December 12th, 2003


(no subject)

Dear asshole who works at Lens Crafters,

So you see a young girl walk into your store looking at potential frames. She tries on several pairs, pausing to wonder how a pair of rimless eyeglasses can cost a hundred and ninety-nine dollars for the frames alone when they have no frames to speak of.
She continues perusing the merchandise. You salivate for customers because no one comes to your mall anymore. They have built a new, bigger, uglier mall down the road and the mall you are in is now nearly defunct. It is frequented by the seventeen people who still shop at "Joyce Leslie," and the hordes of lower income workers who need somewhere to stand while they wait for the bus. And you yourself, Lens Crafters employee, belong with them. You are hopelessly out of date. Your glasses are too big, and they are ugly, and they are red. You look a lot like Sally Jesse Raphael except for the fact that you are a man, and in all honesty you still look an awful lot like Sally Jesse Raphael.

The girl approaches you and says, "I'd like to just get new lenses for these frames."

Quick, you think. What sort of bullshit story can I make up to increase my sales?

"Oh I don't think we can do that," you say, puffing out your obnoxiously huge asshole chest, showing off your stupid tie pin shaped like a golf ball that the girl (unbeknownst to you) would like to pull off and ram down your worthless throat. You go on talking. "You see on these frames, how they're dry on the bottom? It's a 99% chance they'd break when we try to put the new lenses in."

"Oh," says the girl, who sees you for the pretentious man-whore that you are.

"It would never work," you say. It's all done with lasers now. The lasers scan the lens and these lenses are much too dry on the bottom. It's a somewhat high-tech procedure."

You wait for her to be impressed. She nods politely because she was raised to be polite, unlike you, who were probably raised in a barn by canniblistic pig-women.

"Oh," she says, using every ounce of retsraint not to strangle you with the rosary-style eyeglass chains you are selling for eleven dollars at the register.

"Can I interest you in something else?" you ask.

"That's all right," she says, walking out the door. "Thanks anyway."

And she is gone, making her way through the crowd of bus-waiters and joyce leslie-shoppers who crowd the entrance around Lens Crafters.

Come back! you want to shout. I'll scan your glasses. I'll do anything I can to raise today's sales into the triple digits!
But it is too late. You are a miserable, miserable failure, and will probably have to go back to your old job managing a Denny's.

She sure showed you who was boss. She took her perfectly-fine-to-be-scanned-because-they-are-not-dry-at-all frames away from you and your shattered dreams and your dead end mall and took them to...the other Lens Crafters.

She pities your deplorable existence.

Yours truly,

Alan Greenspan


Number of Harry & David Pears I have eaten so far this morning: 7

Number of trips I will make to the bathroom later in the day: N/A

Phone Post: Pear-Based and Burrito-Based Problems

154K 0:40
“Ok, yeah, so the, I don't know, 80,000 pears... roughly, roughly 80,000... that I had this morning... really not feeling so hot right now. Like, that was obviously *not* the best idea I'd ever had. So I decided for lunch... you know, what am I going to have for lunch? I don't know, how about, like, a fucking burrito? You know, stupid, burrito, not a good idea, hello? But, yeah. So now that's in there too. And it's mixin'... with the pears.... you know, it's like pear/burrito vat... of... nastiness. And I'm really not feelin' so good right now. And I think I'd like to just take off work early, and go home for the rest of my life. Ok, so, have a good weekend. Thanks.”

Transcribed by: multiple users