It’s summer folks. To many, that word means freedom, the sounds of laughing children, and extreme¬†laziness. Summer, to some people, does not solely mean season on earth in which it is hot. To them, it means it’s time to kickback and have fun.

I almost forget what that’s like. Almost. I remember it enough to the point where I glare at the laughing children and I scorn my peers whom have endless free time. For the past 2/3 years, around March/April is when I start my summer work season! Oh joy. My first summer working I worked at Busch Gardens inside of the Festhaus for many long hours, providing fat people more means in which to eat food. I guess I had enjoyed being around ¬†people and their need to consume, because the next summer I got a job at Regatta’s, one of Kingsmill Resort and Spa’s casual restaurants as a Bus Boy. “Now I get to wipe their asses too!” I would think cheerfully to myself as I would scrub away at hastily drawn tic-tac-toe markings off of tables, and pick up tossed portions of their food off of chairs.

Well this year I said, “Fuck people and their eating habits, I want a job that doesn’t involve food!” Or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself I did. In actuality, nobody would even call me back for an interview. Screw you too, McDonalds. Oh, and don’t think I forgot about you either, Chick Fil A. Bastards.

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