August 01, 2003 - 11:51 p.m.
Next to the restaurant I work in is a bowling alley, so regretably, the restaurant is almost always filled with rednecks and hicks. There is a man named John who works as the mechanic in the bowling alley, although mostly he just walkes around and does nothing. Every once and a while, he'll come over and do odd jobs for us, and we'll feed him. He's an old man, and he's pretty vulgar and disgusting. His hygine isn't remarkable, but he wouldn't hurt a fly.
He's infamous where I work because of his girlfriend, or should I say, his whore. Scott will tell anyone who will listen about how he once bought her a bacon cheesburger and she announced, "You're next blow job is free."
I say that she's a pretty cheap whore, and Scott tells me that she's an ugly one, so she pretty much takes what she can get.
"Ever seen a crackhead?" Justin asks me.
"No."
"Look out the snack bar window. John's girlfriend is there."
So I take my cup of Diet Pepsi and go outside to refill, taking my time to look at this girl. Or if that's what you would call this pathetic creature.
She was short and underfed. Her hair was cropped extremely short and her face was homely. Her shirt was a little revealing, but it was clear she had nothing to reveal. She was flat as a washboard and had no curves. She could have easily passed as a boy.
"Cute pants," she said to me as I walked to the soda machine, careful not to stare.
"Thanks," I said. I've never been so grateful to God in my life. I may not be a supermodel, but at least I have enough brains to never have to succumb to the level of prostitution. And if I ever had to, at least I would never give head to filthy old men for a bacon cheeseburger.
So I just sort of rushed back in and drank some of Justin's rum and coke. Or tequila and coke. Or margarita in coke. It was pretty good though.
