Gray Matter Kimmie

To all and sundry: I, apparently, as though in the fog of a bad dream, work at Wienerschnitzel now. I am about an hour and a half away from going into my first shift. Yesterday, I went in and signed the papers, and a young female future co-worker asked me, “How old are you, exactly?” “Twenty-five,” I said, bemusedly/pathetically. Jeepers H. Crackers.

Those of you who know me perhaps have noticed that I have somewhat of a gift for maintaining or finding dignity in situations which other people might not. (Those of you who don’t know me: that thing I said is true.) I was oddly proud of being a janitor, for one thing. (But janitorial work is something that legitimately needs to be done, even in a just society. If we’re still frying hot dogs on the sidewalk after the revolution, count me out. I mean, you can make your own damn hot dogs, comrade citizen.) But anyway, I don’t know that I can preserve dignity through this. I have my limits.

Anyway, their corporate manual did say something about not having long sideburns, so if they really try to pull that shit on me, maaaaan, I’m so outta there.

“Looks like it’s suicide for me again!” - Moe Szyslak