it's time for more dairy queen bashing.

today i had no school. today i could have been at the mall indulging in some president's day sales or walking around town drunk or spending some quality time with my boyfriend. but no. i had to work. i had waste another 7 hours of my life in my stupid ass dairy queen sweatshirt that is about 8 sizes too big for me while slaving to the growing waistline of america.

today wasn't a particularly bad day, it's just that i'm bored as fuck so i feel like writing about something, about anything.

so the day starts off bright and early at 11 am. i begin to make dilly bars. you make dilly bars by making a circle of ice cream and poking a popsicle stick through it and then letting it freeze. so i was doing this, and this one manager named kourajh or something foreign was like, you have to put these popsicle sticks in on an angle and he gives me this lecutre about angling my popsicle sticks just right so that when the huge tray of dilly bars is put in the freezer they won't all stick together, oh great plan, let me get out my protractor so that i can measure the angle at which insert a god damn piece of wood into some ice cream. and the whole time he was babbling i was thinking about sneaking over and getting a frozen banana because i was hungry, and also because he has this really weird ass accent that makes him impossible to underatand PLUS he mumbles so whenever he talks it's just like, frozen banana time. so i got a frozen banana and it was gross and i had to throw it out and i was all like f this and f these popsicle sticks.

so later on in the day i was in the upstairs office straighten some shit out and kourajh calls from downstairs and he says "send amanda down so i can clean up this puke!" ew! puke! so i go down the stairs and walk out and i am all scared to see puke splattered everywhere and sure enough out on the floor there is like 7 puddles of puke and this mother is holding this little kid with more puke on his shirt and it's in her hands and she had to ask to use the sink in the back and i let her because EW HOLY FUCK WOMAN YOUR KID JUST PUKED THAT IS SO FUCKING NASTY DON'T EVER LOOK AT ME AGAIN. good god almighty! not to mention the wealth of stupid foreign people who come in and speak jibba jabba to me and expect me to whip out a dictionary and start translating. ok this one time, this guy came in, and this girl, i swear to god, she must have had a piece of her brain removed right before she came, and she was all like i want a sundae with hard strawberry dip.and then i was like, we only have cherry dip. and then she started saying she wants strawberries and cherries and then changing her mind and i had to stand there and like take out every fucking red topping in the store and asked if she wanted it and she would stare blankly and then say "i want that one" and then i would be like, ok, so a small cup of this? and she would like SCREAM and be like no i want the other one. BEAT YOUR KIDS, PEOPLE. BEAT THEM.

hm, why else do i hate work? i hate standing around for 7 hours at a time and i need to friggen sit god dammit, and i hate cleaning tables and then some freak ass kids come on and skank it up again! it never ends! THEY ARE ALL SO DIRTY.

one last annoying child story...one time these indian people came in, and they had this kid who must have been about three, and they are sitting down eating their ice cream...and this little kid walks over to one of the freezers, points at it, shrivels up his face, and screams for all he is worth. it scared the fucking SHIT out of me, i thought a man eating slug had attacked him or something. and what was worse, he would stop pointing to it, and then he would point to it again, and start screaming again. and his parents were just sitting there talking really fast in their native tongue..and haha one time i made someone a milkshake and there was a flea in it and i gave it to them anyway. HA.