go down in gas station lore as the greatest line every yelled from the men's restroom.
"Hey asshole, turn the light back on!"
Oh....fuck. That is what this asshole thought first. Naturally, my next thought was, "Well since I am in fact an asshole, maybe I just let that mad bastard shit in the dark. I mean he could have at least said please right?' Not only that but he could be up by now and ready to take me on face to face at the door. That thought was quickly shot down with, 'Well shit you work here. It's not like you can just run back to your car and take off.' So whilst operating under complete stealth, I slide my arm about elbow deep into the bathroom and flip the switch back on.
I then proceed to position myself at a point in the store where I can see this guy come out, and he can't come at me if he sees me laughing. I also told Brent who it was too, as well as the story so he could get a kick out of it also. Of course he comes out, and I don't stare too hard, as to not get recognized as the switch flipper. He was definitely a mulleted, fuming redneck.
My next thought, 'I can't wait to post about this one.'
T
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
oh noz!
So one of our (Grandpa's) own fell off the wagon this week. Showed up hammered. Sloshed. Wasted. You get the point. So I have decided to dedicate a song to him to the tune of that one jam in Billy Madison (his name is Bill, so that's why it works).
"Billy, sweet Billy boy. We knew that you loved Jack (Daniels)*.
No one forgives you when you drink. That's why you got the axe (fired)."
*words in parentheses are for clarification purposes only.
Hmm...tasteless? Yes.
Get used to it? Fo Sho.
Man this post is so succinct and to the point that I don't want to taint it with filler. Peace.
T
"Billy, sweet Billy boy. We knew that you loved Jack (Daniels)*.
No one forgives you when you drink. That's why you got the axe (fired)."
*words in parentheses are for clarification purposes only.
Hmm...tasteless? Yes.
Get used to it? Fo Sho.
Man this post is so succinct and to the point that I don't want to taint it with filler. Peace.
T
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