My Co-Workers

There are certain phrases that indicate class. For example, high class:

"I rather think..."

Low class.

"all of yas."

That little gem was spoken by Ray, my night manager. Balding, mustached, bad posture, kinda fat, that kind of guy who makes everybody look better by comparison. I call him, "Sir." After all, only the people who work for him will call him that. And after I'm rich and famous, I'll tell him to hurry up with my groceries. He's getting his revenge in advance. The scales are balanced.

Anyway, not much to report. Lot of old guys and young guys working there. One guy's gap-toothed, a la the Mountain Man from Deliverance, only in sweats. Another reminds me exactly like Tommy Chong, only less carefree and with shorter hair. Chris.

Another guy swears loudly, every night we work there. Bruce Baker. Described as a short, bald, chubby guy by another co-worker. Another guy I don't know, wears a Call of the Wilderness shirt with the wolves on it (fashion faux pas bar non, but in a loveable, blue collar way - not the Hot Topic trucker hat kind of blue collar wear, authentic blue collar). Anyway, enough of this - I am a dedicated follower of fashion, but a writer first and foremost...

I was working with him unloading packets of sugar. He's old enough to be my dad, but he works as fast as my 19 year old body. Keep in mind, I don't exercise, but anyway. He gets to mentioning how he doesn't use sugar in his baking.

"Oh, you liked baking?"

Turns out he wanted to be a chef. Imagine an artist having to settle for working in an art store.

"Stay in school, kid. This place eats people up."

I tell him I'm taking school in the biggest city in the country thousands of miles away.

"And when he pulls his frilly nylon panties right up tight"
Et quand il tire sa droite de slip en nylon volant augmente tendu