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« on: February 26, 2007, 01:47:45 AM » |
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A few weeks ago at Circuit City I was working, doing my thing and running around and selling people laptops for $499.99 and trying my best to put politely that the PC they are about to buy is a piece of shit, and that they could easily spend another $100 or $200 and get a laptop that doesn't suck. They rarely listen, instead, it is often found to be "practical" to spend $200 dollars upgrading the $499 laptop's memory, because a Celeron processor with 1GB of ram for a net price of $700 is a better deal than a $700 laptop that already has 1GB of memory and a NOT SHITTY processor. Sometimes I think that we should just burn all of the consumer whores, but then I remember that if we burned all of the stupid people, the world would stop functioning, and I have the terrible realization that idiots make the world go 'round, and then I cry. I cry long crocodile tears, a great weep for all of humanity.
Any-who, amidst the usual mundane activities that earn me my Alexander Hamilton per hour, I found myself victim to the oh-so-pleasant Marine recruitment attack. I'm talking to some nice old lady who wants to make sure that a CD-Burner comes with her computer, because that feature is "hard to find these days" and she knows that "a lot of them don't come with that" when I see them walk in the door. They always travel in pairs, they're like Raptors, I swear it. You see them come in, and you notice them split up, but the thought of an ambush doesn't strike you until it's too late-- you watch one of them run over to some helpless associate on one end of the store while chuckling at the poor bastard who is trying to escape the attack. Before you know it, you're asking yourself the question, "I wonder where the other one went?". At about that point you notice the other Raptor out of the corner of your eye and realize that you are about to be eaten... I mean recruited.
The ass-hat approaching me has the most shit-eating-grin I've ever seen in my entire life, but I think to myself, "Remain positive, maybe he is just a normal man who likes to wear his Marine uniform when he goes shopping for overpriced retail electronics, maybe he isn't a recruiter after all! Yeah! Stop being so negative, this dude probably just wants an iPod Nano, or some equivalently useless item. Maybe it won't be so bad..." Mr. Marine-man extends his hand with a handshake that has all the qualities of a sexual assault. It's forced, I don't ask for it or want it, and afterwards I feel wet and uncomfortable, with a slight pain in my ass.
"Hey there soldier, have you ever thought about a career in the armed forces?"
Fuck. My. Ass. Hard. On Tuesday. In the afternoon, just after brunch with crumpets and tea. While wearing a top hat. Oh, and a Monocle. "Cheer-i-o, chap, buttsex, oi!" ehem... pardon my homosexual British analogy. ANALogy, oh ho, ho ho ho, I've gotten you, bwahahahahahaha. Yes yes, take it in, take it all in. Sit back and drink that awesome one liner in, do you need a cigarette? Anyway...
"No, no sir I have never thought about a career in the armed forces, outside of thinking about what a terrible idea it would be for me, that is."
"YOU CAN GET SO MUCH PUSSY!"
"...dude, there's an 80 year old woman standing right next to us."
"DO YOU WANT HER PUSSY? IF YOU WERE IN THE MARINES, YOU'D HAVE THAT SHIT IN A HEART BEAT! PLUS, YOU COULD KILL INJINS!"
"Injins?"
Okay, that's not really how the conversation went, but close enough. Basically, recruiters bother the shit out of me, because they pull this shit while people are trying to work. I mean, I will never ever join the Marines, the army, the air force, whatever, it just isn't my style. I don't have a problem with people who do, or even the prospect of recruiting for such things. If there are some Marines at a recruiting booth at a job fair, that's cool. But seriously, why the fuck do these bastards find it appropriate to come to my work and interrupt me during a sale? That shit is not acceptable. Even if I wasn't busy, fuck off man. If I wanted to join the Marines, I'd march my ass down to your office and sign my ass up, and all the pussy in Iraq isn't going to make me decide to walk out on my job and follow you off to the middle east.
The really annoying part is that this dude is sitting there trying to convince me of all the "action" I'd see "first hand". Regardless of my own personal desire to see or not see action, I knew with out a doubt that this fucker had NEVER seen ANY action what-so-ever. He shouldn't even be allowed to wear that uniform in the first place, because that implies that he is somehow affiliated with actual soldiers.
Fuck you, Marine recruiter guy, you're a used car salesman with nicer pants and a stupid sword, and a hat that serves no realistic purpose other than to make you slightly resemble the stay-puff marshmallow man.
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