Here I am in lovely California, San Francisco. Home of rice, as I understand. Monster.com tells me that job opportunities abound from Pixar to Lucasarts and a lot of other places that don’t make you wear a tie either. But most importantly; I’m finally in a place that I can understand, finally in a place where I feel at home, finally in a place where the toilet paper isn’t hung in the improper underhand fashion. YOU PHILISTINES! YOU PHYLLIS DILLERS!
I am finally rid of that irksome Radioshack manager once and for all! Rather than train me the way a manager is supposed to do, she weighted me with inaccurate information, ignored most of her employees questions most of the time (I suspect she was either too lazy or too ignorant to find answers in her melon-head), exhibited an inappropriate disdain for an honestly likable customer base, shifted her responsibilities while resting her underworked ass at the back computer looking up WWE videos of her flame Batista, had no sense of sportsmanship, workmanship, duty, or ethics, but had replaced them with empty company lines, excuse-making, blank stares, unnerving stories about her WeightWatchers meetings (that didn’t seem to be working), and a relentless use of a baby voice in almost any situation. As for the poor customers and humble employees I left behind to face that rolling Tiananmen Square tank, ‘For those about to die, I salute you!’
Aside: I can’t believe I spelled Tiananmen right the first time. Groovy.