“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Sunday, June 06, 2004

So about 12:30 we go to 7-11 to pick up some refreshments.

We, being myself, and my two droogs Brian and Nate. We only stopped because the place was close to my house, which means it's in the ghetto, and we needed beer and ice cream.

Damn Ben and Jerry...

As we approach the door we see some punk kid operating some piece of machinery set into the window by the door. He informs us that we can't go inside.

Brian, being as high strung and hyperactive as a crack addicted ferret, is already rattling the locked doors before he thinks to ask why not.

"Hey," says the punk "you're in the ghetto."

Upon further inspection it appears that the machinery mentioned earlier is a security drawer like they use in drive-through banks.

I didn't know whether to laugh or stab somebody.

I chose to laugh.

So Nate has to ask if they have 40 oz Budwiesers. Actually, he has to ask twice because, though they did a good job of securely installing the apparatus THEY DIDN'T PUT IN A MICROPHONE.

I laughed some more.

So the old woman working there goes back, looks at the beer case, comes back, and in her loudest voice, accompanied by international sign language, says yes they do.

Nate communicates that he wants two of them. The woman goes, gets them, and indicates to Nate to put the money in the drawer.

Ever see someone try to put 40 oz bottles through a bank drawer?

I have.

Actually, tonight makes eleven times I've seen it, but that's not really relevant to the story.

At this point it strikes me that a gun would have cost less than the bank drawer. It also strikes me that it would have been easier to teach the employees how to use a gun than that contraption (lets face it, most of the applicants probably already know how to fire one anyway) and the world would be made a better place one body at a time.

So Brian goes through a similar ordeal to get a 1-liter of Pepsi.

Seeing this, and realizing that it'll be a major pain in the ass to have the woman check to see what flavors of ice cream they have and scream them to me through the fucking glass, I abandon the idea of buying anything.

As we're leaving, a guy buys a case of Pepsi, and seeing as how it won't fit through the security device, she indicated that he should go to the door where she OPENED THE FUCKING DOOR to give him his purchase.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Now I can understand, seeing as how it's in a bad neighborhood, taking some steps to make the place more secure.

However, the best security system in the world won't do much if you OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!!

So I stabbed the guy.

Never did get my fucking ice cream either, dammit...

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