Thank You…

February 14, 2011 at 2:07 am (Cussed Dumbers)

…thank you very much. I have earned the Memphis Mafia reward a-waiting. Touch it and draw back a nub.

In Master P’s Army, General Disarray has been demoted to Sargent Shitweasel. Yup, Uncle Cliffy’s in the doghouse with me again.

On Thursday when I arrived for a half-shift, the office keys were not in their usual place. I rooted around, checked drawers, the top of the garbage. The keys are kept near a trash can that catches unwanted receipts, fruit peels, soda cups and (if Weird Steven is around) giant green loogies hawked from the tar-pits of his soul. Not the most disgusting thing imaginable, but not fun to pick through.

I asked the Tasmanian Pitbull if she’d seen the keys. “No, Cliffy drop in the garbage, then lie about it. Garbageman took, is gone.”

A back-up key was made, and relocated to a spot where Uncle Cliffy wouldn’t knock it into the trash. When Rumpole arrived to relieve me, he looked in the old spot. I briefed him.

“They’re probably in the garbage. Trash pickup isn’t until Monday morning.”

?…?…? The GENIUS doesn’t know this?

Rumpole took over the register, and before counting out I locked my till in the office, grabbed a box-cutter and went to the dumpster. I pulled all the big black plastic bags out, and started with the one at the bottom. Theoretically the oldest, but not. I had to dig through four days of coffee grounds, half-finished sodas, an expired pink-frosted sugar cookie that is old enough to be a grandparent by now. A smaller bag, firmly compacted in Uncle Cliffy’s trademark way, was the second to last bag left. It was that or the one I’d just discarded. I cut into Cliffy’s.

In amongst the receipts for the day were the office keys, on the fucked-up metal ring that Grinder attached them to so we wouldn’t lose them. I rinsed them off, then washed my hands for about five minutes. Once you’ve witnessed Weird Steven hawk up a greenie, you can never be clean enough.

This wouldn’t bother me so much if it hadn’t happened before. This is the second time I’ve had to dumpster-dive after Cliffy has absent-mindedly knocked the keys into the garbage. I put the old key next to the new key in the new, safe spot. I will not brag too much. In fact, I will probably get the huffy treatment from Uncle Cliffy, who KNEW they were there. Because he knows things. He knows everything, and I’m covered in coffee grounds and radioactive snot.

I’m about ready for that doughnut.

In a few more minutes.

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