I'm the guy behind the milk.

I posted this on CL about a week ago, but felt it was better suited to here. In fgact, this is what made me want to start the bloggingness. It's nice to get home from work and vent. Especially to people who don't have to listen.

I'm the guy behind the milk. Also known as the hand that puts the milk, yogurt, butter and cottage cheese on the shelf. I am actually a real person. I have a life (kind of), friends, and hobbies. I spend a few hours of my workday behind various dairy products, making sure the shelves are full and that you can get that pint of nonfat cottage cheese you desperately need for survival.
Here are some things you should know:
-There is an arm attached to the gloved hand, attached to that there is a body, legs, head, etc.
-I am not some kind of mythical beast hand that magically appears at the grocery store for the sole purpose of aiding in the continuation of this strange occurance we refer to as commerce.
-When you grab my hand, I feel it, it drastically impairs my ability to perform work (which is why I'm here), and its kind of creepy, even from my perspective.
-When your children say that they saw someone in the cooler, they did. they're not just making it up or really stoned or anything. Most large grocery stores have someone behind the milk all day. This person can be seen by children, not to mention adults. So when you tell them that they didn't really see anything, you're LYING to them.
-On that note, yes, occasionally I do scare the crap out of little kids on purpose. You would too. It's fun and makes my day that much more eventful.
-Yes, sometimes I do check out your wife/daughter from behind the yogurts. Once again, you would too. She's hot and you should expect that. Everyone else is doing it too. I try to keep it to a minimum, but when she's wearing that white skirt/black thong combo it's kind of hard to ignore. Get over it.
-I can't hear you. There are five really big cooling fans about ten feet behind me trying to keep my workspace a crisp 39 degrees. Thay are really fucking loud. So when we make eye contact and I ignore your question, I'm not being rude. I can't hear you. Speak louder or ask someone else.
-No, I haven't seen the commercial with the guy and the orange juice. It's on all the time? Wow. Great. I don't like TV, and the fact that you expect every stranger you meet to have seen a commercial involving my profession is kind of lame.
-When I drop a quart of milk and it lands on your head and covers you in 2%, I'm sorry. I actually didn't mean for that to happen. In fact, now I have to spend five minutes explaining it to my manager. And cleaning it up, and appologizing profusely. This is a grocery store. These things happen.
-When I knock a block of butter off of the shelf and it lands on the floor next to you, don't pretend like you didn't see it. Pick it up and put it back on the shelf. If you were issuing me my car insurance and I saw that you made a typo in my name, I'd point it out. We have to look out for each other, you and I. Besides, if you don't pick it up and put it back, I have to drop what I'm doing, leave the cooler, walk a freaking quarter mile to the sales floor, fix it, and go all the way back. This takes me about a minute. It takes you 5 seconds. I might even say thank you and give you a nice smile. Think of it as good karma.
-If I CAN hear you, I might be able to tell you where the polenta is, but I cannot show you where it is. And all of the other customers think you are yelling at the buttermilk. One of my coworkers would be happy to take you to the polenta, ask them.
-I'm working. Please do not expect to have a lengthy conversation, especailly considering the previously mentioned HUGE FUCKING FANS immediately behind me. If I wanted to talk to you, I'd come out of the cooler and warm up a little bit. Please do not be offended if I continue working. I wouldn't expect you to stop auditing my taxes to chat about the weather when you were way behind on your workload, which I generally am.
-Last but not least, please for the love of God stop telling me how weird it is that I'm putting the orange juice on the shelf. It's not weird, it's totally normal. How do you think all of this shit got here??? It's not magic, it's me. And, if you can't deal with that you're obviously suffering from some weird psychological inablity to deal with reality (and everyday grocery store life, which is by the way, fairly normal).
Thank you to all of you cheerful, respectful customers! You make my day better!

Imagination Constipation

I can't remember what I was going to title this originally, but I guess the above works.
Chapter 1: Removing snow with a flamethrower.
After a weekend of simultaneous over and under indulgence, the time has come to reflect. Drinking lots of Coors + spending time in the hot tub= waking up grandma Eisenberg.
Note, fellow readers: there are no good bars in Antioch, and NEVER trust Google Earth when it comes to that sneaky little restaurants and bars locator button. This may result in ending up at a biker bar at 1:30 in the morning with a man wearing a ridiculous mustache threatening to kick your ass for wearing a purple shirt. Maybe I should have stayed sober.
Chapter 2: In which very little is said or accomplished.
Furthermore, my creativity has reached a new low. Events from yesterday come to mind. While working my ass off in the post-Thanksgiving retail world, I was dumbstruck by a gorgeous blond carrying a red shopping bag and wearing a long grey coat. First thoughts included, in no particular order: DAMN!, I really should have shaved sometime in the last week, I must say something!, and mind-babble regarding Sean Connery. So, I continue putting product up in a vain attempt to curtail this stampede of holiday grocery shoppers emptying my shelves. I manage to make my way to where said hotness is, and offer a disgustingly uninterested "finding everything alright?" receive a pleasant "Yes." + Smile. Wait, I swear I meant to say something other than that. That was the same thing I'd said to the overweight, sweaty man wearing high heels and the plaid flood pants who was in here ten minutes ago, and the ninety year old woman who always asks me the same questions. I know something leading to further small talk is in order, but despite our three or four more run-ins in the store, all end in very customer-service related exchanges and smiles/eyes meeting.
So, not only have I apparently lost the ability to come up with anything interesting to say, I also have no balls. Clarification is required. I do have balls, they are ineffective or hibernating, and judging from my recent bout with celibacy, the latter seems closer to the truth.
Chapter 3: Excuse and lies.
So, I haven't picked up on girls in years. I had one for the last three, and thus saw no need for it. Things being as they are, newly single and all, I've been giving it a shot. Recent attempts have fallen short and I'm terribly afraid that I'm missing awesome opportunities, see hot girl above. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Enough of this shit.
I totally forgot about Buy Nothing Day this year and went out in a fit of Black Fridayness and bought a Buck 65 CD. I've had "Wicked and Weird" stuck in my head for a week, so I picked up This Right Here Is and am totally diggin it. Canadian cowboy rap. Well not exactly but close.
Only four weeks of class left. Only 19 more 5 AMs. Thank God. By the by, I need 1 or 2 roommates, any takers?

The Beginning of the End(?)

Dear God, it's 7:30 in the morning and I've been awake since 5. Welcome to my weekday. The time is now, and probably will be later, too. The only difference is, now I have a blog where I can post all of my postings while extremely unstimulated at my overly expensive and underly exciting place of schooling. Let's hope for the best.