Workin’ for the Weekend

5 06 2008

I started my summer job at the LCBO (aka liquor store) this week. Its…. alright. Okay. Mediocre. Not completely terrible. Not the greatest job I’ve ever had, but definitely not the worst either. As far as summer jobs go, its pretty rad, actually. Higher-than-minimum-wage wage, normal day shifts and normal evening shifts — no midnight shifts, ZERO food preparation or order taking. Plus its busy enough to keep me from wanting to die via awkward self-inflicted workplace accident. Although impaling myself on a case of wine bottles might have spectacularly gory results…

It is SO strange to have “normal” coffee breaks with “normal” people. Everyone that works there is married, many of them have kids, and they’ve been working together for years. They all have totally lame work nicknames: like Tiger, Champ, D-Man, Sassy, etc. As we were sitting in the break room, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, talk turned to sports. Hockey and golf, to be exact. This was the weirdest and most cliched break room conversation I could have ever imagined. Everyone except me knew the names, positions and stats of all the major players in the NHL, and had long, in depth conversations about the previous night’s playoff game. “Did you see that cross post shot last night?” and “Whatshisface made some great saves last night, and you know that he’s 0 for 4 and blah blah blah”. And the golf talk was even worse. Its ridiculous enough that people actually GO golfing recreationally, but these people WATCH golf on tv and DISCUSS it in great detail the next day. The only golf terms I myself am familiar with are “birdie”, “driver”, “caddie” and “Tiger Woods”. I only vaguely understood every three or four words that these people babbled about.

Conversations at most of my other jobs revolved around movies, music, cooking, tv shows (ie BSG, Sex and the City, Planet Earth, etc) and girl-talk. I have a sinking feeling that NONE of these things are going to be common ground with my new LCBO co-workers. Although I DID talk Food Network and baking with one girl, but she is a highly-allergic lactose intolerant celiac, so we don’t really appreciate each other’s recipes.

On a happier note, I was unceremoniously given a box cutter knife the other day. We got 500 boxes of various delicious alcohols, which all needed to be shelved, making a box cutter INCREDIBLY useful. I guess I could have gnawed on the boxes to open them if things have gotten really desperate, but thankfully, the assistant manager (who has already decided to call me Em) came by and saved my teeth from irreparable damage. So for the majority of my shift, as I hummed along to bad satellite radio, I thought of alternate ways to use my knife, including:

– bank heist

– emergency open heart surgery

– emergency hair cut

– emergency wire stripping electrical emergency (yes two ’emergency’ uses in one sentence)

– Fashion emergency tool (i.e. if your skirt was tragically clashing with the season’s hemline lengths, you could trim it to avoid a major fashion faux pas)

– back alley knife fight (sharks vs jets baby!)

Example of me being in a knife fight

Probably the scariest and most intimidating thing any of you have ever seen

Sidenote: I accidentally went to HMV yesterday after finding that my outrageous Visa bill had been mysteriously lowered by $500. I scored Wristcutters, The Onion Movie, Season three of Weeds and the Back to the Future boxset (which was on sale for only $10.99. TEN. NINTY-NINE. COMEEE ONNNNNNN can I get a FUCK YEAAAAH)




3 responses

7 06 2008


8 06 2008

I definitely would not like to run into you outside a Mac’s.

9 06 2008

yes, but do you have the dramatically amazing dance skills to pull off a knife fight? You have to do it in style, or not at all.

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