i would eat her dookie.

today, i was thinking about this dude named scott. he was part native american or something, and he'd wear his hair in a long ponytail. i worked with him at tower. once, i brought back some baja fresh and a jamba juice for lunch. he said, "man, that's like $10 right there." i didn't think washing down a giant burrito with a smoothie was such a big deal, but he seemed to care. he was a body builder or something. he was rather ripped.

the cool thing about scott was that he was super lazy, but he got away with it. because of school or some other job he had, he only worked at tower on sundays. i think he might have had a part-time job at gold's gym. anyway, since he only worked on sundays, he got the duty every tower employee dreaded: ticketmaster. ticketmaster sucked because it was a really old school system, and you had to pull up codes and shit that didn't make any sense. it was basically like trying to order tickets by using an atari 2600. sometimes, i would see him lying down on the ticketmaster counter. i don't mean that he leaned over it or anything. he literally would get on top of the counter and lie across it like a giant, buff cat.

i also worked with this black guy named brian, and he was a pretty funny dude. one time, brian nudged me, and he said, "hey, how old you think she is?" i looked at the girl he was talking about. she was wearing jean shorts and a yellow tank top. "i don't know. nineteen?" when he rung the girl up, he said, "hey, how old are you?" the girl giggled and said she was sixteen. "sixteen?" he said, incredulous. we watched her leave the store, and she got into her car. "sixteen!" he said again, "that girl is six-teen!" i was dying.

brian seemed to love sweeping the floors. he would sweep for hours. he'd always have an afro pik in his hair, and in between sweeps, he would check out girls and fix his fro with the afro pik. he was pretty smooth, one of those guys that would wink and shit, and be like, "yo, wassup girl, how you doin'?" i don't know if it ever worked or not, but either way, it was quite a sight.

my other co-worker, cris, once tried to hit on a girl. he was eyeing this woman in the magazine section for a good twenty minutes. "that girl is so hot," he said, "i would eat her dookie." i laughed and called him a sick fuck. "seriously," he said, "i would eat her dookie." he said it with such a straight face that i nearly believed him. "you should tell her that," i said. "i've gotta talk to her," he said, "i have to do it." "go do it," i said, even though i didn't quite believe in him. he talked to her for a few minutes, and then he came back. "how'd it go?" i asked. "good. got her number," he said. he showed me a little piece of notebook paper with a number in blue ink.

a few days later, i asked if cris had made plans to see the girl. "she gave me a fucking fake number," he said. "what?" "yeah, i called and it was like a meat packing plant or something. fucking janky." "damn," i said, "that sucks." secretly, though, i thought it was kind of funny.

those days at tower, man. what more can i say?

No comments: