Advance Warning

by James MacLaren

So ok. So I’ve got a fabulously shitty job. Behind the counter at a convenience store. Of course it sucks, and sucks hard. What can I say?

I’ll tell ya what I can say. I can say that without exception, every last one of us is an asshole! Big time! The size and scope of the assholery that waltzes into my little store each and every day is truly breathtaking.

This, in a peculiar sort of way, is fortunate for me.

Cause I’m some kinda half-assed writer.

I get to write about all these assholes.

Lucky me, eh?

And so, with malice in my heart (I’m an asshole too, remember?), I intend to describe the differing species of asshole that take the time to present themselves to me. And, with yet more malice in my heart, I intend to disseminate these little descriptions far and wide, for the amusement and edification of all the other assholes out there, none of whom are aware of their own status as assholes, but who can sure the hell appreciate the fact that everybody else is guilty as charged.

The lesson is clear. Be careful when you enter the convenience store, motherfuckers. That idiot behind the counter might not be exactly the kind of idiot you take him to be. And the bastard keeps the tape recorder running at all times.

How often these little snippets of venom will get tossed out into the wider world is completely unknowable. Variables of time and tide, surf and sun, distractions like pretty girls who say “Yes,” and my own damnable whim will greatly affect the production of these “reviews.” But the tape is well and truly running at all times, and if nothing else, I’m for sure as hell getting the headers and frameworks down on cyberpaper every time a new species of asshole makes the mistake of allowing me to examine it.

Tra la.