Freaky Friday.

What I don't understand is the whole concept of Fridays, being consistently the day where Freaks come out to infest. It seems that something changes in the air and the total freakdom begins to become really evident, and like a tapeworm, it cannot be denied due to it's insufferable irritation. It may seem disgusting to use that analogy but I am disgusted by them, so it all fits.

Some of these sub-species parade outside the store, wanting attention by acting like they are having multiple body spasms. Usually accompanied by malaise babble incoherently themed on the merits of them NOT being nerds because they are not in the shop. I don’t know what dancing like that achieves in regards to their goal, all I know is that they look like they need epileptic prevention medication, a counsellor to help them quit crack and for my wish for air to stop traveling into their lungs to come true.

But what really gets me is that they always come inside anyway.

One of them, was a tall blonde girl with a barely there dress that due to her raising her arms and jerking her shoulders she looked like she was suffering from some sort of dementia. The fact that she was singing loudly and off key, cemented the theory.

"Is it really quiet in here? Cuz I can't hear anything! Put your hands up! Put your hands up!" She says rather loudly while putting one manicured hand up to her headphones.
I quietly wondered if she was retarded.

Her body then began to quirk and convulse, like her skin had become an alien baby that wanted to rupture through the cheap black material she was wearing. Her friends, mortified, told her to stop, while quickly scanning for the "hot" emo "guys" with low hung jeans, who usually hanged around, greasily reading the Johnny the Homicidal comics. Fortunately for them (and us) they were not around, probably at home crying to the latest My Chemical Romance album while spending Mummy's money on Ice. That didn't stop the bitch from singing though.

"Put your hands up if you want her drop dead on the spot" Herr muttered.
Bullseye laughs and puts his hands up like an eager child who knew the right answer.
Laughing at his response I wasn't able to pick up the phone when it rang, not that I needed to, Bullseye is a little Pavlov with the phone, and he answered instead.

"Hello?" Bullseye answers. Apparently silence.
"Yes, can I help you?" He persists.
"Are you the owner of the store?" The lady answers.
"No the owner of the store isn't here, may I ask what's it regarding?"
"It's about your telecommunication needs, and what we can offer you."
"Well I can tell you, straight off the bat, that the owner will not be interested"
"When will he be in?"
"Sometime next week"
"Well I'll call on Monday, when you are not working". She hangs up.

Bullseye dropped the phone back on the receiver.
"Ha! I work on Monday's!" He yells at noone in particular.
"Guess the joke's on her huh?" I reply dryly.

I began to retell the story about when one time this high on drugs or perhaps drunk, or insane. I just can't tell anymore, guy came into the store and preceeded to walk a straight line from the front to the back 0f the store, claiming just how cool Superman was. At the top of his lungs. After that giggle, Karma decided to piss me off. I pick up the phone that time.

"Is my order shipped out yet?" said a nervous voice over the phone line.
"When did you place it?" I absentmindedly replied.
"Wednesday"
"Then it should've shipped today. All the mail was sent out a couple of hours ago."
"So I will be getting it in a few minutes?"
A pause.
"No you have to give it time to get to your house...it will surely get there after the weekend"
"Oh...." the dissapointment in his voice made me so depressed...that I seethe inwardly.

What is wrong with these people? You'd think they truly believed we employ the Flash to do our postal service. Either that or they are fucking morons. After today I am afraid to really ask myself that question, I know I'd be right either way.