Calculate, Smalculate

What is it about Britney Spears that makes me simultaneously want to gossip about her in the lunchroom after third period and then pull her into the girl’s bathroom by the principal’s office for a little tête-à-tête concerning the proper uses of black hair dye? And why is this not common knowledge? About the black hair dye, I mean. Because surely, someone along the way sent out a memo to those folks who did not start out with, at the very least, dark brown hair, informing them that black dye does not set off your features, it does not provide a strong backdrop for photographs and it does not make you look skinnier.

INSERT TRANSITION

For lunch today, Amanda convinced me to go to Taco Hell. I say convinced like she had to twist my arm or something because hello, where else can you get intestinal difficulties for less than five dollars? And that’s not including the set of Fear Factor, which is technically free for the contestants unless you count the Mystic Tan Unlimited package and the Crunch Fitness membership and if you’re a woman, the ten grand you have to spend on your chesticular area because we all know it’s possible to have point-four percent body fat and a set of double-D’s.

Once there we took our place in line, which was actually not a line but a wide open space of nothingness, seeing as how we were about ten minutes ahead of the lunch crowd. Behind the counter stood JoJo the Special Kid, complete with strange lopsided belly and a smathering of unidentifiable Taco Hell goo across the wide expanse of his chest, all the way down past the crotch of his pants with really suspicious looking stains around his pocket area. Not suspicious as in What Exactly Have You Been Doing Back There Behind The Counter but suspicious as in Do You Think That Guy Is Smuggling A Handful Of Greasy Taco Meat In His Pockets? Which then leads you to the question of exactly why anyone would smuggle handfuls of greasy taco meat in their pockets because wouldn’t a plastic baggie be so much easier? Not to mention the lack of contamination from Strange Pocket Lint or some leftover gum.

Maybe he just thought it would be a nice snack for later. Or that if times really got tough, he could get at least two good meals from licking the front of his shirt. He’d probably draw the line at licking the crotch of his pants though because he’d associate that with the Demon Homosexuals and he knows where those folk go. Straight to the burning fires of hell, first class. 'Least that's what his mama told him.

As I was waiting for JoJo to finish counting out Amanda’s change, a very involved and lengthy process, I noticed a laminated sign taped to the tile wall directly above JoJo’s head.

We Wash and Sanitize Our Hands!

Maybe this is just me but I kind of expect people who prepare my food to Wash and Sanitize their hands. It’s just one of those given things. Like walking into Harry’s Horsefeed store under the impression that Harry only sells horsefeed. No need to have a sign out front, clearly outlining that We Only Sell Horsefeed! If it was called Harry’s Horsefeed and More! I might think differently, that maybe Harry sells horsefeed and possibly some crackers. So is it really necessary to have gone to the trouble of printing and laminating a piece of paper full of underling and italics and even some Microsoft Office Clipart, all for the sole purpose of telling your patrons that yes, you do in fact WASH YOUR FUCKING HANDS?

Because all that sign does is make me realize that the last time JoJo washed his hands was probably back in 1997 when he hadn’t quite yet gotten to giant homeless man size and his mother could still wrastle him to the ground for a little face washing and hand cleaning. Because either JoJo has a nostril big enough to accept the prodding search of one of his elephantine fingers or JoJo has a really juicy asscrack and the bathroom ran out of toilet paper last shift.