Saturday, June 19, 2010
So here’s a bit about me: I work at a breakfast place called Orange. Yes. I work. Hard to believe because I seem so upper class? Yes, sometimes it fools me, too.
You’ve probably been picturing me sitting all day at a lace counter topped, mahogany desk at the highest room of some castle/tower. Drinking tea and jotting down pithy witticisms, that, no doubt, will align intelligently with our country’s social momentum of the moment? No, I sell pancakes.
And I tried them today. Big Whoop… It’s my JOB. I don’t think of this as “cheating” because I. don’t. cheat. I’m just trying to live, God damn it! Make my way in this cruel world! How can I sell these delicious cakes if I don’t know how the colorful, whipped-creamed morsels assemble on my pallet! I swear! I am only living!! I am but a vessel!!! For the people… Ah! My delicate fingers! They’re full of frosting!!! FROSTING!!!!!!!!!!
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