Monday, April 07, 2008
Since the day I was born, I have never cared much about my birthday. I will feel just as dejected about existing as I did the day previous and do not anticipate a change in that course. But I have been inspired by a blog post from 24. April 2005:
Of course, Kimmy and I are not capable of destroying a race (there must be more- this "Michael" is probably their leader) of aliens by ourselves, so we enlisted the aid of our coworkers, Fisayo and JPat, as well as our manager, Serg (who doubted our possibilities for success). However, none of us could facilitate a plausible course for destroying the aliens, and we therefore sought information from persons coming in to buy food, if they appeared knowledgeable about the subject of eradicating alien life forms.This year, I want to go alien-hunting by day, between Greek and German classes; after sunset, I will look for ghosts. All my friends are chicken shits, though, so I will probably have to resign myself to conducting these investigations with the aid of Kermie and Funshine.
Though many people who come into Sam's at 12:30 a.m. for munchies seem alien-wise, apparently none of them know how best to kill the aliens in our midst. Several people I asked did not understand the gravity of the situation, which I found rather sad, for they will probably be the ones who are eaten first.
At some point around one a.m. the line at my register extended back about six or seven people, who were all apparently friends, chatting with each other about the party they just returned from (less enebriated, though, then other people I encountered last night). The first guy, wearing a bright blue shirt that read, Horn if you're a honky, looked at me blankly when he handed me his candy bar and I asked, "Do you know how to kill the aliens?" I said it loudly to be heard over the Offspring, and everyone in line stopped in mid-sentence to look at me. Pleased to have full attention, I explained the situation, but no one offered answers. They each exited, laughing, oblivious to their impending deaths.
Close to closing time, a boy came in for cookies and two twelve-packs of Dr. Peppers. Dejectedly, I asked for the hundredth time: "Do you know how to stop the aliens?" He could offer no suggestions, either, to which I simply shook my head and uttered, "Shit." He felt sorry for me, though, and wished me luck.
It is for all humanity that he should feel pity, for we are doomed.
Labels: alien-hunting, aliens, birthday, death, Funshine Care Bear, ghost-hunting, Kermit the Frog, munchies, t-shirt, The Offspring, working
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 10:40 PM]