So, myself and Chris the Crackhead (ALLEGEDLY!) were running around Fairborn, a suburb of Dayton filled with hilljacks and rednecks of the highest order, and I notice we are super close to a guy who's trying to steal a bigscreen TV from me. So I walk over to this guys apartment and knock on his door, hey whaddaya know, THE DOOR ISN'T EVEN SHUT.
Now at this point I can see the Bigscreen, but I'm not going in there because I'll probably get shot. So I start holding the door shut with one hand and knocking with the other, all the time thinking this is the dumbest thing I've ever had to do. Just when I start to think these retards aren't home I SEE THEM WALKING AROUND IN THEIR APARTMENT. So I do the logical thing and start shouting at them through the open door.
OC - "THE DOOR IS OPEN AND I CAN SEE YOU IN THERE, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR AND STOP BEING STUPID"
OC - "THIS IS RETARDED, COME TO THE DOOR LIKE A MAN, ONLY KIDS DO THIS SHIT!" Nothing.
At this point Chris is done doing whatever the fuck he was doing, and comes over to see what I'm upto. As soon as I see him near I tell him the following,
OC - "Chris go get me a stack of doorhangers." (they have our logo and the time we were there, we would always leave one.
Chris - "You mean one?"
OC - NO, CHRIS. Get me a STACK."
So he brings me about 30 of these doorhangers, and i start flinging them through the open door of the apartment. Once I was done with the stack, they still wouldn't come to the door so I left. They eventually got away with stealing that Bigscreen, curse their hides.
Next comes the story of Chuck the Murderer. Chuck was, by far, the most effecient Account manager I ever worked with. Which was my job title, FYI. Chuck had hair down to his shoulders, a goatee he would fashion into a point, roughly 3 teeth in his head that weren't rotten, kept a zippo lighter IN A SHEATH ON HIS BELT, and had a huge chain wallet. All of these things were against comapny policy, noone ever told Chuck to change, because Chuck was a murderer. He had actually spent 9 years in prison for manslaughter. He told me the story, about how he got into a struggle with a guy with a gun, then got it away from him and unloaded the clip in the guy's chest. Told about how the judge told him the second he had that gun he was in control, and didn't have to kill the guy. So Chuck goes to jail.
Fast forward about 20 years, he's working in his home town, everone knows he killed a guy, so nobody EVER fucks with him. The most beligerent he ever had to get was a nervous giggle he like to affect when the people were being unreasonable. That's all it ever took.
Chris the Crackhead was just that. This cat neglected to mention to the Boss that he was a recovering crackhead, and for some strange reason even after they found out, they put him in the managment training program. GOOD CALL CAP'N TRUSTING.
So they give Chris the key to the store, code for the alarm, and combination to the safe. What happens? You guessed it, visits the store over a holiday weekend and takes $1200 dollars from the safe.
To buy crack.
Because he's a crackhead.
He smoked it, the crack I mean.
I forgot to mention I was one of the most honest people working there. I knew guys who carries 18" long screwdrivers for popping locks, Chris the Crackhead once crawled into the unlocked window of a empty apartment so he could get past the locked door of the secured apartment complex. A guy named Quincy who worked at the Needmore store (ALL PROJECTS, and not the good ones) used to clip peoples cable if they were renting a tv and got behind on their payments.
One manager used to like to roll into the PJ's at 8am and put the box truck into reverse with the parking brake on, so the backup beeper would just go off constantly. Then he'd just wait till the shit hit the fan and tell people he was gonna be doing that every morning till he got his stuff back. He got that shit back, but not until he started using an airhorn too.
One guy said he would take the company van and park it behind the renters vehicle so they couldn't get out of their driveway, then have a second employee in the truck pick him up to go about the business for the rest of the day.
And this is just the stuff they bragged about. What illicit shit did they pull that they wouldn't talk about?
My advice is pay that bill on time, every week.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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