It's a pity party and your'e all invited

I started working at Trader Joes. A decision that was substantiated upon the fact that 1) hot females like health food and 2) the store had alot of colors. This is my first job that involves working with customers, which means i'll have alot of stories about humans doing and asking stupid shit. I don't have any just yet.

Instead they threw me into the fridge all weekend. I am that guy you can hardly see, shoving yogurt and cartons of milk forward, making sure customers get everything from A-Z that comes from a cow's utter. To the outside world, I am just a hand. The temperature is frigid and dries out my skin. My nose leaks, my sweater is thin, I am cold, alone, and surrounded by dairy. I stare at women's breasts through the slots in the shelves to keep myself warm and content.

On saturday I woke up at 5:45am to start a 6:30 shift. The next day I had a 7:00am shift. I have the same schedule next week. I can't party like I used to and wake up that early. I feel my weekends drifting away from me. I feel that I'm becoming more responsible and it scares me. I'm used to waking up at 3 in the evening, checking my sheets to make sure I didn't vomit or urinate in my sleep, then debating whether I should go back to bed to hasten the arrival of night, so I can repeat the process over again.

But I like my job and I like the people I work with. They are all friendly and treat me well. I want to end my life. Sorry I didn't mean that it just came out. I think I should slice my wrists open with my box cutter. I didn't mean that either. I like my new job, I really do. Even though customers can be assholes. Yesterday I helped a lady load a box of water into her car, I asked her if that was all and she said "yeah". I nod, expecting a thank you, and tell her to have a wonderful day. She just gets in her car and drives off. I stood there, in a pool of my own teardrops.

I can deal with assholes, however. Someone else's bad day, or bad life, or bad case of anal warts, isn't my problem for the taking. I just want to be able to party. It's why I got the job in the first place. I turn 21 in 1 month to the day and I'll be damned if I did't save up money towards the Greg's a Lush fund. It's a non-profit organization, all proceeds go directly towards supplying Greg with booze money so he may continue to suppress the demons and placate his tormented soul. He likes the detatchment from reality, hence the talking in third person.

Plus I signed up to write for the school newspaper because I get credits for it. I'm going to be so busy, why the fuck did I do that? Why? Because all the writers on the school newspaper suck, that's why. So I'm gonna walk into that office and take shit over. Cheers, here is to a busy year. Pity fuck, anyone? Ok fine, just touch it then? Please? Fuck you I didn't want you anyways.