I can’t stand these people, absolutely the worst
tippers on the planet. I can’t wait for this shift
to be over, the smell of cheap cologne and this
dreadful elevator music is driving me insane.
I’ve served somewhere around fifty people
today and made ten measly dollars, awesome.
Everyone acts so busy with his or her smartphones
and fancy fruit computer’s, tools.
Look at this guy; he’s been sitting at the
end of the bar for hours.
He’s had 3 Jack & Cokes.
He looks pretty stressed if you ask me; to be
honest he looks like hell, but I’ve made nine of
those ten dollars with him so…
“Another one?”
“Yeah sure.”
I can’t believe I’m stuck in a goddamn airport
at a time like this. I’ve been to four different
states in five days, selling to anyone who
will give me a meeting. Needless to say I haven’t
sold one unit and my flight is currently on a four-hour
delay, some sort of tropical storm in South Carolina.
I figured getting drunk would ease would ease the stress
and make for a smooth plane ride, I was wrong. I’m in
dire need of a cigarette and a shower, but oh well screw it.
It’s not like being stuck in this airport is any worst than
being at home with the she-devil I call my wife.
I mean she literally has to be close descendants to the
devil himself. Money, lies and infidelity are what it should
say on her birth certificate. That’s why I take these long
business trips, just Mr. Daniels and me.
(Just at that moment the phone rings and “Don’t stop
believing” by Journey starts to play).
What a sad, sad man I married. I figured it would be
tough in the beginning, but eventually his “Man” qualities
would kick in, ha. He calls himself a businessman;
I would substitute the word business with weak in his case.
In a seven day week I wake up alone five of them so he can
chase his dream of selling “units” as he call them.
What’s a gal to do? I don’t work; I shop and drink
wine mainly. Occasionally there will be a handsome young
pool cleaner or paperboy I use to past the time. He told
me earlier that his flight was delayed, I’m sure that’s just an
excuse for, “they have a bar here.” Ha, and he’ll
expect me to be up all night so I can pick him up from
the airport, but Ms. Chardonnay and I think otherwise.
“When are you coming home?”
“I’m going out, take a cab.”
This man is really starting to creep me out;
he’s been sitting there staring at his phone in disgust
for 20 minutes now. He got a phone call and just
hung up without saying anything. He looks like
all the life is being sucked out of him.
This woman will be the death of me I’m sure.
I wonder who it is this time, the mailman or the garbage man?
She whores around more than Tiger Woods, Jesus Christ.
I should have married Kathie Lee Griffin when
I had the chance; she’s done well for herself.
How about the waitress she’s pretty cute,
nice tight young body. But what mistake could she
have made to be working in this place?
(Flight 451 to Georgia and Flight 286 to Miami
have arrived and are now boarding).
Well I guess that’s my call, back to Hell.
I can tell this waitress is waiting for a tip by the way
she keeps looking over here, twenty dollars should do.
“Thank you, you know Miami sounds nice this
time of year, you look like you need it.”
“Enjoy your trip.”
Back home to the devil reincarnated in Prada
or relaxation, which one would you choose?
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