Douche Lord of the Week: The inaugural Douche Lord is here. He attacked the banner and now the banner strikes back. And, Yes America, that is what a pedophile looks like. Congrats to South Park Saddam on making the banner.
I was going to talk some Big Ten Hoops, specifically how Michigan was well on their way to winning the National Title, but an entire week without sports sounds--peaceful. So here I sit, wondering what the fuck we are going to talk about today…and now I’ve got it.
On Super Bowl Sunday Mrs. Ace and I made our way over to Romeo’s to get ourselves a pie for lunch. The pizza wasn’t nearly as great as I was hoping it would be, but that’s not the point. Over on Broad St. there was some poor schmuck standing outside in a dog costume, holding a sign advertising for some apartment complex next door. It was cold, it was windy, and it was intermittently raining. Mrs. Ace looks over to me and says, “That would be the worst job ever.” I respond, “I know, right. OMG.” But that got me thinking.
I recently watched one of the best documentaries ever, “The Parking Lot Movie.” Look it up, watch it. Anyways, it’s basically about a group of parking attendants by UVA who both love and hate their job, but enjoy being a total dick to ass holes who drive SUV’s. I went into that movie thinking that job would suck balls, but came out wanting to drop out of grad school and head down to campus to become a parking warrior. These attendants don’t have to give a fuck about their job. They probably make just over minimum wage, sit in a shack alone for hours on end, and deal with fucktards all day.
But they do give a fuck. They give an enormous fuck. They chase down cars that don’t pay and kick off their side mirrors. They tell crazy ladies they are crazy and then remind them to take their medication. Being a dick is part of their job description.
I remember having jobs like that and I want them back. Now. Growing up working in the greatest Ace hardware store ever, I could be a dick because my name was on the fucking building. But I never took it there. Why the fuck not?
There is one moment that sticks in my head that I wish I could do all over again. This couple comes in and needs some 2” PVC pipe cut to 4’. No problem, I pull out my handy dandy tape measure and mark the pipe at 4’. I go to grab the cutters and then it happens, “Haven’t you ever heard of measure twice, cut once?” says some fucking whore who should have gotten that pipe shoved down her throat. Now, what I did was pretty fucking G of me for being a 14 year old. I got up, and held out the tape measure to her implying re-measure it yourself, cunt. She just turned away and I went on my way cutting this pipe.
What I should have done was grab that whore by the hair, took her outside to the front of the store, and pointed up to the sign:
Me: Tell what that fucking says.And then I would pistol whip her like the scene from Goodfellas.
Woman: _____ Ace Hardware. (No government names allowed)
Me: What the fuck is my name?
Woman: I don't know.
Me: Exactly. You don't know who the fuck you're talking to. That's my name on that fucking sign. Don't tell me my business.
Just think if you could go back to when you were working some menial job in high school or college. Throughout college I used to paint for a friend of mine's dad. Just some shitty job where I would work long hours in the blistering sun or dirty apartment for little pay. But on certain days I would make the most of it. On these certain days I would be hammered on tall boys and be almost completely worthless.
There was one day when I was painting a small cottage right on the Maumee river and it was 90 degrees out. I was working with my bosses nephew, but he was more worthless than I was. We started the day off, at 8:00 AM, with 4 tall boys each. We make those last til noon and decide we need to reload; go get four more each. Those only last two hours. Time to go get four more. At this point we are toast. I'm taking paint rollers and dunking them in the paint and then wizzing them around like I'm Randy fucking Johnson. Every time we get hit we go jump in the river to wash the paint off. Our boss rolls through at 5 PM and sees we haven't done shit, we are covered in expensive house paint, and can barely stand...but it's Saturday so he doesn't really care, and offers us another beer.
I want that fucking life back. You want that fucking life back. I want to be one of those guys in a stupid ass costume holding a stupid ass sign and waving for people to come on in. Because I could do whatever I wanted. Give me a megaphone and I guarantee I could start a riot. It would be like Fight Club when the guys are given the homework of starting a fight with a stranger. Every person that walked by would get verbally accosted and I would be fired within a week, but who gives a shit?
The real world sucks.
I know the Money Shot Maniacs have some grand stories from shitty jobs past. Share them.