My Worst Job Ever

I have had a ton of shitty jobs in my weirdo life; I ripped people off at an amusement park, I sold shoes, worked a Motel 6 front desk, was a drug mule, auditor, busboy, minority recruiter for the KKK, cashier, truck stop whore, maid, bellhop, and bodily fluid donor. I have to say that the worst job I ever had was Blockbuster clerk. It was only a three week gig, but it stands out as the soul-suckingest job ever (making up words is awesomous). I had been cut off from the family since I was a good for nothing 19 year old pothead, so I didn't have a car or any dough. Miss & I decided to work at Blockbuster. It seemed like a fun place to work. Movies and candy; two of my favorite things. Shit, and they'll pay me too. Too good to be true. Except for the fact that Benito Mussolini's granddaughter was the store manager. Her name was Amy Mussolini and she carried the Fascist family tradition from post war Italy to the Blockbuster corporate world.

There are more rules that a Blockbuster employee has to follow than there are cats at a Chinese buffet restaurant. It was fucking ridiculous all the anal bullshit that one must do. We closed at midnight, and I swear we were lucky if we made it out of there by 3 am. First all the goddamn videos have to be in parallel rows, with an actual fucking ruler to measure the shit with. The bottom two rows have to be fanned out at a 45 degree angle - we had to use a protractor to figure that shit out. Then, the movies behind the display boxes had to be arranged in proper symmetry. It was awful, especially if you were high. I could never get the candy display right. I could not comprehend the analness of the task and always failed. Then you had that Amy bitch following you around with her jockey whip whacking counters and knocking movies off the shelf if you were a millimeter off. She sat her sorry ass in the ceiling office and watched us from behind the one-way mirror. I could feel her accusing eyes all over me and had to scrub in the shower with a SOS pad to get the filth off after every shift.

The worst thing she did was split Miss & I up. Hey bitch, she's my fucking ride! Amy didn't care, my misery gave her a rush. I could see her pupils dilate whenever she was cruel. I even caught her masturbating to an IRS tax code manual while a Faces of Death video played in the background. After two and a half horrible Auschwitz-like weeks, Miss & I decided to quit. I had found an engineering major who was able to take off our electro-shock collars in exchange for some Tahlequah Blue so we could finally tell Amy to go fuck herself. We rolled up into BB and while Miss distracted Amy, I grabbed her remote control and released all the other clerks from their cages. There was a crazy gun battle and then a bizarre sword fight, but we made it out with our final paychecks and years worth of psychological damage.

After years of painful procedures, my barcode tattoo is finally replaced with a small scar; incomparable to the large scar still on my soul. Even as time passes, I still take the "correct" movie off the shelf on a row of movies at Blockbuster. I still make sure the bottom two rows are fanned. I know how it is for the ones working there now, and try to do just a little something to help them out. Since I have moved back here, I have been to my Blockbuster of Horrors and it was hard. The flashbacks are stronger when I am in there. I can feel the whip and smell the lingering odor that emitted from Amy's baby-hole and then I vomit for hours and thank God I escaped Blockbuster Hell. So next time you are in a Blockbuster, shake the clerks hand. Tell them you love them and that things will get better.