us psyching ourselves up for monday

Ugh why do old men think it’s okay to make personal remarks to their cashier? Some old bastard came through my line today.

“I thought you were a boy, I couldn’t tell.”

*ignores him*

“You’d be much prettier if you had long hair.”

*ignores him*

“You’re not even listening to me!”

What I really wanted to say was “Shut the fuck up you miserable old anal prolapse. Nobody cares about you or your opinions.”

What I said instead was “I happen to like the way I look,” in a super cold and steely tone. He got all huffy about his opinions being ignored but seriously what the fuck?


Martin: Are you going to actually serve some customers tonight or just hang around feeling sorry for yourself?  
Joël: Shut the fuck up. Like I haven’t carried you before. What about that night you turned up too wasted to even function and crawled around the floor all night looking for your phone? Using the light from your phone.
Martin: Don’t judge me. That could happen to anybody.
Joël: Anybody who’s a completely drug-fucked stoner loser, you mean.  
Some primal sense, some change in the atmosphere, like the vague feeling of unease before the onset of a bad thunderstorm makes him glance towards the door.
Joël: Oh no. Please no. Not tonight, Satan. What the fuck-
Roy: I the fuck, dude!! BOOYAH!
Before he can move a frozen muscle Roy has lunged across the bar and grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his mouth. The patrons clustered around erupt in whoops and claps and catcalls. It takes all Joël’s self-control not to wipe the shit-eating grin off Roy’s face with his fist. That and the fact that people are stuffing notes into the tip-jar faster than the night Monica made him work in a pair of undies and nothing else.  
Roy: DUDE. I just had the best freakin’ day EVER. I love my wife, dude. I love my kids. I love my LIFE. I even love you, you miserable prick. You’ll never guess what happened after I got home this morning. Wait till I tell you all about it. You will freakin’ DIE, dude. What time’s your next break?

I won’t apologize for what I’ve said regarding the faroes island slaughter. I’m educated on the matter. To be completely honest, I give zero shits if i’m offensive when it comes to these issues. I don’t tolerate animal cruelty and the senseless brutal murder of animals that I adore. I will never coddle murderers or the people who defend them, for whatever asinine reason they see fit. I don’t support sport that ends with death, I don’t support traditions that end with death, that should have been abolished long ago. If you don’t care about animal rights issues, that’s fine. Feel free to unfollow if you disagree with something someone posts, no need for cowardly anonymous messages~

Friendly reminder that if you make it through this semester you will be rewarded with season 6 of Game of Thrones.

Don’t dwell. Don’t wallow in the pain or the hurt. Don’t put your head down in sadness; put your head down into work. Put your head down and grind. Accept life as it is and go do work.

Shit happens. Don’t let it weigh you down from greatness.

I did all of this. I dwelled, I wallowed and I let YOU weigh me down. This is me saying no more. You may have hurt me and left me, I’ll always acknowledge that, but you won’t weigh me down a minute longer.
I’m refreshed and I am ready.

I’m back on my grind.
Yes, I do have scars from you. They still bleed from time to time, but blood is a reminder that I’m still living.

Even with you gone.

Of all the nights Joël works at The Grind, Sunday nights are probably the most enjoyable. The patrons aren’t as fevered or pushy or thirsty as they seem to be on Friday or Saturday nights, and it’s still busy enough for the hours to pass quickly. But the best thing is that Monica usually takes Sunday nights off. Joël gets along well enough with Monica to consider her a friend, but as a boss she’s pedantic and paranoid. Her taste in music is also atrocious, soulless trashy bubblegum pop interrupted by random discordant bursts of Dolly Parton and Olivia Newton John. But on Sundays the resident DJ, Keith, is free of her interference and allowed to indulge his passion for Donna Summer, Diana Ross and Kelly Rowland. Keith loves his disco divas. On Sunday nights the dance floor is always packed, everyone moving as one happy, sweaty, unified mass. 

I need discipline in my life

It’s fun and all doing whatever it is I’d like to do with complete freedom, but that just makes me get lazy and unamused. I’m tired of always having it easy and having everything handed to me. It makes me rely on others too much and slack off on things I shouldn’t be slacking on. I’m going to try my best to be the best that I can be in whatever it is I want to do with my life. Time to get work done SON.