Monday, April 9, 2012

Pickle Races

I fucking hate teenagers.  I especially hated teenagers when I was a teenager because I was what some might call "awkward."  I don't know if I ever really stopped being awkward, but I made it through things alright.

Working at a particular golden-arched fast food chain during high school I clearly remember one incident where these boys from one of my classes decided to come in and see how far they could push the awkward girl before she would meltdown. 

When I applied for the job I was pretty nervous because I had only ever worked for my mom before aside from some volunteer stuff.  We were living in the Central Valley at the time and being one of the few white girls with glasses in the place made people remember me.  They looked at me kind of oddly when I handed in my application but they did my interview right on the spot and told me I was hired right after that.  Major confidence booster.  I soon found out that the main reason I got the job was because out of the thirty-some odd people that worked there, only five people spoke fluent English and they were having issues with finding someone who could take orders.  Good times.  I ended up staying at that job for about three years and worked there all throughout high school.  I still say it was one of my favorite jobs and taught me a lot about a lot of different things.  Plus I loved the lack of responsibility that I had!  It was very Kevin Spacey in American Beauty.  But anyway, back to the asshat teenagers!

I usually ran the front register and sometimes cleaned the lobby when the dining area attendant was on break.  One weekend when I was running the front register three boys from my English class came in and thought they were real hot shit.  I think guys thought that because I didn't look like the traditional "homecoming queen in the making" girl that if they paid me any attention I'd instantly start falling all over myself to keep getting attention.  Not so much.

"Hey, Piper," one of them said in a rather slimy tone after ordering the cheapest burger on the menu. "How about you hook it up with a free soda for me and mah boys?"  He even smiled and winked at me like some cheesy '80s movie.  Truths.

"Sorry, Rhett.  Not happening."  I told him very matter of fact.  I could tell he was a little taken aback.  I also distinctly remember overhearing something about me being a carpet muncher or some bullshit like that after they walked away.  How dare I not give into the charms of some moron with his chonies hanging out about four inches under his pants.

"Fine, fine.  I see how it is.  Can I get extra pickles on that burger?  And, uh, Jose wants extra pickles on his too."

They all kept looking at each other and smirking and just carrying on with general douchebaggery, but I placed their order and got them their food.  A few minutes later Lupe, the lady who was on lobby duty, had to take her lunch break and since I was low man on the totem pole, I got to take her place.  Lupe was not a small person and when I went out to change the garbage bags I heard the guys from school saying all of this really classy stuff about her.  "Oh shit dude!  I didn't know your mom worked here!"  "Damn!  Did you see that?  Hand to God, my water cup started shaking like Jurassic Park when that bitch walked away!"  Really classy stuff.

I tried to ignore them, but when I had to sweep the lobby I heard them saying some things about me that made my ears turn red.  The three of them were sitting in a booth in the corner facing one of the biggest windows in the store, but it was hidden away from the cash wrap.

"Hey, Piper!  I got a fun game to play with you!  Come tickle my pickle for a nickle and the rest of the ride is free!" 

Fucking really?

"Seriously?  Why don't you guys just eat your food and leave?"  I asked them.  Fifteen year old me was not incredibly confident.

"It's cool, Piper.  If you don't wanna tickle my pickle we can just have some pickle fun of our own," he said.  And yeah, he really said that.  That didn't sound gay at all.

"Okay then..." I said about to walk off.

"Pickle races!" two of the guys yelled to each other.  I had absolutely no idea what the hell they were talking about but I was getting frustrated and I needed my manager to kick these guys out of here.  

So I huffed and puffed and got my manager to tell them to leave but by the time she got off the phone with her boss they were gone.  And they left behind a huge mess for me to clean up.  Apparently Pickle Races are when you take the pickles that you don't want on your burger and you soak them in catchup and fling them on the window and see whose pickle slides down to the bottom first. 

Guess who had to clean that one up.  Bastards.

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