Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell
Even My Shoes Are Against Me
I lock up my bank and head back out onto the gaming-floor. Carrie approaches me on my way to grabbing a customer, informing me that she's going on her first thirty-minute break. I look down at my watch, I see that it's 6:30 p. m., my time to break. "Actually, I thought I was 'sposed to take a break. Six-thirty's my scheduled break-time." Once again the menial-labor created infant inside of me is starting to come out. I find that Carrie can be a lot bigger baby.
She glances down at her watch and then back into my tired eyes. "Well, Wayne," Carrie begins, as I start feeling that this "using a persons name as a weapon" thing is starting to get slightly old. "If your break was at 6:30, why did you just load up your apron?" I get so caught up in wondering if Carrie is Harrison Ford's daughter, that I forget to answer her question.
"Well," she blurts out in her best, spoiled, "only-child" voice (the only-child of Harrison Ford, none-the-less), "can you answer me? If you want a break so bad, why did you just load up your apron?" This time I let out some semblance of an answer. I begin my sentence with a harried "Um," and continue with an equally lame retort, "I just didn't realize that it was this late." Carrie smiles at my ignorance as a man seems to trip over the air in front of us. I watch the man rapidly steady himself as he looks around to see if anyone witnessed him forgetting how to walk.
I am too drained to argue about who goes on break when. Carrie unloads her cart and goes on her break. I start giving out rolls of nickels while scanning all visible parts of the casino to see if there's any sight of the beautiful Sue.
"Your shoelace is untied." I look up and see a smiling Geena. I look down at my half-assedly tied shoelaces. I'm tempted to ask for Geena's help in tying them back up. Little tattle-tale company girls like helping people, it makes them feel "important." It gives them another unneeded ego boost and helps bolster their self-esteem to new heights of atrociousness.
Company girls are always on the prowl for a way to convince themselves that they are perpetually needed. These ass-kissers are always looking for a pleasant "thank-you" to make them feel as though they've provided yet another distinguished service toward the general benefit of humankind. Not only that, ever since my pre-school friend that looked like Mark Hamill began enabling my shoe tying deficiency, tying shoes has not been one of my greatest skills. Consequently, I spend half of my days running around with my shoes untied, looking like a complete dildo.
Instead of asking Geena for help with my untied-laces, I thank her for notifying me and let her go on her way after giving me a beaming "youre welcome!". I smile at knowing that my thanking her has just made her day. Now she can go to sleep tonight, resting assured that she has made the world a brighter place because she got me to tie up my laces. I do as thorough a job as I can with my shoes, knotting and pulling until I am positive that they are secured tightly to my feet. I suck in a proud, Geena-like breath and stroll around yelling, "change" with more confidence in my voice than I've had in months.
I stop screaming out the word "change" when I notice a lady shoving a quarter into a "Naughty Nickels" machine. "This machine won't take my quarter," she says, face flustered in aggravated concern. The second dork-of-the-day. I always wonder what part of the word "nickels" they dont understand. "I'm sorry ma'am, youre playing Naughty Nickels, the Quirky-quarters machines are to your right."
The lady squeamishly smiles and pulls her quarter from the machine. I may as well be pressing a button labeled "embarrassed reaction" each time I inform someone that they made this moronic mistake. They then give me either the patented "golly I'm dumb" smile and humiliated apology or the "hey, I never do anything wrong, it must be your fault" rant. Human Beings are so predictable.
Before leaving, the lady turns to me and stands silent, obviously wanting to make a comment. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" I ask, wording my question just the way my employee manual told me to. The lady looks uneasy as she tells me my shoelace is untied.
I roll my eyes and look down to my feet. Sure enough, my shoelaces are lying limply across the floor, looking completely pathetic. Can't I do anything right? Somewhere, off in the distance, I swear I can hear my dead Dalmatian answer with a sardonic "no".
Go to: Chapter 29
©1997 Alex Sandell but, if you're a book publisher and, you wanna get this puppy out, please get in touch with me, hand me a nice, big contract and, of course, a 12 pack of Grape Soda and maybe we can do lunch.
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