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I have no social skills.
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I have no social skills.

llyriuml:

writterings:

writterings:

writterings:

writterings:

writterings:

whenever a young kid joins our staff at work im just like huh. guess im a father now.

these kids will be like “can you drive me home? i don’t have gas money but-” and im already pullin out my keys and am like. sweetheart, you are a child. i am not charging a child gas money.

i literally almost lunged across the counter to throw hands with some old hag who yelled at and insulted one of our 16 y/o girls but instead i threw her sandwich at her and told her to never fucking come back

old dudes will flirt with our young girls too and i’ll be like ay man this is a truck stop, normal customer service rules dont apply here. i can and will call the cops on you.

im the only manager that actively tells them to steal food because these are teenagers and they are HUNGRY

You are the only valid manager

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stories from school

whatevenrosslynch:

literalstardust:

The Jellybear Incident of 6th Grade

It’s the sixth grade. Somehow, I had come across a catalogue for the store they bought all the school store crap from. You know, the smelly erasers and dumb keychains that they sell for like a buck apiece. So I somehow got this catalogue, and little old entrepreneur me was like “I should buy something from this and sell it at school for an absurdly high price to gain basically pure profit.” As sixth graders do. So I bought two huge tubs full of these keychains called Jellybears. This is what they look like.

image

So I bought a metric fuckton of these assholes for about 20 cents a piece. I start selling them at school for a buck fifty. Like I said, pure profit. 6th grade me was brilliant. I broke even in like eight seconds of me whippin these bad boys out at school. Saying these are were a hit is an understatement. They were like a home run triple, or some other sports metaphor. People are buying this shit at lunch time, between classes. Shit, one girl even admitted to selling the ones she bought off me around her neighborhood for like five bucks. I was happy to be the middleman, but I digress. The point is, not only did I gain entrepreneurial skills, I also made a pretty penny. However, a month into my brilliant business, I get a call down to the office.

I had never been called to the office before. I was such a goody two-shoes you wouldn’t believe. This was in a school that boasted like two fights per week. The ratio of cops and administrators to students was like 1:3. And there were 1700 people at this school. That’s a whole lot of authority figures for a whole lot of miscreants and ne’er-do-wells. And here I was, reading large pretentious books and wearing polo shirts, with a gigantic backpack and in an advanced math class. I was, and still am, a lame weeny. Just wanted to put that in perspective.

Anyway, I was called down to the office that day. Literally shaking in the huge chair they had for me, facing down the terrifying vice-principal, she pulled out a Jellybear.

It was the DIVA one, if I’m not mistaken. I was then given a good lecture about how I’m not allowed to sell things on campus without explicit permission, yadda yadda, the whole spiel. Except I felt there was something fishy about the whole thing. Maybe it was how she held the Jellybear in her hand, perhaps it was the way she confiscated the rest of them. 

After asking around with the intense gossip network of middle school, I discovered the real reason the administration confiscated the Jellybears.

They had reason to suspect I was filling them with vodka.

They had reason to suspect that I, the tiny, stupid haired, braces-clad sixth grader who played a tuba bigger than she was was the head of a sophisticated alcohol distributing cartel in which I punctured and drained the goop from cute keychains, refilled them with straight vodka with a syringe, sealed them off with no trace, and sold them around school.

I’m not sure if I’m flattered that they assumed me capable of that sort of espionage, or insulted that they thought me dumb enough to sell middle schoolers straight vodka for A BUCK FIFTY. 

really who did they think i was i was in advanced math for petes sake.

This was a wild ride from start to finish.

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the-swift-tricker:

sometimes a family is a brooding king of the underworld, his flowery wife (who can and will kick your ass), his adopted goth/death-obsessed son, his best friend/appointed family aunt (who’s definitely not a witch), and their three-headed, monstrous puppy

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queerlection:

[Image description - Images of the androgyne, neutrois, genderqueer, bigender, agender and nonbinary pride flag with the text: NOT ANDROGYNOUS, STILL ANDROGYNE, NOT ANDROGYNOUS, STILL NEUTROIS, NOT ANDROGYNOUS, STILL GENDERQUEER, NOT ANDROGYNOUS, STILL BIGENDER, NOT ANGRODYNOUS, STILL AGENDER, NOT ANDROGYNOUS, STILL NONBINARY. End description.]

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