Initially I wasn't going to talk much about my job on here,
mostly because I think it gets tricky when you start mixing work with blog
(according to HR anyway)
but with the way things are going I'm going to need somewhere to vent.
So it might be time to let the glow-in-the-dark-cat out of the bag.
And by bag I mean trunk.
Because if you were to break into my trunk right now that is what you'd find-
a glow in the dark stuffed cat.
And a squishy ball eraser.
And a sneaker key chain. And a flying alarm clock.
But it's fine, it's all for work.
Because I work at the DC Lynch carnival.
This is me, working the moonlight shift last week.
I run the squirt gun booth. It's not pretty, but someone's gotta do it.
Okay, I'm kidding (kinda). I don't work at a carnival. But I'm only two missing teeth, and one sassy blonde perm away from being a carny...
I actually help schools fundraise.
So that means I go into elementary schools, tell the kids why they're raising money,
and then I proceed to shoot methamphetamines into the air to get them all juiced up on raising funds.
And by methamphetamines I mean glow in the dark cats.
Kids go ape shit crazy over things that glow. They remind me of Harlow, actually.
I think I could just shine a flashlight on the wall and they'd be entertained for hours.
But here's the other thing about kids I've learned in the past couple of weeks-
they ask a LOT of questions.
A lot of very ridiculous questions, for the first few weeks of my job I actually thought they were all just being little smart asses with me because their questions were that awful.
But then I had to remind myself these were sweet little children, and I wasn't in fact speaking to a gymnasium full of Taylors.
Let's look at a few of the questions I was asked just yesterday, shall we?
(This is a school where they are doing a book sale to raise money.)
Little Johnny- "But what does it mean when my mom says she won't let me sell the books because she doesn't like them and says I can't sell something she doesn't like."
It means your mom's a bitch. Next question.
Little Johnny- "So what if someone wants to pay us $100 for just one book. Can we take more money?"
No, it means you need to get the hell out of there because that someone wants a lot more from you than just a book if he's giving you $100.
*Remember kids- Never sell to strangers! Especially ones with mustaches!
Little Johnny- "And when I bring my money back what if someone takes it all from me and I don't have it anymore?"
It means you're already planning to steal the money. So in that case you just lost your selling privileges. Guess you're going to have to join that gang, after all.
Little Johnny- "What if our parents just want to buy all the books? Is that okay?"
That means your parents love you, of course it's okay.
And that's all I've got for today. Don't worry, there will be more next week as I am speaking in
a school where I will be promoting a "BMX Bike Show."
I'm predicting at least two children will actually shit their pants when they see what this entails.
{Because it's that cool.}
And now to leave you with a photo of eight-year-old-me dressed to the nines in
Hooters-esque shimmer tights, roll down ruffle socks, all while holding our devil cat "Snickers."
Look closely behind me and you might see my sister.
hint: she blends in very well with the Christmas tree.
TGIF.
mostly because I think it gets tricky when you start mixing work with blog
(according to HR anyway)
but with the way things are going I'm going to need somewhere to vent.
So it might be time to let the glow-in-the-dark-cat out of the bag.
And by bag I mean trunk.
Because if you were to break into my trunk right now that is what you'd find-
a glow in the dark stuffed cat.
And a squishy ball eraser.
And a sneaker key chain. And a flying alarm clock.
But it's fine, it's all for work.
Because I work at the DC Lynch carnival.
I run the squirt gun booth. It's not pretty, but someone's gotta do it.
Okay, I'm kidding (kinda). I don't work at a carnival. But I'm only two missing teeth, and one sassy blonde perm away from being a carny...
I actually help schools fundraise.
So that means I go into elementary schools, tell the kids why they're raising money,
and then I proceed to shoot methamphetamines into the air to get them all juiced up on raising funds.
And by methamphetamines I mean glow in the dark cats.
Kids go ape shit crazy over things that glow. They remind me of Harlow, actually.
But here's the other thing about kids I've learned in the past couple of weeks-
they ask a LOT of questions.
A lot of very ridiculous questions, for the first few weeks of my job I actually thought they were all just being little smart asses with me because their questions were that awful.
But then I had to remind myself these were sweet little children, and I wasn't in fact speaking to a gymnasium full of Taylors.
Let's look at a few of the questions I was asked just yesterday, shall we?
(This is a school where they are doing a book sale to raise money.)
Little Johnny- "But what does it mean when my mom says she won't let me sell the books because she doesn't like them and says I can't sell something she doesn't like."
It means your mom's a bitch. Next question.
Little Johnny- "So what if someone wants to pay us $100 for just one book. Can we take more money?"
No, it means you need to get the hell out of there because that someone wants a lot more from you than just a book if he's giving you $100.
*Remember kids- Never sell to strangers! Especially ones with mustaches!
Little Johnny- "And when I bring my money back what if someone takes it all from me and I don't have it anymore?"
It means you're already planning to steal the money. So in that case you just lost your selling privileges. Guess you're going to have to join that gang, after all.
Little Johnny- "What if our parents just want to buy all the books? Is that okay?"
That means your parents love you, of course it's okay.
And that's all I've got for today. Don't worry, there will be more next week as I am speaking in
a school where I will be promoting a "BMX Bike Show."
I'm predicting at least two children will actually shit their pants when they see what this entails.
{Because it's that cool.}
And now to leave you with a photo of eight-year-old-me dressed to the nines in
Hooters-esque shimmer tights, roll down ruffle socks, all while holding our devil cat "Snickers."
Look closely behind me and you might see my sister.
hint: she blends in very well with the Christmas tree.
TGIF.
