Back To Work

My vacation went down nicely. I laughed, I cried, I puked. I got sun poisoning, which was terrible, but I didn't even mind that. I wasn't at work, so it was all good. Heh. We went to the beach. There is a point where the waves break, where if you swim a bit more, the waves no longer bother you. I couldn't get Kade to swim out that far, so I was stuck at the spot where the waves came crashing down... on me. One came right up under my legs, lifting me up like a goddess, where all could see what I already know (that I am the most heavenly by far), only to not so gently place (err, throw) me down on the sand. I decided to laugh it off, but while I was laughing another wave plotted its move. It hit me while I was still on my hands and knees, which basically drug me up on shore. Do you know what it feels like to be drug through the sand? The tops of my feet looked like someone took sandpaper to it. Fun. I swallowed sea water. Fuuun. My bikini bottoms came down, so that I ended up flashing the entire beach. FUN! It was a great vacation. I say that without the least bit of sarcasm. Honest.



I say all that and most won't believe that I was still very happy about my vacation. I had a blast, despite getting woozy and ill. Why? Because I knew that when I got back to work, I would have to deal with dipshit questions, lazy coworkers and fighting bosses. Well, as it turns out, not only did I have to deal with all that, but my nemesis came into work, threatening my very sanity. (No, I'm not talking about the overly amorous veteran, either, altough he did decide to make a rather urinated appearance. Yes, I mean to use that word.) There is this customer... I can't even explain it, although I'll try. Okay, here, I'll tell you my nickname for him: Dr. Death. He claims to be an orthopedic surgeon. I don't know who in this whole wide world would ever go to this man as a doctor. He smells like death rolled up in a turd, bathed in diarrhea with a good dose of formaldehyde. I am not even lieing to you right now. And the stench that comes off this man gets in your nose. It gets in there, oh yes it does, and it STAYS there. You can go home, put your nose in a can of coffee, throw that can away because you feel you've now contaminated it, light scented candles, smell oranges, it doesn't matter. That smell is THERE. A skunk would run screaming from this man. He stinks and that's not even the worst part.

The worst part of this man is that he also gleeks. Look it up in the dictionary or wikipedia. It's a word and if you know what it means, you can imagine the utter horror of having this man gleek at you. He has a beard and part of the spittle runs down it onto his shirt, which is filthy. He also likes to stand RIGHT NEXT to you. I've learned to steer clear of this guy, but it's always amusing when I forget to pass on the knowledge to the new people. They always lean in to say "Hi", make a face, and try not to gag. Having been in that position allows me the right to giggle profusely. Which I do.

Also, while I was on vacation, four fat chicks came in the store, one of them pooped and dragged it all the way out of checkout. Yeah, I sure am sad I missed that one. And NOW, I'm being sarcastic.