Shopgirl no more

Yes, that's me, flicking you off. Deal.

The theme of today's third and fourth grade elementary class was fast food shopping. Don't ask, I don't make these plans, I just suffer their humiliation. The teacher mispronounced 'fast food restaurant' as 'fast food restroom.' There is a largely discernible difference between restaurant and restroom, I believe. I don't think I'll be doing too much shopping in a restroom, especially a fast food restroom, although to what point can a fast food purchase be considered shopping? They made me play the role of shopgirl. They called me shopgirl. I have no name. I am shopgirl. Nice to meet you, I'm shopgirl. What? Degrading. My job is utterly embarrassing. Oh, but it gets better. Always gets better in Japan. They made me wear an apron. Let me reiterate. AN APRON!!!!! Now, I haven't worn an apron since I was probably five and thought cooking, i.e. emulating my mother, was tres cool. I should also add that I probably haven't cooked since that day either. A short lived domestic career. Yeah, I'm a real catch. To top off my shopgirl ensemble of frilly, white, largely oversized apron was a bright pink handkerchief, which they tied around my head Rambo style. Again, WTF? My new identity: Little pimped out Dolly Parton on the Prarie. It was country and ghetto and feminine and backwoods and trash...just trash, and debasing beyond belief. What kind of fast food restaurant do they think English speakers run, that requires a uniform of apron AND doorag? Holy fuck man.

I am, once again, off for the weekend. But I shall leave you with these:

And some inspirational words...or just pure nonsense. Personal interpretation.

"I'll tell you what's not funny. Killing strippers. Strippers are people too. Naked people, who may be willing to pleasure you for a price you negotiate later behind the curtain at a VIP room. Besides, there's no need to kill 'em, cause most of them are already dead inside."