|You don't want to piss me off!|
I was heading into the restaurant a bit early, as I had some things to take care of before we opened. Upon arrival I was told by the print shop guy next door that the Nazis, (this is how i will be referring to National Grid throughout this blog), had been here with the police and a locksmith earlier in the day.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Then I'm informed that they couldn't get in. So i put my key in the lock and am now covered in graphite and the key won't turn.
This is when the rage starts to filter in.
In the meantime, I'm sticking my arm through the mail slot on the front door and trying to grab the stick that's lodged in the push bar, so that I can open the door by pushing on the bar. My wrist is going to be very sore and bruised tomorrow.
|He beat it by eating anorexic people!|
Rage is almost explosive.
Then the hub starts yelling at me while simultaneously yelling at the Nazis on the phone, telling me to yank the stick out of the door, not understanding that I can't touch it with anything more than one finger and I'm in some serious pain wedged inside of this mail slot. This is where I lose it and start screaming a slew of obscenities, loud enough for half of the damned city to hear me.
I caught some onlookers from the lot across the street and I screamed a whole bunch of swears at them. Hey, I like to include everyone when I snap.
|Vee ist here to turn off your gas! Ya vul!|
By this time our bartender arrives and she has long skinny arms, so she gives it a go and moves the stick a bit, but nothing. Then a regular shows up and he gets it to move even more, but still nothing. So we call a guy that we refer to as Hitler, that helps us out with the cleaning, and he came by with pry-bar and we finally got the damned door open!
I immediately find the Nazi bill and see that we have until April 28th to pay. Hmmm, that's eight days from now according to every calendar in the land. So, we call yet again and have now been waiting for over an hour to receive a call from
I had planned on blogging about my physical therapy and walking adventures, damned Nazis, always ruining everything!
I'm going to go walk this off and get some retail therapy at the same time.
Happy birthday Hitler you Fucking Douche!