Sandwiched between dreams and reality is an overworked and under-appreciated slave in a tacky uniform working their 3rd double in a row; forcing a smile and taking your shit because you need to exercise control over something as you piss away your savings on the 'vacation of a lifetime,' and they need the tip.
Fueled on coffee, grease and cigarettes you set out to the last bastion of American hope--the casino floor. The elastic waistband on your "comfort-sized" pants groans under the heft of yet another 'lumberjack' breakfast as you park your decidedly non-lumberjackian, double-wide excuse for an ass into a bucket seat at the nearest slot machine, and begin to feed it quarters. All because the XXL t-shirt you bought at the airport gift shop says "feelin' lucky." And the saddest part is that as you pump your savings into a machine designed to take your money, you don't even smile; your souless eyes, sucked dry from the super-oxygenated air and stale cigarette smoke, are dead...your golden years are spent hooked up to a machine, watching lights blink in a choreographed dance to the polyphonic jingle of games like 'Lucky Larry's Lobster Run' and 'Kabloom.'
Man...I cannot wait to retire.
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1 comment:
man, you really need to find a new job in aspen.
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