The other night at around four in the morning I decided to drive over to Walmart and buy myself a printer. I hate to waste paper, but some publishers want a tangible copy mailed to them. I guess it helps weed out the lazy mother fuckers. If you can’t write something, print it, package it, and stick it in the mail – then maybe this career choice is the wrong one and you should sign back into Facebook. The most difficult aspect of freelance writing is all the other people applying who are god awful at what they do.
Like worse than me.
The employers are extremely jaded because of the excessive amount of dog shit they have to read through before finding someone worth a fuck. I feel their pain and why I won’t read anything until first Oprah tells me to. That’s a joke of course. Unlike every author on the planet having an Oprah sticker on my book will never be a dream of mine. I’m more of a Charles Bukowski than a Martha Stewart. I’m like fuck fame – give me pussy. That actually makes zero sense because without the first you can’t get the second.
You can see the pickle I’m in.
Do I continue to write what makes me smile or sell out and tone it down? We already know the answer to this because I struggle over buying a new pair of Vans or dinner that night. Let’s all hope staying true will pay off in the long run.
Anyhoo, so I’m at Walmart looking for the cheapest printer. I don’t need a scanner, nothing fancy; I’m going to stick this thing in my closet. On a shelf of course, but in my closet only to be used for random printing. I found one for around fifty bucks. The lady working quickly asked if it was only a printer I was shopping for because she knew of a cheaper machine for thirty dollars.
Score.
She must have noticed my blood shot eyes and could easily see life is kicking my ass. She then told me to abandon the USB cord I had chosen and instead buy another for five dollars cheaper.
Bless her.
It’s four in the morning; I don’t want to think about this shit. I couldn’t even find the English contents description on the printer box. Did this fucking thing already have ink cartridges or not? She must have understood French because I was informed it’s good to go.
Word.
Thanks for the help.
I would have asked her out, but it looked like she may have been homeless and I have to draw the line in the sand somewhere. Speaking of which, when I reached the check out counter a man was there with his girlfriend who was clearly a transvestite. He got all weirded out when seeing me like I had just caught him stealing or something. I didn’t care his chick is a dude, like I give a fuck. He was super uncomfortable and I began to believe this was the only time he would go shopping with her out in public: at four in the morning when everyone else is asleep, a.k.a. - his friends and coworkers.
It was safe.
I’ll be honest – she was super gnarly, but he was bald and looked like a pear so really it was a decent match. I was happy for them. I wanted him to relax, to put down his guard and talk to me. Just a simple “Hey what’s up, is it still raining outside or what?”
I wanted him to know I wasn’t judging his life choices and could care less if his chick has a bigger dick than I do. He was so embarrassed I think even his girl could see because they got all quiet and he distanced himself from her side. I remember thinking to myself, “Dude, you’re fucking up because once back at home its going to be at least forty-five minutes of bitching before she goes anywhere near sucking your dick.”
But whatever, these are his insecurities – not mine. I’m just a dude buying a printer. He’s the one crossing streams when it comes time for the two of them to take a piss.
The best part being once they awkwardly checked out and walked away nowhere near each other, I came outside in the rain to find them giggling their asses off while trying to load the car together. They were right back in their weird little world and could care less of the others around them - being that there were none, but me, walking by in the rain as if it’s just another sunny day at the beach. His chick wasn’t even tripping about him acting like an asshole inside the store. I mean clearly she was way beyond him in terms of dealing with judgment from strangers and maybe he was making progress. Who’s to say a month ago he wouldn’t have seen me, dropped his shit and ran? Who are we kidding, that man girl was going to suck his balls dry once at home. She’s so proud of him. I wanted someone to be proud of me. No one was waiting in my car to fill my face up with kisses. Just the fact my key clicker keeps fucking up and BMW charges $300.00 dollars for a new one.
So much for going out this weekend.
