BiNGE Notes

Rambling thoughts of a cartooning cab driver on the Jersey Shore

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

POSITION WANTED

PRAY FOR ME! I must escape this vocational purgatory! A dysfunctional family business that is getting increasingly negative. Every time employees pull up, someone in the office has to ask; "Is he armed?" 12 hours duty last night, we each made about $60. Try to support your addictions on that. The nightly ugliness, the bullshit, the hazards. One coworker was joking about a passenger who drank herself to death. I don't want to become like these people. The past four years of driving cab at night has hardened me. I've learned not to trust anyone, learned to step on others before they could step on me. My naivety is gone my trust eroded away by the cancer of human nature.

Any longer out here, I'll loose all of my humanity. "Tonight on outrageous videos, a cabbie gets out of his car and cold cocks a NUN!"

Monday, January 25, 2010

Addictions first


I love convenience stores. You can feed most every addiction there. Coffee, smokes, lottery tickets. Need rolling papers? Gottem, and at least another dozen products that any creative stoner can use to conjure a high. Munchies in isle 2 and 3. Porn? Got it. It's three AM and you need a copy of 18+ Big Boob to get to sleep. Alcoholic? No they don't sell beer and the liquor store is closed now, here's some cold medicine. You seek comfort food. An orgy of empty calories await. Need to smoke crack, buy one of those little glass vases with the paper flower in it.

During my shift I stumble in five stores a night for the nicotine / caffeine fix. Having worked a convenience store, the employees have my sympathy. Like driving a cab at night, your customer base is the Night Of The Living Dead.

Totos the Teleprompter


Obama brought a teleprompter to a sixth grade class. Excuse me, isn't that like writing the answers on your cuffs? They're kids. Afraid of having a Dan Quayle moment? I thought you taught at Harvard, but you can't talk to kids without the help of a staff? You're like a robot that needs to be plugged in. One of those Disney hall of Presidents droids, programed with personality.