1 Hr Later

Some fucker stole that sign.
Fucker.

-j

Happy St. Patricks Day

I'm not sure what St Patricks day symbolises, who that Patrick lush was, or why people celebrate his something by drinking themselves retarded. All i'm hoping is that one of the drunken bastards who is staggering by the shop at the moment (I'm currently working at the internet cafe) doesn't:
A) Yell 'NERDS', 'GET A FUCKING LIFE' or any other witty chestnuts into the store, in front of children, you brainless turd.
B) Kick the crap out of our poor, battered sign.
C) Both A and B.

If any of this happens, i've gotta belt out of here and either tell them off or try to save our precious sign. Either way i'm not particuarly looking forward to it. I'm pretty sure the irish blood will be up when a skinny young nerd (me) tells a bunch of drunk guys to not yell into his internet cafe.

In other unexciting news, I worked 16 friggin' unpaid hours this week. For training! I'm supposed to be working a bar, and while I havent had a great amount of experience, one does not need to be a rocket surgeon to pick this shit up pretty quick. Gin, Ouzo, Vodka, Tequila, Bourbon, Brandy, Bacardi, Rum, Scotch are the 9 basic spirits found at every bar.
The more you know.
-j

My B-B-B-Birthday...

Turning 23 isn't exactly a milestone. It's just another year in the damned twenties, much like every other until OH MY GOD I'M 30!
Despite the fact I had to work, at two different jobs, on my birthday, I still had a freakin' awesome time.
My boss was pretty understanding on the Saturday night and let me off after a meagre two hours serving old people light beer. I mean, why even bother with light beer? I thought old people had to go the toilet enough without that shit running straight through them!
I went home, showered, and got into my snazzy new birthday jeans and headed to the party house (Campbell Court is the definitive party house). I got out of the car and heard someone say out of the darkness "Jase is here!" and Normie, Benny and Steve barrelled down the driveway and crash tackled me into the grass in my new jeans. George and Shivers might have jumped in when it came to the stacks on, getting more grass stains on my new jeans. And had I been able to breath, I would have been laughing and not really caring about those damn jeans.
I talked to a few people, and a very drunk and enthusiastic Jen who forced 5 consecutive jelly shots down my throat, before hitting the keg.
The keg was actually spitting out a lot of foam as well as a bit of beer, so people were generally just saving time and dipping their cups into a bucket under the tap. Until Brad dipped his stein in and came out with a litre of beer and a sausage someone had left in there. People stuck to the tap after that.
After beer, there was rum. After rum, we decided to all head out. This is what brought about my downfall, in point form for stupidity:

• Already drunk. Do a tequila shot with Jen.
• Jens boyfriend lines up 5 assorted shots and demands I "Finish it up, Rook!"
• First 2 go down rough.
• Gag on the last 3.
• Was it down with a beer.
• Tequila shot with Chris.
• I know by this time that I have 20 minutes before I quite possibly poo myself and fall asleep on a pool table.

From the evidence that was smeared into my cheek, pillow, wall and floor in the morning, I must have stumbled home and falled asleep on my back with my shoes still on. At some stage during the night, i turned to the left and projectile hurled into the wall, and fell asleep again.
The wall in question has a peculiar texture. Some sort of daubed paint effect thats selling point was, im sure, was "Vomit sticks to it like magic". Thus I was a gaggin' and a scrubbing the next night, trying to pick the specks of vom off my wall. Just precious.

All in all though, even though I went too hard too soon with the drinkin', it was a great night.
I hope you know just how much I appreciate it, Jen. You're a fantastic friend.

And you bought me 'Scrubs'. So good!

-j

I'm What?

I got fired from my crummy console operator job at a petrol station this week.
No warning, no negligence. There was no incident that involved the pumps catching on fire, me losing my shit and running through a queue of pregnant women and handicapped children, out the door and to safety instead of shutting off the pumps and making sure everyone was ok.
I swear I didnt sell cigarettes to that 7 year old, and that hot-dog was encrusted with filth before I dropped it on the floor and put it back in the machine. Personally I think if you eat a service station hot dog, you dont want to live anyway!
All jokes aside, it was an employee induction handbook that was my undoing.
I mean, admittedly it's probably wise to know about your job when your job involves the service of flammable liquids to the general public idiot, but I had worked that job at another site for two bloody years. One would generally think I had a pretty good bead on things when it came to working at a petrol station.
In the section 'Identify the safety signs in the forecourt and their usage' I put the following:

No smoking: Prevents people from igniting any combustibles with their cigarettes.

Fire Extinguisher: Advertises the location of a fire extinguisher in case of a fire

Bat Signal: Used by Commisioner Gordon to call Batman to the aid of Gotham City.

And under 'Give three examples of discrimination in the workplace'

"Not employing someone due to their race"
"Not assigning hours due to the employees sex"
"Not serving any half caste lithuanian peg legged midgets with beards and a glass eye with communist sympathies because they are half caste lithuanian peg legged midgets with beards, glass eyes and communist sympathies."

And in the words of my boss. "Well, its cost you your job".

-j