Haters

                I work for some goddam place.  Some goddam place that requires us to wear uniforms.  Uniforms that make you look like you’re workin at some goddam place.  “Are these uniforms blue?”, you’re probably not asking yourself.  No, dear reader.  No, they are not.  They consist of green pants and a tan shirt, tucked in, with a tan belt to match.  I don’t feel embarrassed to wear the uniform.  Fuck it.  At least I’m working and I look like it and who cares?

                I’ll tell you who cares.  Fuckin just about everybody.  I’ve never felt so consistently disrespected in my entire life than when I’m wearing the TruGreen uniform.  And I’ve been the kinda guy that you’d think generally draws some pretty disrespectful looks.  I lived on the streets for years, rarely showering or washing my clothes.  I’ve driven around for days on end breaking down crack with Koolaid and shooting it up in my beat up, hot pink Geo Tracker that had no muffler and sounded like a goddam Cessna airplane.  I’ve walked into stores with blood all over my elbows and hands, hallucinating and sweating and walked the hell out with hundreds of dollars worth of merchandise without drawing any suspicion at all.

                I’d think that if you look like a working Joe, shirt tucked in and stopping in to get a Gatorade or a donut or something that the people at the stores would smile and tell you to have a nice day and all that.  They don’t.  They look at you like you’re the scum of the earth.  If I had been up for 3 days and was writing bad checks they’d be sweet as pie.  If my hands were black with filth from being unwashed for weeks on end, they’d kiss my ass out of fear.  But since I’m in a TruGreen costume they’re sullen and they watch me to make sure I’m not stealing a Twix bar. 

                So you know what I do?  I steal 2 Twix bars and glare at them on my way out.  Fuck it.  Time to go to work.