mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary

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You're Not A Rock Star

Dear Guy Who Works at the Juice Plant;

I recognize that there isn't much light in your very dismal life. You work at the Juice Plant for chrissakes, inside a large office complex, in the heart of downtown. You blend up fruit and vegetables for lots of people in suits all the livelong day. And those people, they often don't even acknowledge your effort in bringing them healthy and nutritious meals on the go. Not so much as a word of thanks. So as I said, I feel your pain. Nonetheless, I did not appreciate our encounter today.

You remember, don't play coy with me. I was trying to depart from the aforementioned office building in which you mix your concoctions. I was walking quickly, heading towards the exit. Perhaps, I wasn't paying enough attention to what I was doing. My mind was definitely elsewhere, I'll admit. So when I slammed hard into the glass doors with my face, I suppose it was my fault. Yes, I can read and yes the doors do say "pull" as opposed to "push." Those were the questions you asked as you cackled with laughter and pointed me out to your Juice Plant cronies, right? And that cackling, it went on a bit too long and had an evil edge to it, don't you think? There was something more to it, I could tell. A certain deep seeded hatred for what you deem as my type. Well, I was a bit stunned at the time but I've thought about now and I have a thing or two I'd like to share with you.

Number one: You are not a rock star. That hairdo you're sporting may work if you're a member of the Hives but might I remind you that you work at the Juice Plant! That's right you are a member of the Juice Plant Team and as such you are also to wear the required Juice Plant uniform - a polo shirt complete with colorful logo and kacki pants with pleats. Might I suggest you look in the mirror before mocking others?

Number two: Wearing a studded leather belt with your uniform does not make it look any cooler.

Number three: Although it may not be apparent when I'm all dressed up for work and hurrying off to a meeting, I am way cooler than you. I have more coolness in my little finger than you do in your whole body. I know about bands and scenes that you can't even begin to dream of buddy. So take your cooler-than-thou-attitude and shove it up your ass. And when you see me at the Crocodile and you try to chat with me, I plan to give you the same look you gave me today, the one that says "I'm above you, don't talk to me."

Number four: Just because I am wearing a suit does not mean I am a tool of the man. I work for a small nonprofit and I put roofs over the heads of low income families and individuals. Actually, you are far more of a tool than I am (and I mean that as it sounds). You work for Juice Plant, Inc. which is probably owned by some other multi-corporational conglomerate of evil. Basically, you are a foot soldier of "the man." And not only that, the beverages you serve are deceivingly unhealthy. I've seen the nutritional information for your products. They're ridiculously high in calories.

Number five: Get a job at an independent record store and then you can intimidate me. Till then, I am way hipper than you.

In closing, I'd like to advise you that I will be visiting you regularly from this point forward. I will be showing up with various friends to laugh at you while you work. Although I normally have great respect for people in the service industry (hell, nothing is harder than dealing with the public), I think you are just a bit too surly and full of yourself for your own good. I wish you a lifetime of cash register jockeying and I want you to know that I find your situation as hilarious as you find mine.

Sincerely,

Mrs-Roboto

3:17 p.m. - 2003-03-26

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