Errands suck. So does navigating the throngs of bourgeois blondes, sand all up in my a*s, just to get some darn challah. Alas, the day, winding down to its dismal end, was all but elevated to heavenly heights by the pasty, awkward, sous (sous, sous, sous) chef a la tiki hut at the back of the store.
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Dear Employee, there you were: the proverbial tofu of a deep fried wanton; concocting some vaguely Asian inspired dish, abiding by your charitable duties to feed the rich and hungry. Far from famished, I couldn't help but be drawn to your tray. But more precisely, enticed by your dubious and slightly unhygienic demeanor. What can I say, I like 'em dirty. And it's such a respite to see someone who doesn't give a sh*t...and may just go out of his way to be as gross as possible.
Friendliness is not one of my organic attributes, so I was taken aback by the compliment you paid me. I think I said something about being gross because I just came from the beach. I'm not a receptacle for kind words so I hope you dig self-effacing witticisms. You're not gorgeous or anything but damn, you're skinny, deliciously awkward, and an endearingly poor conversationalist. You remind me of a less megalomaniacal Ahmadinejad. I could say a breath of fresh air but, surely, if I'm to win your heart, "fresh" isn't the desired adjective.
While it's no doubt your TJ duty to be unabashedly nice to patrons, there's a tiny/big part of me that secretly/openly hopes you'd want to indulge in your employment place's namesake and, umm, do some Trading of our own. We should drink sangria in the park. Maybe take some ketamine and practice making babies. Because you are lovely. Probably f*cked up, but lovely nonetheless.
So here I go, throwing it out into the cyber universe. If you think this is you, write back with what you told me. We have but a few days to fall in then out of love.
- Location: bread aisle
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests