Would you like fries with that?

Here we are... Just you and me keyboard. It's Saturday morning, roommate is gone to work, my job doesn't start until later, I can't bring myself to do any more homework; yet here we sit. You and I. 

UPDATE: I wrote that three days ago, with every intention to finish it. I've had this post in my head for nearing a month now.

So, we meet again, Keyboard, you wily creature. Tuesday evening this time. Roommate has fallen asleep on the couch with a book in his hands and I've done everything for work that I possibly can without pushing myself to jumping out my apartment window. (It's ground floor, I'd probably only sprain an ankle in all my vain attempts at dramatic procrastination.)

I've gotta do this. I'm starting to get e-mails entitled "are you sure you're not dead?" Yeah, I'm sure. There's no way I can be accomplishing all of this... stuff if I were a zombie. Because to summarize, I've got two jobs working now, spring semester has started--all inclusive with a four-hour lab twice a week where we scrounge for rodents and measure them, FUN!--internships are shaping up in various lands, and I still make it home on time to whip up a steak dinner with sauteed veggies and some stuffed portabella mushrooms. *pats back*

But I've been there done that with all of this before. What's really exciting (horrifying? I'm not sure yet) is the amount of experience I'm gaining from working at a chocolate shoppe. I think the service industry will do that to you. See, I've worked some of the weirder things available for a young gal. I've milked cattle, baled straw, worked with neurotoxin and grown brain cells, and even taxidermied dead animals for people for a few years, but nothing, nothing compares to working a service industry job. I'm grabbing up the resume-buffing keywords: experiences, learning all about the value of a few cents, gratitude, team work, customer service and tolerance. Plus I'm getting really good at saying, "Hi! If I can get you anything, let me know!" in a lovely falsetto tone.

You may have been a food service worker if you've...
   ...  Ever eaten a bite of dinner so fast you swallowed some of the aluminum foil wrapped over your burrito just so you could get back out to the counter to help out your co-workers.
  ...   Licked hours old chocolate ice cream swipe off your forearms.
  ...  Cringedendly smiled as a mother orders not the third but fourth item for her 'widdle baybee' as he screams in the store front about how he doesn't like his first three desserts.
     And oh, so much more. 
Just the other day I rang up a woman who was purchasing some ice cream and she smiled at our tip cup. It's got a nice little sign that says, "Karma cup. Tipping will help you in the next life." Most of the time other waitresses or Batista's will remark that tipping usually does come back around before they toss in a dollar. I'm not rolling in the cash and much of my wage is tip-based, so I was relieved that this older lady even acknowledged it, I ventured a guess that she would place more than just her forty cents of change in it. Oh Karma, you tricky tricky devil.

The lady, still smiling this sort of apologetic smile, looks straight into my eyes and says, "There is no next life. When you die, you go to Heaven with Jesus. This tip cup is all wrong."

Dead pan serious.

I stared her back, full in the face, smiled the ever-plastered service gal smile and replied, "Ma'am. It's just a tip jar."