It was a series of events, "mind-blowing" series of events. It all first began arriving to work having to relieve myself. Upon entering the bathroom stall, it seems that each weekend, someone at the same employment as I, places in each stall over the toilet roll dispensers, Chick Christian pamphlets. Full of hypocrisy and humor, I couldn't resist grabbing each one and indulging myself in whispering hysterical laughter and quickly exiting the restroom.
The night was young, and insanity was already showing its whimsical face to the surface. The famous R&B singer Brian McKnight arrived this night, which gathered an enormous amount of unstable and rather obnoxious fan base. With loads of alcohol, and eager to throw their money around from their social security checks, people were rabid, senseless, grotesque, and putrid. Making ends meet in the position I'm currently working, I encounter the most stereotypical characters imagine in a casino, but nothing can compare to (which hopefully, to whom is reading this, never does) seeing a late 30's African woman, completely bare skinned, gravity pulling her breasts to the middle of her stomach, and a horrific display of a"mini gunt" nonchalantly blow drying her XL size panties from urinating herself. Trying to erase this image flowing in my memory storage, in the banks of my head, that stores images, goofiness, and verbal communications, was repeatedly still breaking through my image/mind block system, ( I have as a safety guard for disturbing misfortunes I encounter) like a damn cracked and flooding into a village of cleanliness and dignity. She was on a repeat, like a broken cog stuck between two wooden wheels, swaying back and forth mumbling to herself drying her drenched undergarment. Seeing as I was the only one her drunken, dazed, glaucoma bulging eyes locked sharply to, for only a fraction of a second, she begins to effortlessly repeat "he had to spill his drink on me.....what time is it?" I just pretend to believe I'm a ghost floating pass a situation I'm not ready to confront (which I do a lot) with my broom and dustpan and hide in a stall waiting for the "storm" to calm. I desperately tried to erase the sounds of the dryer, while hiding out, blowing dry her urine soaked panties ( saying "panties" was too dignified for this woman, it felt more like burlap sack). The sounds of the fabric hitting the wind of the dryer, and making fart sounds with her "burlap sack" was horrendous.
The night was young, and insanity was already showing its whimsical face to the surface. The famous R&B singer Brian McKnight arrived this night, which gathered an enormous amount of unstable and rather obnoxious fan base. With loads of alcohol, and eager to throw their money around from their social security checks, people were rabid, senseless, grotesque, and putrid. Making ends meet in the position I'm currently working, I encounter the most stereotypical characters imagine in a casino, but nothing can compare to (which hopefully, to whom is reading this, never does) seeing a late 30's African woman, completely bare skinned, gravity pulling her breasts to the middle of her stomach, and a horrific display of a"mini gunt" nonchalantly blow drying her XL size panties from urinating herself. Trying to erase this image flowing in my memory storage, in the banks of my head, that stores images, goofiness, and verbal communications, was repeatedly still breaking through my image/mind block system, ( I have as a safety guard for disturbing misfortunes I encounter) like a damn cracked and flooding into a village of cleanliness and dignity. She was on a repeat, like a broken cog stuck between two wooden wheels, swaying back and forth mumbling to herself drying her drenched undergarment. Seeing as I was the only one her drunken, dazed, glaucoma bulging eyes locked sharply to, for only a fraction of a second, she begins to effortlessly repeat "he had to spill his drink on me.....what time is it?" I just pretend to believe I'm a ghost floating pass a situation I'm not ready to confront (which I do a lot) with my broom and dustpan and hide in a stall waiting for the "storm" to calm. I desperately tried to erase the sounds of the dryer, while hiding out, blowing dry her urine soaked panties ( saying "panties" was too dignified for this woman, it felt more like burlap sack). The sounds of the fabric hitting the wind of the dryer, and making fart sounds with her "burlap sack" was horrendous.
This went on for too long, so I had to escape. I counted to three......................
1...................2..............................(teeth grinding together)..........3, I quickly walked by her saying "yes......uh huh"until I could no longer hear her tones of her raspy drunken voice in my hearing.
After escaping a death trap, I had to clean the stage and backstage of where Brian Mcknight performed. The stage was cluttered with crumbled cheezits, water bottles, batteries, and believe it or not, chicken bones (that's right you heard it here). Cleaning the trash in the backstage, I thought of the brilliant yet ridiculous plan to make money off this asshole. With my latex gloves on, I reach into the trash and pull out at least 3 things, 1. Another chicken bone. 2. Water bottle with possible McKnight fingerprints. 3. Stride gum packet. This is exploitation at its highest absurd form, desperate times calls for desperate measures, which I could say beats the hell out of the idea of prostitution any day! So I wrap the items carefully into a sack, store them secretly in my backpack and the night is finally over to clock out. Counting down the seconds to 7:00 AM, I recalled quietly in my head the time when Anna Nicole died and people went through her trash and sold her trash on Ebay and thought, "maybe this might be the funniest random thing I have thought of yet in selling". 7:00 was here, I clocked out, and headed towards my car, feeling like a messenger carrying 1 million in cash in a briefcase. Jumped in the car, turn the car on,and the ride home was nothing but crazy head convulsing laughter. Another memory to take to the grave.
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