Sorry, Carvel Ice Cream, You've Lost My Business

So, I decided to get a small soft-serve ice cream with peanut butter cups and it came to $3.27 or something. Not only was this piece of shit ice cream over-priced, but the fucking douchebag behind the counter didn't even know how to fill the ice cream cup.

So, I just look at him waiting for him to put more in after he put some reese's on, but nope. So whatever, I'll take this as him being just a fucking moron and move on.

So, I pay and he gives me 70 plus cents in fucking dimes and nickels, plus the dollar. He also gave me the "Oh, have a nice day." in a rude voice because I didn't tip him. So, I lost it.

I said, you know what, I've worked in a tip-paying job and I know what that remark means and frankly for this shit ice cream you just made, you should be tipping me for not complaining about your incompetence of making an ice cream cup. This ice cream cup your pathetic company serves is already melted before I've walked out the door. I left the ice cream on the counter and walked out saying, 'eat that shit for your tip.'

Nothing bothers me more than someone inability to do THEIR JOB properly. How hard is it to fill a fucking ice cream cup, seriously? What he put into the cup amounted to less than a scoop of hard ice cream...and it was fucking melted. This isn't the first time I've been upset with their products, but it is definitely the last. I should have gone to Rita's. Dumb move on my part.

The Eric Chronicles - Part 1

At my place of employment, I have a co-worker who's name is Eric. I'm not sure of his last name by any means, but the kid is an absolute nut case, a stalker, and I firmly believe he will rape a female at so point in his life. While he does all of this, I don't think he understands that he's "in the wrong."

Every once in awhile I am going to explain to you something that Eric did. Something that was well...mind-boggling...that it is hard to comprehend that a human being would do such a thing.

Anyway, Eric rides his bike around my place of employment on his day's off "looking for girls." Keep in mind, Eric is the kid who told everyone he lost his virginity on prom night, however, he probably went alone. Eric recently made up getting a girl's number to "play a joke on us." It made sense to absolutely no one, but we played along.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, Eric decided to lie to his managers about a funeral he had the next day. He said that he found out on Friday that he had a funeral at 10am. He explained that he had to be up @ 5:30 to drive two hours away. He tried to ask to leave work at 9:30 because of this. Needless to say there was no funeral, he really had his other job to goto.

[His other job] - Eric was some form of security guard at a certain bar/club on Long Beach Island. I don't know how the fuck he got this gig, but supposedly his mother threatened some type of law suit. Anyway, he no longer works there because he was caught in his lie and was not allowed to leave work at the requested time off 9:30.

That is Eric: a freckled, overweight kid who at times doesn't even realize what the hell he is saying. I should feel bad about this, but we've explained to him numerous times on what to say and not say. If you're a female between the ages of 16-40, beware. Actually, if you're younger than 16, beware as well.

Expect more stories in the future.

Just Be "You"?

It's always someone telling us to "just be yourself". Just be "you". However, who is "you"? We're all products of other forces so "you" is no different than the melting pot of the United State of America.

Physically and mentally, we inherit characteristics from our parents and their parents and the rest of the stream that the "heriditary characteristics" follows. Our physical features or just a more perfected blend of our parents as if it was Conan O'Brien putting their pictures together form some type of offspring.

Our interests, our talents, etc, generally stem from some trace in our families. Educationally, we're all products of what some textbook publishing company feels the average child should learn. The only different between you and the next guy is whatever your brain, which is a product of your parents, and their parents, and their parents parents...feels it should retain. The term "good genes" is not false at all. Sure some people are self-made millionaires, but their parents either had to deal with problems they could not control or they just made poor decisions. So, I guess that is what makes you, "you."

When you go against the grain, you are being "you." You're not following the same ethical code that the average person follows. There are no "good" people. There are the normal people and then there are people who are below average, your poor-decision makers. Those that go "above and beyond" they're just doing it for self-gratification more than to help others. If they're talking about it, they're trying to help their ego, not the subject they're helping. The people who truly do it just to help people are doing what they feel is normal. They are a product of the ethics driven into them when they were younger.

We're all products and somewhere down the road many of us will become factors. Not everyone, but the majority. So the next time someone tells you to be yourself, especially your parents, tell them you're already too busy being the product of someone else.

Sunday Morning Driving

Driving on a Sunday morning by yourself puts your loneliness on display, especially when you're stuck in traffic. Your loneliness is on available for everyone to see as they pass by. You, yourself, and maybe your car radio is all you have at this very moment and it all the strangers know of you to have.

Whether you're lonely or not, you just look lonely. The strangers know nothing else about you except that when it is probably the easiest time of the week to have someone accompany you to wherever you're going, you're alone.

I had this moment today as I was stuck in traffic and driving home from the beach in a severe thunderstorm.

DDR

Why does it seem like the oddest, the strangest, the people who look like they never, ever get out of their own homes are playing DDR, or Dance Dance Revolution for those who lack knowledge of video game lingo. Today, I am going to tell you about a guy named Franz. I don't know the man's real name, but I am calling him Franz because he looks like Franz from the board game, "Guess Who?".

Actually before I continue, all different types of people play DDR, but they're generally laughing while they do it. Personally, I never have and never will, but I'm sure the average teenager to young adult has tried it once. Anyway, all the serious players are like Franz. The type of player who stares down the screen like they're Jonathon Papelbon closing out the final out of for the Boston Red Sox World Series championship. This is Franz.

Because I am literally watching this man as I type on my phone, I can describe his attire with a kind of perfection similar to his quick feet. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. Franz is wearing jean shorts well above his belly button with a plain blue t-shirt tucked in. He's also wearing some form of hemp belt to hold this ensamble together. To hold his wallet filled with a wad of dollar bills to play this game, he has it chained to his belt buckle. To finish off this masterpiece, he's wearing calf high socks with plain black sneakers. He's overweight, but no obese. He's also a balding man. So, maybe he is not Franz, but he's the other red head in Guess Who? Franz was the first name that came to mind. In fact, this guy looks like a red-haired hobbit.

While completely destroying all of the DDR records, Franz is drinking Apple Cider. Yes, Apple Cider in July, under a hot, steamy, humid, 90 degree clear sky. A half gallon of apple cider...in July. I must have missed the memo in health class that told us that the best thing to quench your third on a hot, steamy day is apple cider.

I had to step away for awhile because while typing all this I am at work and I had do work things. Apparently, some man gave money to a kid to play some games and the kid's mom thought the man was a pedophile.

After an hour of all this, Franz was still pounding it out on the DDR.

Dirty Pickles

I assume that the average person has found themselves in a restaurant's kitchen at some point in their life. I assume that the average person has seen the pickle bucket. I assume that the average person has come to realize that the servers/chefs do not wash their hands before putting their hands in the pickle bucket.

Do not eat restaurant pickles.

Sad thing is, I still do it every time knowing this bit of information. I love pickles. I don't know why. Maybe it is God's trick on me to fuck with my mind. Maybe it is his/her's/its cruel way to tempt me. Are pickles my crack/cocaine? I think so. I had one yesterday at O'Malley's in Beach Haven, NJ. The pickle tasted like absolute shit, but I still ate it.

Don't eat the pickle, don't eat the pickle, don't eat the pickle.

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman is fucking hilarious. I've read one chapter so far and he completely rips on Coldplay. Mind you, I enjoy Coldplay at times, but I can see exactly where he's coming from.

Fake love is a powerful thing. That girl who adored John Cusack once had the opportunity to spend a weekend with me in New York at the Waldorf-Astoria, but she elected to fly to Portland instead to see the first U.S. appearance by Coldplay, a British pop group whose success derives from their inability to write melodramatic alt-rock songs about fake love. It does not matter that Coldplay is absolutely the shittiest fucking band I've ever heard in my entire fucking life, or that they sound like a mediocre photocopy of Travis (who sound like a mediocore photocopy of Radiohead), or that their greatest fucking artistic achievement is a video where their blandly attractive frontman walks on a beach on a cloudy fucking afternoon.

Just fucking hilarious. It's so true. Also, I cannot believe a person would fly to a far off city to see a band play their first show in the states. Oh, the desire to always be a part of something. Everyone wants to be a part of something. Everyone follows the red flashing lights in hope they can be a part of something they have entirely no control over. They want to witness "history." They need it. It's an addiction. Someone could sit there and punch someone in the dick for two hours and people would flock just to say they witnessed it. They witnessed a unique event! They watched a man's tears fall down his face while he took jabs to his penis for 120 minutes. Actually, now that I think about it...That is something I'd have to see.