Thursday, May 26, 2011

Annoyances as of late/New Job

I'm gonna ramble on here, so just deal. Or don't. But either way, click an ad. Thanks. I need the money.

So a lot has happened since I last posted. I've thought of more weird things I do, but don't put them down and I forget the whole lot. I got a new job. Are you ready? It's super classy.

I work at Walmart.

(That place is such an evil empire, that it didn't even come up as a correct word. When I right-clicked on the red squiggly line the first suggested correction was Voldemort.)

I'm an Unloader. Which means I take everything off-well I'm not gonna patronize you. I think you can figure out what an Unloader does. It gives me a little more respect since I'm in the back. I don't have to wear a stupid vest, talk to people, or even wear khaki pants. I don't wear my name tag, I listen to an iPod all shift and sweat fucking bullets.
If you were with me in the Iraqi desert, you'll remember how profusely I sweat from my chest. I believe it was the first and last time I was called a nickname other than "Tracer" the entire time I was in. (It was "Tit-Sweat"). I stopped sweating from my chesticles until I started this job. Super hot warehouse and trucks, running around and heavy lifting-I did not expect this.
So yesterday I had to "throw" a truck. Basically, I get inside the docked delivery semi and pull all of the boxes and pieces of gear off the back and into the warehouse. I put some box carrying your tampons, pace picante sauce, motor oil and dog food and roll it down a long metal nonautomated conveyor belt. It is way harder than it sounds, I promise. Well, not difficult wise it's just a work out. I stupidly volunteered to throw the truck so I could learn the job faster. I hate being taught a job and I really hate sweeping and mopping as the new guy. I gained enough rank in the Marines to not have to do that and I see it as a downgrade to have to go back to it.
The truck was a 13, which means it had 13000 boxes in the back plus pallets of whatever. So here I go, all gung-ho to impress my co-workers and be more enthusiastic about the job than my other new associate brethren. After 2 1/2 hours I contorted my back and legs lifting thirteen thousand boxes of assorted items. I work in a Super Walmart so that means that I may pick up a light box of tooth brushes and paper towels and then pick up a treadmill right after. Heavy boxes are on the top, they fall on my head. At the end a cock tease more aggravating than my first girlfriend-400 4x4inch boxes of whatever and 200 big boxes containing dumbells. Great. I can see the back wall of the truck, knowing the end is near and this is my last hurdle? Fuck off...
This really isn't a huge deal. It's not that bad but it's really, really annoying. In the beginning I try and lift the boxes and roll them gently down the aisle. But after the 2nd gallon of Quaker State 3k plus mileage oil spills on my already sweat dripped body, and I step in and fall into a pile of Salsa I start treating each box like Ace Ventura treated his delivery box in the beginning of Pet Detective. I take all my anger on the boxes.
"Fuckin' tampons. Ruining my want for vaginal sex with bleeding. It's all your fault...tampons." they get kicked to the front.
"Fuckin' kitty litter. Why do you have to come in giant heavy boxes? I don't even like cats." I kicked that box one time-might have broken my toe. I don't kick those boxes. I just shove them angrily down the belt. "Take that!" I think.
"Fuckin'...whatever this is. oomph, really? Otter Pops? This box is more than 50lbs easy..." that box got its comings.
In my time throwing the truck, I listened to over half of my AFI collection, and Genius'd a Florence + The Machine song and got about 14 new songs I had to download. She's awesome as is her music. I thought about all of the things I should've said to each girlfriend I've ever had when we broke up. I ran through scenarios I faced in the military that I could've handled a little better or worse. I think of ways I can kill Busby/Gunner Rico without getting caught. I think of the massage I want to get from my girlfriend and if I should try for a BJ while I'm at it. Will she be mad if I give the probably expected head nudge downward?  I remember how hot it is when Mike from work offers me a cup of water. Thanks dick. I wonder if I should change the playlist on my iPod but decide against it because my fingers are soaked in motor oil. Motor oil...I need a new car.
Another big annoyance of my reintegration to the civilian work world is the fact that I was a Marine. My co-workers all assume I can lift 500000000 lbs and can never get tired and fight all of them in the back for fun and want to hear all of my war stories and ask if it was hot in Iraq. Maybe it's just because I have a beard.
Speaking of, the combination of my beard and my face apparently equals Zach Galifiwhatever from The Hangover. At every bar someone asks me if I'm Allan. I sing the "three best friends" song and they cry laughing, profess their love for me, buy me a drink and the girls want to fuck me. Ok maybe I made up the last part. It's not really bothersome, I just honestly do not see it at all. I got one "Iron and Wine" reference which excited me because I DO see that one. I get how my black brothers feel. Not all bearded day-walker gingers look alike!
I don't really know what else to say. I'm not going to proof read this before I post it. Nope. I don't give a fuck. If it's misspelled or has incorrect grammar, than you can go fuck yourself.

thanks for reading.

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