"Welcome to the Toy Store. Please take this boxcutter and slash my throat."

Jesus God what a night this was.  Okay, so the last time we heard from our hero, he had just had another ridiculously tough overnight ripping open boxes, wearing a wrist brace, loading up on pain pills, and was seriously contemplating suic...I mean, quitting.  Well, tonight doesn't change that contemplation one bit.

When I got there, I THOUGHT it was going to be an easy night.  You see, the trucks don't usually come until Wednesday, so I figured today would be cake.  In fact, I'll prove how happy I was:

See?  This was at 9:55pm.  A brotha hasn't smiled this big since Halle Berry said "I do" to Eric Benet.  Oh, the shirt.  We have to wear a red shirt to start the evening, because customers are in the store.  Then at 10pm when the store closes, we can feel free to wear a black t-shirt, with no insignia.  We, however, MUST wear either black or khaki pants, despite the fact that we are working with grimy boxes that just came off a dirty truck. Whatever.

Anyway, things started off good and the smile continued.  There was a little merchandise to put away, and that was about it...that is until about 10:20 when my smile went to "Goddammit all."  Because that's when we learned that despite the fact it was Tuesday, there would, indeed, be another truck after all.  You've got to be kidding me with this.  My body is finally recouping from the beating it took the two days of unloading trucks last week and now I'm sitting here typing with another bag of frozen vegetables on my wrist.  We were all pissed.  That is, except for Lester the Molester, who was clearly drunk.  I could smell it two aisles over.  The normally talkative Lester pretty much said nothing for the first two hours as I'm guessing he was trying to contain from the bottle of Jack he downed while watching uncensored videos of child labor camps in Guam.  Things would get worse from there.  The freaking night manager comes running out frantically, asking everyone if they could stay Thursday until 6:30.  Shit.  I said yes then immediately regretted it because any money I make in overtime is automatically deducted from my unemployment payments.  So I'll work that 30 minutes for nothing basically.  Fucking bullshit it is, but dude reminds me of a broke ass Steve Austin and I was afraid.

This is the closest I'll ever get to a Cadillac.

As we waited for the truck, people had nothing to do.  These idiots are so stupid.  They think they're funny but they're not.  They tried doing this bit with everyone talking in foreign accents.  It went on FOREVER.  Well, maybe 15 minutes but 15 minutes of "Pup pup, cheerio", and "Holy frijoles" got old REAL quick.  Finally, I broke.  I told one dude, "Well, I was going to do some 'click click's, but you know."  He started dying and rightfully so.  THAT was funny.  Your little shit about corned beef and cabbage and drinking whiskey in an Irish Brogue is played out.  That's why when someone presents you with a genuine racist joke based on the click clicks of African tribes, well...you find it funny.  

Here's where things get weird.  Right before the truck comes, at about 11, I meet a new guy.  He's a humongous ape of a man that reminded me of Lenny from "Of Mice and Men".  And when he opened his mouth, he confirmed it.

Lenny:  Yeah, I done hurt my wrist.
Me: Really.

Lenny:  Yeah, I was workin' on my momma's farm, when a two-ton heffer got mad at me and threw me, and I hurt my wrist.

Me: Wow.  That's something you don't see everyday.

Lenny: You sure don't.  And then...a bull reared back and kicked me and I fell on my butt. 

And then, the line that lets me know what actually goes on at his momma's farm:

Lenny:  My brother says "Yeah, that bull got you cause you was messin with his heffer."

Outstanding.  Been here an hour and already Lenny has confirmed he fucks heffers.  I'm sure if I hadn't walked away, he'd have had an exciting story about sheep and a lubed-up rake handle.

Heh.

So after the truck comes, things get stupid as usual.  I'm left to my own section, which as you can see above was a lot of Dora and Elmo and other toys.  Now as I said, I was left to myself, which tonight made for some interesting decisions.  Because for some reason, I decided that I was going to be completely autonomous, and put shit wherever I wanted to put shit.  But not in a haphazard sort of way.  I fancied myself in charge of rotating product.  If I felt something wasn't in a spot where it would have a chance of selling the most, I moved it.  There was a new product called "Rock and Roll Elmo".  Well, the space for it was at the bottom of the shelf, but I figured that this was something that kids would want to see.  So I bumped another toy down to the bottom and helped Elmo up to a more prime position.  Was this my job? Nope.  Would I have gotten in trouble for it? Absolutely.  But am I smarter than any of those people in the store? You're goddamn right.  So I did it.  Screw 'em if they can't take a joke.

Now around 2:30, after lunch, things got a little tense.  You see, these two women who think they know everything and think they're managers even though they're not, were on my ass all night, telling me where to put stuff, where not to put stuff, contradicting themselves...at one point this woman "tells" me to work in the baby section.  I said, "Uh, yeah.  Are there boxes in the boys section because I know where everything is there and I can move a lot faster."  She says all high and mighty, "Well, you're going to have to learn sometime!"  I actually laughed.  That snide, annoyed SB laugh that most of you know and either love or hate depending on whether I'm giving it to you or not.  However, I took their stupid commands...and the majority of the night I took it.  That is, until this one time when I found some stuff on the floor that was in the wrong section and I went to put it in it's correct section.  This lady YELLS at me:

"NO! It's OVERSTOCK!!!"

Okay, overstock is where you put something on top of the shelves.  That's fine.  But how was I supposed to know it was going on top of a shelf that wasn't even in it's section?  And this woman was a no one.  Nobody.  She thought she was hot shit because in the break room, drunk ass Lester told her that she didn't look 21 years old when she clearly looked 100.  Now she was on this "I'm all hot" kick and figured she could talk down to a brotha.  Well, she was wrong.  I stared right at her and snapped back:

"I KNOW WHAT OVERSTOCK IS.  IT WAS IN THE WRONG SECTION SO I WAS PUTTING IT BACK."

Then she says she put it there on purpose and I asked her how I was supposed to know that.  She said I wasn't.  So I put it back.  Two seconds later she apologizes to me for yelling.  I told her it was fine.  But it wasn't fine. I hated her.  I wanted to tell her, "It's not fine.  And you don't look 21.  You look 100."  But I did not.   I decided against being the "Angry Negro" they all want me to be.   Although if I got angry enough and someone yelled back at me, maybe I could sue them for hate crimes and such and make enough money so I wouldn't have to come back to this stupid place ever again.  Hmmm.  That could be a plan.  

So lastly, as I'm getting ready to leave, guess what Lester says to me:

"So...you live off that street down there, right?"

OH SHIT. NO.  NO.  NO.  

"Yes."

"Uh...you think you can give me a ride to Quik Trip after work?"

Okay, see, now I KNOW this fool is drunk.  He's never asked for a ride before, and obviously didn't drive to work because he had too much to drink.  Son of a bitch.  I should just let you walk in the cold, bitch.  How'd you like that?  If I just said, "No, I don't think I want a drunk ass molester in my car." How would that feel, huh?  Would your whiskey and child porn on your dial-up modem be able to cure that slap in the face?  Would it?  Huh?

"Sure, I'll give you a ride. No problem."

So I clock out at 6a on the nose, and of course Lester isn't ready.  I search around the store and find him in the games section.  He's still being the Company Man and helping open boxes.  Dude.  We're getting paid a dollar over minimum wage.  It's 6:05am and we get off at 6.  RELAX, SPUNKY.  I tell him that I'm already clocked out and if he wants a ride he needs to go now.  Someone asks me, "You're leaving?"  When I said "Yes" they all looked at me like I had killed the team spirit and broken some unwritten rule. Are you serious?  Do these people not realize we are Part-time overnight dollar-over-minimum-wage stockboy assholes who they're going to toss out the day after Christmas?  Ugh.  My frozen vegetables are melting.