I work at Auto-Zone three days a week. 10 hour days slinging oil filters and answering questions about the which spark plugs fire quickest and whether or not you need a gap wrench at $7.95 to ensure the pre-spaced Split-Fire spark plugs are sized appropriately for your 1997 Honda Accord. Praise God if it isn’t complete terror. I spend the day lost in fantasy about my one true love. To say I’m a lousy salesman would not be an understatement as each benign question only beckons memories of my soul mate Private Melanie Rundel, 82nd Airborne division based out of Fort Bragg and currently serving in Baghdad. Its somehow easy for me to relate the sale of simple quart of 5w-30 with the time she taught me about the importance of using natural oil when applying patterns of camouflage during recon missions in Iraq. She is the ultimate soldier with the mind of Sun Tzu and the steel gut of a commercial grade Dixon model 3200 trash compactor. I love her beyond words and constantly day dream of the next time I swipe clean the nearest desktop and plunge my love piece into her waiting flesh clouds. I’m mindful that my comparisons matter little to the customer. All they care about is getting whatever technological miracle will make their car get to their next appointment. Isn’t it irony that what they want and what I want could be so different yet matter equally little in this mundane existence we call lives. It’s a knife in the back every time some one requests a nozzle, radiator hose or otherwise. Its almost habitual to think of her. Jokes aside, I long to hear that pet name and for her to “turn me on.” Diffusion is my only recourse, and so I jest with each sale of power steering fluid until my gal returns. Only one more maneuver behind enemy lines and her tour is complete. Auto-zone is promising me a week off.
5.29.2012
Private Melanie for work-a-day Johnny
Zone, praise, terror, fantasy, lousy, memories, private, patters, gut, desktop, plunge, clouds, mindful, irony, mundane, knife, nozzle, habitual, diffusion, maneuver
I work at Auto-Zone three days a week. 10 hour days slinging oil filters and answering questions about the which spark plugs fire quickest and whether or not you need a gap wrench at $7.95 to ensure the pre-spaced Split-Fire spark plugs are sized appropriately for your 1997 Honda Accord. Praise God if it isn’t complete terror. I spend the day lost in fantasy about my one true love. To say I’m a lousy salesman would not be an understatement as each benign question only beckons memories of my soul mate Private Melanie Rundel, 82nd Airborne division based out of Fort Bragg and currently serving in Baghdad. Its somehow easy for me to relate the sale of simple quart of 5w-30 with the time she taught me about the importance of using natural oil when applying patterns of camouflage during recon missions in Iraq. She is the ultimate soldier with the mind of Sun Tzu and the steel gut of a commercial grade Dixon model 3200 trash compactor. I love her beyond words and constantly day dream of the next time I swipe clean the nearest desktop and plunge my love piece into her waiting flesh clouds. I’m mindful that my comparisons matter little to the customer. All they care about is getting whatever technological miracle will make their car get to their next appointment. Isn’t it irony that what they want and what I want could be so different yet matter equally little in this mundane existence we call lives. It’s a knife in the back every time some one requests a nozzle, radiator hose or otherwise. Its almost habitual to think of her. Jokes aside, I long to hear that pet name and for her to “turn me on.” Diffusion is my only recourse, and so I jest with each sale of power steering fluid until my gal returns. Only one more maneuver behind enemy lines and her tour is complete. Auto-zone is promising me a week off.
I work at Auto-Zone three days a week. 10 hour days slinging oil filters and answering questions about the which spark plugs fire quickest and whether or not you need a gap wrench at $7.95 to ensure the pre-spaced Split-Fire spark plugs are sized appropriately for your 1997 Honda Accord. Praise God if it isn’t complete terror. I spend the day lost in fantasy about my one true love. To say I’m a lousy salesman would not be an understatement as each benign question only beckons memories of my soul mate Private Melanie Rundel, 82nd Airborne division based out of Fort Bragg and currently serving in Baghdad. Its somehow easy for me to relate the sale of simple quart of 5w-30 with the time she taught me about the importance of using natural oil when applying patterns of camouflage during recon missions in Iraq. She is the ultimate soldier with the mind of Sun Tzu and the steel gut of a commercial grade Dixon model 3200 trash compactor. I love her beyond words and constantly day dream of the next time I swipe clean the nearest desktop and plunge my love piece into her waiting flesh clouds. I’m mindful that my comparisons matter little to the customer. All they care about is getting whatever technological miracle will make their car get to their next appointment. Isn’t it irony that what they want and what I want could be so different yet matter equally little in this mundane existence we call lives. It’s a knife in the back every time some one requests a nozzle, radiator hose or otherwise. Its almost habitual to think of her. Jokes aside, I long to hear that pet name and for her to “turn me on.” Diffusion is my only recourse, and so I jest with each sale of power steering fluid until my gal returns. Only one more maneuver behind enemy lines and her tour is complete. Auto-zone is promising me a week off.
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