No meat, only beans.

I like saying how it takes about two weeks to adjust to a new job. I’m over two weeks in now, and I’d say I’m fully adjusted. I’m the kind of person that’s always moving. On a good day, I’m everywhere. That’s how it was at Panera. I could do everything in the store, shifting around from time to time without being told to. I can read situations well. First couple days at Taco Bell, I found myself standing around. I figured once I knew what else I could do, I’d do it.

I’ve been told by friends that responsible, hard-working people aren’t common. Now that I know drive-thru, I spend most of my time either doing drive-thru itself, or helping out whoever is over there. Other than that, I like doing little tasks like making sides of sour cream or guac, changing trashbags. Or dropping chalupas, like at the end of my shift today. I actually stayed twenty extra minutes, because I wasn’t going to leave until they cleared the screens. What was surprising was that I wasn’t asked to say. I really did get used to how Panera fucked me over royally.

I worked with Trisha today. She would be the girl I eyed when she came in last week and asked for an application. She has two strikes against her (addicted to eating crappy food, and smokes), but is good company and should be good help. I’ll refrain from actually mentioning all my damn coworkers, because reading things like that annoy me. I’ll stick to specific examples.

We have some odd dining room people. First on my mind is Keith. Keith is retarded. …No, seriously. He is. He is mentally retarded. I met him and I thought, “Wow, he’s retarded. ..Oh wait, he is.” He’s annoying, and obviously the mental deficiencies prevent him from being all that useful. Half the time he isn’t doing much of anything. I can’t fathom anybody robbing Taco Bell with him around. He has a tendency to talk to customers.

Maryanne is four foot something. I can’t even place what her problem is. She stutters, and is otherwise kind of scary. But harmless. She comes in a few hours a day and uh, doesn’t do much.

I’d expect nothing less than to work with a bunch of weirdos. If only they knew the truth about me. Ha ha.

Erika, one of the shift supervisors, thought I was a minor. I see I still have my youthful good looks. Fat Joe (as opposed to not-as-fat Joe) thought I was mid-twenties like him.

That’s another thing. Very few minors. And an hispanic base. In my ears I can hear Sonia and Gladys saying, “Okay, papi!”

My general manager is like a hobbit. She’s short, fat, but otherwise a pleasant GM. Hence why she’s a hobbit, and not a troll. Nothing bad about hobbits, right? My assistant GM likes playing WoW and other online games, and has a degree in photojournalism, and a bachelors in Computer Science.

“And yet I work at Taco Bell”, as he said to me. I had a hard time getting a read on him, but he’s growing on me. Last night he and Erika had an argument over regulations. He wanted to go by the book. I can respect that.

I’m kind of drained. I’m very curious how working and going to school is going to pan out. And lifting four days a week. Sleep. Lots of sleep. And timely wanking. I distinctly remember some times this past semester when the right wank at the right time was so satisfying in alleviating my stress.

Sarah reminded me that I’m visiting her tomorrow. She still has a standing offer of pot and a blowjob. And she’s all out of pot. Wait, that came out wrong. It’s basically a conflict over the fact that we’re not that into each other, and, dude, I think everybody would agree that I need a blowjob. I doubt I’d be able to relax enough to orgasm. Sarah says she’s good, but the fact that I’ve never had an orgasmic blowjob looms over my head. We’ll probably just sit around and watch Big Love. Mmm, Bill Paxton manass.

Been a bit more committed to tugging. Must grow more penis!

Concurrently, in order to stem my rising sex drive, I’ve wanked less frequently. That seems contradictory, but I find the more I wank, the hornier I get. I’d swear it has something to do with sexual activity raising testosterone levels.

OH.

I totally forgot the most amusing theme so far. Taco Bell gets a ridiculous amount of Indians. The phrase “No meat, only beans” is engrained in my head already. Fucking Indians. Hey, I’m half-Indian, I’m allowed to use the accent. Today, fifteen Indians came in, and ordered $74.43 dollars worth of food. Which still comes out to less than five dollars per person. Cheap asses.

NO MEAT. NO MEAT AT ALL. ONLY BEANS.

Taco Bell beans are gross, what is wrong with these people? Oh right, they’re cheap. That’s Indians for you.

Oh, I’m apparently going to call Jessica Emsley right about now so she can rate my accent. Excuse me. AND SHE’S ON DIAL-UP, SO SHE HAS TO SIGN OFF. HA HA, SHE’S SUCH A FAG.