Thursday, January 31, 2013

The Fault, Dear Hillmombans, Is Not In Our Stars...


Indeed. Lets admit it. We deserve what we hath wrought. Do you doubt that an employee of Domino's pizza would ride the kitchen broom like a stick-horse in full view of the customers? If so, then you might be a sheltered septuagenarian. A throwback to another era. When dinosaurs walked the earth, perhaps. Dinosaurs who did not suffer broom-horse-riding pizza-makers gladly. I guarantee you that such behavior is the rule, not the exception. New hires, the sheltered youth who could not wait to get a job for spending money, talk about asking off for the weekend, after working only a four-hour shift that consists of training. Declare, after working one true shift, that they will not be cleaning the bathroom because that is a job for somebody else. Their manager, perhaps. Or their mother, who should be glad to come to work and help out. After all, she does it at home.

Yes, the I'm okay/you're okay, everyone's a winner, rainbow and unicorn world has dealt these kids five aces. They don't understand the rewards of a job well done. Because even a job mostly undone, and piss-poor done at that, has garnered them an 'A' or a trophy or a write-up in the newspaper their whole young lives. They do not understand intrinsic values. From the time they can walk, or even before, they are smothered with praise for the most mundane acts imaginable. "Hand me the Cheerio. THANK YOU! Give me a kiss. THANK YOU! Oh, you found a leaf under the tree? For me? THANK YOU! Don't pull the doggie's tail off. THANK YOU!"

Business really should be paying them just to call in and say they wish they could work, but they have already made plans for Friday and Saturday night, and Sunday is church that they are planning on getting up before 1:00 and attending, and, well, weeknights are school nights, and their inflated 'A' average might suffer if they work instead of text and peruse Facebook all night.

It's tough out there for a simp.


Kathy's Klothesline said...

You are preachin' to the choir!

Sioux said...

And I continue to shout out the same message: Bring dodgeball back!

Yes, life is tough. Sometimes you get smacked in the face with a red rubber ball. You have to run fast. You might run your hardest and still get hit with the ball.

But there are other times when you aren't in the middle, and you get to smack the crap out of someone with the ball.

THAT'S when life is good.

Bringing back dodgeball and Red Rover would help prepare our young cherubs for what lies ahead...

Hillbilly Mom said...

And you are singing to the preacher. It's music to my ears.

That is certainly sound advice. And after dodgeball, let's all go home, kick off our shoes, hop in the rusty red wagon, and let gravity pull us down the sidewalk to the bottom, where it is cracked in a patchwork of broken concrete as it passes over the creek where raw sewage is funneled by design, nary a curb or side-rail to prevent unforeseen tipping over the ten-foot drop, with helmets not even on the horizon.