Monday, December 27, 2004

I'm sorry 2004

Working at a gas station is not fun and games for everyone. That's why I don't work there anymore. I didn't want to turn into Vickie.

When it's you are working at a gas station with all your friends taking it less seriously than, um, something you don't take very seriously at all, and you meet the new morning person and she is old enough to be your mom's older sister, you are like what the fuck?

And when you find out that she commutes from fucking Wisconsin to Dekalb Illinois to work at a gas station, you are like what the fucking fuckity fuck?????

You only have to work with this lady a few times since she's on the morning shift, but still it is so god damn annoying because she doesn't steal anything and she's nice to all the customers. geesh.

Good Riddance, she moves to Peoria. bye bye!

What's this, a few months later a fat envelope arrives at the gas station! Holiday wishes from Vickie, handwritten on that yellow lined paper, like you used to write rough drafts on in grade school. What is this four page letter she has written us?

So not funny it's funny. It's one of those things where you're laughing even though you're pretty sure you should be crying, but then you just laugh harder. Sort of like this. Or this.

So she moved to Peoria and got a job working the graveyard shift at some hospital. So far so good!! Her daughter gave birth to a perfectly healthy illegitimate bastard child!! Okay!

Uh oh, what's this. One morning Vickie woke up and her husband was unresponsive. Too bad she couldn't roll the fat fucker over to preform CPR!!

Why she wrote a letter mourning her husbands demise to a bunch of fucks working at a gas station, I have no idea.

Any way, Merry Christmas Vickie, wherever you are, and I'm sorry I laughed at your letter.
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