You don't want to be an astronaut

Every time a child tells me he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up, I call him an idiot who should shut his stupid liar mouth.

You don't want to be an astronaut. An astronaut trains for months and then when he gets to space he doesn't even meet any aliens. He just sits in a space ship in the cold, dark void of space while people on earth go skateboarding and eat pizza. You want to be an astronaut, kid? You're retarded.

An astronaut has to eat food out a tube and go to the bathroom inside of his space suit. If you want to eat everything as a paste and then crap inside your own space pants, be my guest, but you don't want to be an astronaut. Your dreams are stupid and so is your stupid child face.

And that's why Daddy hits you.

(work.)

Here's a response I received from a stranger on AIM:
"so wtf dont discouarge them let them be an astronaut how do u kno they wont be one ur a idiot for tellin them that"

I guess I can't argue with that, but only because it's hard to read.

Interviewee wants to bang my sister

This week I'm doing interviews with potential rovers, and for the most part they're going very well. However, we've had a couple interviews that just straight up sucked.

So we're interviewing this mediocre guy for the roving position, which involves driving a van around campus and delivering and/or fixing things. As soon as we told him that this was the job for which he was interviewing, he looked crestfallen.

It was like we'd just told him that the job would require him to walk around a retirement center wearing a nightgown, occasionally spanking all the old people with a cricket paddle (unless he's into that sort of thing, in which case it's like we told him the job wouldn't involve cross dressing and butt spanking).

So he looks confused and sad after getting the details, so he asks us:
'Well...um... are you hiring any consultants right now? You know, the people in the fishbowl?'
'No we are not.'
'Oh.'

So that was awesome. I hope that guy doesn't date like he interviews.

'Wow, so this is our first date, huh?'
'Yep, it sure is.'
'Hey, can I have sex with your sister?'
'Nope.'
'Oh.'

And like with most bad dates, we may not be seeing him again for a while.

(work.)

Nice tits, though.

An awkward chat with Chachee

When I worked at a grocery store over the summer three years ago, I had trouble talking to my coworkers.

For example, one time Chachee (sic), an attractive married woman in her early 20s, was telling me about how she gave Bryce, an also-married coworker who shared some sexual tension with Chachee, a ride home.

'So Bryce was flirting with me as usual during the car ride, then when I dropped him off, I told him, 'I'm going to go home and have sex with my husband now!''
And I, being socially inept, responded to her story with, 'Poor guy.' Then realizing she may think I was saying her husband was unlucky, I added, 'Bryce, I mean. Not your husband. He gets to have sex with you.'

Awkward.

(work.)

Making chit chat with my coworkers at the grocery store was hard for me. I'm surprised I didn't say something like, "Bryce is the poor guy, I mean. You know, because he doesn't get to have sex with your husband."

Experience points on a weekly timesheet

If you grew up playing video games, you may have wanted to grow up to be some adventurer who quests for glory and slays evil on a daily basis. You wanted experience points and gold pieces.

Well, now I'm in the real world, and the experience points are now hours on a timesheet. My gold pieces are directly deposited into my checking account every two weeks. My broad sword is a screwdriver and my trusty steed is a white van filled with computer parts.

Something has gone horribly wrong.

(dungeon crawling from 7:30 to 4:30.)

Triple decker Birdseye and hatred for binding

Back when I worked at the bindery, I had trouble communicating with my boss. He'd try to shoot the shit with me, but I'm pretty sure he was just doing that so I didn't go home and hang myself after working in his shitty bindery every day of the summer.

For lunch, I'd pack myself sandwiches that had two layers to them. Bread, meat, bread, meat, bread. These sandwiches were probably the most exciting part of my day, which says more about the bindery than it does my sandwiches.

One day my boss walked by and saw the three pieces of bread and said, 'WOW! Triple decker Birdseye!' I smiled, then said, 'Well, it's not really a triple decker sandwich. There are three pieces of bread, but that just means there are two layers to it, which makes it a double decker sandwich. However, I get what you're saying.'' He'd stopped listening before I even opened my mouth, which meant that he had just made me some asshole talking about his sandwich on his lunch break.

Man, I hated that bindery.

(out.)

When I think about my favorite bindery experiences from the two months I worked there, I can come up with two. The first is the time a coworker made me this awesome macaroni and cheese on my birthday. The second is the time I took this huge dump at work and I got to stop putting art catalogs in boxes for like ten minutes.

Those are pretty much the fondest memories I have of the bindery. Eating and pooping.

Going to the bathroom at work was a treat because it was easily the most stimulating activity at the bindery. My two favorite bindery experiences could have been combined into one amazing day at work if the macaroni and cheese gave me the really bad diarrhea I so desired. I would have eaten lunch, punched in, then sat in the bathroom with my glorious, glorious indigestion at 8 dollars an hour.

Google almost turned me into a donkey

Yesterday night, Google rented out Pinball Pete's and let everyone come in and eat pizza, drink pop, and play games. Everyone who was there had a really good time.

The event scared me, though. I was so happy I got suspicious.

These people are hiring for an amazing job and they're giving everyone free games and pizza with no catch. Remember in the story of Pinocchio when all the kids went to Pleasure Island and had a great time, and then they got donkey fever, turned into donkeys to be sold at the market? I felt like Google was letting us have that much fun. So much fun it'll only end in us turning into donkeys.

Still, I got a shirt, so that's awesome.

(work.)

Second reason why the event scared me:
If you want a job with Google, you have to talk to the reps that are there, and it becomes just like a high school dance all over again. The pretty ladies are walking around, waiting for you to talk to them, and you're too nervous to say hi, so you just end up nodding at them when you walk by. This kind of shyness will not result in a job of any kind, whether it be blow, hand, or salaried.

The event may not have turned me into a donkey, but after I was too scared to talk to any Google reps, I felt like an ass. Close enough, I guess.

LEFTOVER IDEAS:
Oh man, if I went out on a date with a girl and at the end of the night she leaned over and gave me a salaried job, I would be disappointed at first, then thrilled the next week when I started my new salaried job.

However, I'm pretty sure a lot of people at that company would have also almost gotten a blowjob from this lady and settled for a salaried, non-blow job, and that may be awkward. This woman must get around if she's going on dates with dudes and then exchanging employment for not blowjobs. I don't know how you'd set up something like that.

I just don't.