Things have reached an entirely new level of stupid when I find myself thinking back fondly on my high school job at the Original Cookie Company at the mall. I mean, for the love of Jeebus, it's a job at the fucking mall. I obviously didn't care for the wildly unattractive uniform of red baseball caps and polo shirts, and I have super self-esteem boosting memories of, on more than one occasion, being called "sir" by fatass mall patrons. Pretty! Shockingly, not so much love for the customer service or the handling of money either. Ahem.
However, coming in before the mall was open and playing stupid music (Gorilla Biscuits and various other hardcore favorites. hilarious.) and baking everything while it was all dark and quiet and weird and full of doddering, elderly mall walkers and then hiding out in the back decorating insanely tacky stupid ass cookie cakes seems immensely appealing right now. Pitiful and retarded.
Though, that bitch, Mrs. Fields, has claimed dominion over the Mall Cookie Empire, so I guess I'm not all that interested after all. Crap.
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2 comments:
ok, halfway through reading this, i was like, "wait, did i write this??" you summed up the OCC/MF experience to. a. tee. (only our hats were green @ OCC.)
my boss always put me on closing shift though, so i danced to those hardcore classics while snacking on leftover cookies and playing sugar butter-frisbee with the man running the photo-on-a-mug kiosk across the way. then they installed the icee machine...
mem'rieeeees. sometimes i wish i still came home from work smelling like cookies, too.
You are suffering from a nostalgic lapse in judgment. The second you had to actually do this job as a glamorous adult lady, you would off yourself (death by cookies?).
However I would try to milk your employee discount...and possibly take up mall walking.
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