i didnt go to college...i think that is how it is spelled

in my years i have had many types of gigs. it isnt that i am unworthy of employment. it is that they are unworthy of having me as an employee. sometimes i think and say man i wish i went to college. but then again. some grads are idiots. i thinkik and believe life lessons teach you more. i like the fact that i am adaptable to alot of things. and in all of these years i can say that i never been in a situation where i can say 'that was horrible job"

i have done alot of shit. which in my mind kind of makes me an asset to some companies. they want you to be able to handle diversity. multi task and all that good shit. hell, some of the jobs i know wouldnt help me in corporate america.

when i was younger, say 19/20. i dont think i cared to much abou working. i had jobs but id rather hustle weed and other drugs. the sad thing is that when you smoke alot of weed. dont expect to come out on top all the time in that area.

if i can name a job that was the worse. i could say that washing the exterior of airplanes was the worse. i mean shit. big ass brushes. and we sitting here wasing the belly of a 727 to get it sparkling. so many times i wondered how the fuck this is even possible. who needs a bling blinging ass plane? the sad thing is that i did this when i was like 19/20 years old. it was fun then, because i dont know if we really did sit, and i had a good old head friend that was one of the coolest niggas on the planet. and my girl at the time was working the same shift, overnight doing security. she was okay, but her girl was even better. luck of the draw i guess. now some years later when i was 29, i was hard on my luck, and i went to some agency in the hood that get you jobs at the airport.

why was my ex supervisor from the same plane washing job there. and what the fuck does she offer me? the same damned plane washing gig that i worked at nearly 10 years earlier. diff company owner. same bullshit. the difference is when you are 19 you can do this dumb shit for hours. i wasnt built for this shit at 30 years old. the supervisor was a crackhead with missing teeth. and wanted to work us like the airport ramp was a new plantaion. if you know me. you know i complained from the time i arrived that night until the next morning when it was time to go. shit, the crackhead even was upset tht i was eating an apple on what i thought was a lunch break. there wasnt one. dudes worked thru the 12 hour night, and when you workl overtime and havent ate anything. you dont look for a watch. you look for jesus.

Holy Crap

Okay. I used to install cable in homes/businesses. Every morning, I had to get coffee. When the baby's mom and I lived together we decided to get a coffee maker for the apartment. Bad fucking idea. Sometimes she would cook and leave before I woke up and left for work. Or I would eat some bacon and eggs every morning. And of course make coffee. Now being a man, why would I read directions? I figure I just pour as many grinds into the thing until I saw fit. But the issue with this is. EVERY MORNING. I had to take a monster shit. And being that my day always started early, it meant that I did not have to shit until I was in front of a customer’s house, on the pole with a heavy tool belt on. I would have some SERIOUS bubble guts. I always climbed my happy ass down the pole, and request to use the customer's bathroom. There is something about wearing a tool belt that makes you say fuck it sometimes. For every customer whose house I shit in. I am sorry. For every customer whose house I shit in and did not have toilet paper in the bathroom. Fuck you.

One time I was at a Spanish house. They literally spoke no English at all. I was mad at the fact they were getting basic cable. Wtf did that pay? Shit? Nothing. So I asked to use the bathroom. I mean, that was the type of shit you wanted to take a picture of. I really tried to mask the smell by lighting a match. No avail. I came out feeling about 10 pounds lighter. My tool belt was comfy, and I had a spring in my step. The funny thing is that my daughter's mother is from PR. so I know some Spanish words. The bad one. All I heard was CONNNNOOOOOOOO BENDITOOOOOOOOO. I was working in the barrio, its not like I would get tipped or some shit. Don’t give me no damn pesos Esmeralda. I think they had opened all the windows, and it was the dead of winter. Lol. Shitting in a customer's house does not warrant me going to hell. However.

Luckily, I got moved up to the good area with all the nice white folks. They always tipped. So this guy has a brand new house that he bought. He was going to rent it out and talking about things I had no interest. The thing is, I knew when I would not get tipped because the customer would always be mouthing off. Tips meant money. Money meant beer money when I finished. So this guy blah blah blah with all the jibba jabba. Guess what? I was still drinking that crazy strong super coffee I made in the mornings. Again, the bubble guts hit me as soon as I hit the pole. It was like clockwork. And I am sure the time was always around 930-945am. Then the guy starts saying shit like he doesn’t want to see any wires, his kid is going to Yale, he is going to practice yoga, so he has to go. Shut the fuck up dude. Don’t you want to see yoga on TV?

Me:” you mind if I use your bathroom?"
Ass:"sure, no prob Bud"
Me:” Call me Omar"

Now Omar was the name I used if I hooked up illegally or took an illegal shit in their crib. Again, I lit this house the fuuuucccckkkk up. And while I was on the bowl, I smoked a cigarette. Read the paper, talked on the cell. You ever just take a shit, and just chill afterwards. Clearly the bathroom is my favorite place to think. The guy was gone I thought. So I am sitting there on the bowl, thinking about life and wondering about my next job. And then I look around. This son of a bitch in theist new ass house is sending his kid to Yale, but did NOT purchase toilet paper. So I am fucked now. Who wants to walk around with shit in they ass all day. Knowing I have at least 3 hours left to work and shit. AH HAAAAAAA. I had the paper. So not only did I fuck the bathroom up. But I had to wipe my ass with the daily news. It gets better. So I wipe my ass, now I have sports prints on my ass. I try to ball the paper up. Get shit on my hands a little. Great fuckin day. So I try to flush this massive shit down. With the added sports page of the daily news, and the shit over flows. The door was closed and all. But I heard the owner come back into the area where the bathroom is at. He said what only rich white people can say

Ass:"My word Helen (some shit) what is that?

How do you explain this? I didn’t. I just asked for a plunger and some air freshener. Do you know the fool did give me a tip after all? I'm guessing it was because the quicker I go, the quicker they could niggatize the bathroom.

Where is the Verizon guy? i'm Bored as a 4 letter word

In the United States, a Social Security number (or SSN) is a 9 digit number issued to citizens, permanent residents, and temporary (working) residents under section 205(c)(2) of the Social Security Act, codified as 42 U.S.C. § 405(c)(2). The number is issued to an individual by the Social Security Administration, an agency of the federal government. Its primary purposes are to track individuals' Social Security benefits, and to track individuals for taxation purposes. In recent years the SSN has become a de facto national identification number.[citation needed] A social security number may be obtained by applying on Form SS–5, "Application for A Social Security Number Card"

Now it brings me to a very funny story. Now what I was going to do is stop all the shenanigans, however in light of new information I figure why not just write random stories. Without saying any names, I knew someone that was bored, needed something to do. Knowing me, of course I suggest getting a job. So one day this person went to a lavish place in NYC, that I bet just any woman would love to work, because of its name alone. So as the story goes. The issue is that most of these stories when they are told to me are so extra I really have to think as to whether they are true or not. Ya know? But anyways, they apparently loved her style, etc, damn near wanted the job to be hers ASAP. So in their hurried attempt to get them on board, an application was offered, and of course you fill it out. However, she did not know one important number. Not credit card, or phone number, but the social. And the genius had to leave because of course; they had to find out what the number is. Now I do not have any problem with someone being an idiot. But what I cannot stand is when someone is allllwaaayyysss claiming how smart they are, how nice they are, how pretty they are. I I I I I. damn shit. You ever get a gift or anything from someone in front of your mother, and before you can open your mouth, she says "say thank you" and your like damn ma, give me a chance will ya? Now granted, I think that at a certain age that number should be implanted in your head. Regardless if you have been to school, have worked whatever. It is a life number. Stays with you like luggage. the shit is not going anywhere. So when that happened, I think I was initially upset, because it just sounded so dumb. And then I believed I cracked up for the same reason. So what happens after that in a thinking persons mind “if you never knew it, how was you in school??” "If you never knew it, then how did you get paid for modeling or whatever?" all types of things go thru your mind. Like, this person is fake all the way thru. The stories are bogus. And what I don’t tend to do is judge folks, I do. But I don’t go out of my way to do so. Like right now on my bday of all days people want to censor this. I have not lied about anything. It is all truth. The funny thing is that why would anyone hate the truth, unless it is gruesome. This all could have been avoided, by a simple apology, and for lies not to have been told to begin with. I am not bitter today. I just feel the need to write everyday. And if something is on my mind, and I am inspired in some way, then this is what I do. Sue me