Thursday, March 24, 2011

Jam your lousy senior discount up your ass, Dunkin’ Donuts


Walking out of Dunkin’ Donuts, something seemed wrong to me as I looked at the receipt. Why was the small coffee I had bought so cheap?

In horror, I saw that the Dunkin’ Donuts cashier, Lasiah C, who was probably about 18 years old, had unilaterally decided that I was a Senior Citizen and therefore eligible for a 10% Senior discount. At first I thought that I must have been given some other customer’s receipt by accident. But this was sort of like believing that fairies exist, or that when you die you will remain alive through an afterlife, or that if you think positively enough, good thinks will happen to you.

I always knew this day would come, but I thought that the universe would at least hold off for another ten years before it deemed me old. I mean, I’m a young 45. I’m slightly encrusted, yet considerably less encrusted than men my age. I have at least some sex appeal left, don’t I? Certainly, I could not possibly be categorized as a Senior Citizen. The reality is that that is what happened, and the reality is that I need to live in reality.

This prompted me to make the decision to apply for the EFL course in Hungary before every fertile woman on the planet believes that I’m a Senior Citizen -- and for all I know, they might already. I was heavily leaning towards this decision anyway. This was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. This will mean that all the money I had saved up and planned to use to live in some glorified trailer park in this asshole country will be used on a course to give me certification to work as an EFL teacher in God-forsaken third-world countries, where I will probably be exploited and still live a life of shit.

What was I thinking to think that I could get a crappy job in some place like Dunkin’ Donuts and persuade some woman to gestate my brood? Maybe my age will be too great a hurdle in a poor country overseas too, but I have at least an opportunity there to not live the total life of fucking shit that I fully suspect I would live here, taking shit jobs.

I don’t have to commit myself to working overseas yet. I can take the lousy course overseas and make my decision about working overseas later. It is the middle road decision. It will give me a taste of what it will be like without having to take the complete plunge. The decision is costly -- it will be a lot of savings hemorrhaged, but I don’t want to live in this asshole country if I can help it. I believe I have slightly more to offer this world than serving up donuts in Dunkin’ Donuts or towels as a cabana boy. I think it’s better to live in China and help them speak English so that I can enable them to sell their cheap crap full of lead and God knows what than to be on the front-lines here, wearing a blue fucking apron, stocking Walmart’s shelves with China’s leaded merchandize.

And fuck my asshole father who says I need to see a shrink because I refuse to submit to a life of shit here. He thinks there are better options in this country for a middle aged guy (now, apparently a Senior Citizen) without a fucking resume, yet when I ask him to name one, he can’t. What homeless shelters has he ever lived in? What cars has he ever slept in? What cockroach infested rooms in bad neighborhoods has he ever endured? He has no clue how mean this countries’ streets are. It’s my life. It is not his! Even if I were to find a shrink who actually gave a fuck, he or she wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to help me. I know this because I’ve literally seen a hundred of these depraved motherfuckers.

If I fail I fail; let me fail on my terms!

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