Let Me Tell You About A Porcupines Balls

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Let Me Get You The Appropriate Form For That

Today, like many weekdays that preceded it, found me sitting at my desk pondering what to do for the mid-day foodings. The obvious choice for those of us who are hungry enough to get up, but not quite hungry enough to move further than mission range from the office toilet, is the coffee cart directly outside the office building.

At this fine choice of walking-distance dining establishments one can find all manner of sandwiches, soups, candies and various disgusting older women stuck on a middle rung of some corporate ladder. It's this combination of unhealthy food options, coupled with unsavory clientele that led the the scenario that I witnessed while I was waiting for some purple acai sludge bowl to be whipped up for me.

A woman of roughly 25 years my senior, with both the physical shape and outfit choice of blueberry Violet from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory came up to the cart with a wadded up napkin in her hand.

Whaddya got there?

Silly hipster that manages the cart

"What can I help you with, ma'am?"

Orbularia, queen of the orb secretary people

*unwraps napkin*

"I bought this Snickers bar here just a little bit ago, and...well...as you can see something's wrong with it on the inside."

Editorial Aside:
What in god's name did she find in there? Spiders? Pebbles? Fetuses? We'll never fucking know.

"I'm sorry about that, please help yourself to another one."

"Just take another one?"

"Yes, go right ahead."

"Thank you."

She walked away from the cart, and in a world where humans evolve into creatures of increasing intelligence, that would have been the end of it. Sadly, it wasn't.

*After returning to cart with both napkin and fresh candy bar in hand*

"What do you want me to do with this?"

*Indicating half-eaten candy bar of AIDS in napkin*

"I'm sorry, what's that?"

"What do you want me to do with this now?"

"I'll take that..."

*Proceeds to throw it away, like a rational person, despite the nonsensical beard*

What the hell did you think the options for your half-eaten candy bar were, that you had to come back and confer with him on what the appropriate course of action was? Dear god, woman.

After her orbit took her far away from the cart, I told the hipster gentlemen that this is how the conversation should have taken place:

*unwraps napkin*

"I bought this Snickers bar here just a little bit ago, and...well...as you can see something's wrong with it on the inside."

"I'm sorry about that. It's probably just the universe's way of telling you to cut that shit out. Lord knows you don't any more encouragement to maintain your obvious peak physical condition, but please help yourself to another one if you'd like."

"What do you want me to do with this now?"

"OK ma'am, I'm going to give you Mars candy official form 22W 'Requisition form for replacement candy bar under condition of Snickers bar containing unsavory bits'. You're going to need to fill out and send this form, along with the remaining candy bar you didn't voraciously tear though, to the Mars corporation via certified mail. In 6-8 weeks you should hear back from the candy master about his findings, and potentially also receive a check for $0.75, which you can then apply towards a replacement candy bar, or add to your existing liposuction surgery fund. "

"What in god's holy name do you think you should do with the refuse you chewed on? We live in a society here, you beast. How did you manage to live this long lacking such basic knowledge? When you go to work, you put your muumuu on. When you take a shit, you flush it. When you're done eating some trash, you put what's left in the garbage."

"Now move on, you sicken me."

No comments:

Post a Comment