What Do You Get...

So, I'm at work tonight and I'm talking with one of the bakers. We're talking about the gifts we'll be giving loved ones at Christmas. Then she pipes up that she's thinking of getting another coworker a t-shirt, custom job at that. I ask her what about. So she looks at me and says, very seriously, that the caption would be "What do you get a hypochondriac that has everything?" I couldn't stop laughing, because the coworker in question is a hypochondriac and the idea just by itself is hilarious. I told her that if she does get the shirt done up, she should also put an empty bottle of pills fallen over on its side next to, or in the background of the caption. You know, for emphasis.

The Misadventurous Trio - 1

"Where's Wolf?"

"Working, Kish."

"On what?"

"Not getting killed."

"Where is he?"

"Not here, obviously."

"Well-"

"Kish,-" Gar put his palms to his face, dragging them downward for a moment, "-it's times like this I wish Wolf would take you with him. Then it'd be a two-way split."

"What? And why wouldn't I get paid."

"Because you lack a skill Wolf has."

"And that is?"

"Not getting killed."

Kish grew quiet. He would have made himself useful had Wolf been there to tell him to make himself useful. Instead, he just sat in the navigation seat waiting, wondering what it was Wolf was doing. The best answer he knew he'd get out of Gar was "working." Working for who? Was this another contract? Who was their contact? He couldn't help but feel he was sometimes treated like a child and kept out of the loop. He was the best guy for dealing with people, surprisingly, despite being the most antisocial of the three. After about an hour of sitting there, waiting, the comm crackled to life.

"Start the ship! Start the ship!" a tinny voice squawked.

"What?"

"Dammit, Gar! Start the fucking ship!"

"What's wrong?"

A flash of red laser fire splattered in the direction of the ship. Gar watched through the HUD Wolf running back at breakneck speed, hopping over debris and past obstacles. Behind him, trailing but catching up, were a series of guards taking pot shots at him with sidearms.

"Oh."

"So," Kish began, "that's what 'not getting killed' looks like."

Wolf came rushing past as Gar brought the main forward weapons online and began to send furrows of coherent red energy flashing into the oncoming enemy force. Bright explosions of dirt and debris and bodies, whole and otherwise, flung everywhere at once. He held down the trigger until a status light on his console clicked green signaling the hold having been sealed and Wolf now being inside. He rushed up into the cockpit, dressed in a black jumpsuit holding a plasma assault rifle. He had a pair of goggles hanging around his neck from a strap and began doing up his crash restraints, all the while screaming "Go, go go!"

"What the hell did you do down there?" Gar asked.

"Stirred up the hornets nest, that's what! Fuck! I hope they aren't getting any air support, that'd just screw my day over."

Gar grimaced at that remark, lifted the Grinning Jackal up on its anti-grav thrusters before kicking in the main engines and blasting skyward at speed. Wolf began monitoring the tactical console he was sitting at.

"They're sending fighters. Looks like a half squad of 'em," Wolf said. "Kish, get a jump course plotted out of this shitpit."

"Working on it."

The Jackel jerked about as Gar sent the craft through a series of evasive maneuvers. But the larger craft was still taking strikes from the more agile fighters.

"Jump course plotted!" Kish said before bringing up a tactical display. Six fighters, all blasting away, and more incoming. "Uh, more fighters incoming. I'm gonna take the guns."

I Despise the Service Industry

Now, let me get one thing straight when I say that I despise the service industry. I do not despise the industry as a whole. It performs a valuable duty by providing services. There are, however, certain areas of the service industry that I do loathe with a fury like that of a thousand suns gone nova. What I hate is a certain sector of the service industry. In a word or two: fast food joints and their ilk.

What I don't like is the whole stigma surrounding them. When you look at it, they are the most profitable sector in the service industry accounting for billions of dollars in revenue. It pains me that so many would rather go to some fast food joint for "comfort food" than do other things. When I worked Thanksgiving, the place was packed. Lots of people. I saw more people coming in to Tim Hortons to get their coffee fix than staying at home with friends and family. And it isn't just that that bothers me. I had a woman come in and order a coffee one time. She tells me she wants sweetener in her coffee, not sugar. Tells me it's because she's trying to watch her weight. Then she orders a donut! I was so incredulous that I outright told her to skip the donut and take the sugar. At least you know the sugar is healthy for you -- sweetener, as I've read in a few articles and studies, is bad for you and the environment. Well, suffice to say, the woman got angry.

Another is people asking for both milk and cream in their coffee, thinking this is somehow a healthier choice. As though they need to justify the fact they're splurging on the most unhealthy things.

It isn't just the way people justify their crappy existence, but the attitudes that come with it. Airy ideas of superiority when they make their orders, or believing that I can somehow read their mind. People who see me working and think I'm a lower lifeform and that I'm some meek creature that won't talk back. Uh, hate to break it to you, but I've got a mind and I use it. And I'm lippy. An example? Well, one night a woman got locked in a stall in the woman's washroom. He screamed for help. I had to lift the door off the hinges to get her out. The lock had broke. I put the door back on and put a sign on the door stating that this particular stall is out of order. Well, not even a half hour later, some other woman comes up to me, bitching to me about how she'd gotten locked in one of the stalls and had to climb under the door to get herself out. The conversation went something along the lines of:

"Uh-huh. So, was there an out of order sign on the door?"

"What? No, there was no sign on the door."

"Really? So, if I go into the woman's washroom, and I see the sign on the door, and you used that stall knowing full well that perhaps that sign is there for a reason, you absolve me of all problems because of your own screw-up."

The woman didn't like the idea that I would so easily catch her in her own little lie. She pretty much gave up trying to be lippy with me since it was a losing battle on her side. As for the job in general, the persons I have that come in there, they just frustrate me to no end. I'm tired of the retarded morons that come in there. I can't wait to move and leave this job in the ditch. I despise the service industry.