What the Future Holds

The other day the powers that be at Piggly Wiggly asked me if I wanted to start training to be a customer service supervisor, working at the service desk. It speaks to the poor customer service of the Pig if they chose me -- Mr. McBastard, a guy who would more likely curse at you than give you correct change -- to be their liaison with customers. I said yes, in hopes that they'll give me more money.

The moment they asked me, though, my life flashed before my eyes. Not my life leading up this point, mind you, but a possible path my life could head down: I start working at the service desk, eventually give up on finding a job in the city, at age 30 knock up a 17-year-old bagger, move into her parents' basement, have a couple more kids that suspiciously look like the black guy that works in the deli, and drink myself to sleep every night on a broken La-Z-Boy watching monster truck rallies on pay-per-view.

I don't even like monster truck rallies.

Needless to say, I've become a little daunted with trying to find a job in the city. And the thing that worries me is that I've always been better at complacency and laziness than patience and diligence. That's why this possible future, despite how ridiculous it seems, rings somewhat true. I imagine, though, that Stellar and Happy Time won't let me give up on looking for a job, mostly because I'm sure they'll want me to stop living in their house way before I'm 30.