One small toss of a bagel, one giant leap in quality of life for a 7-11 employee
I deem myself to be a good person. I am a true gift to humanity. My existence on this earth and presence in society is a blessing to everyone else. Civilization reaps the rewards of my being on a consistent and continual basis. Late last night, I walked into 7-11 with a clear cut focus. I picked up a bagel from the basket, walked a few feet, threw it at the man behind the counter, then bolted out of there.
The former paragraph may have you thinking “Buckley is a drunk immature asshole; why am I reading this?” Yet, I would argue that you are intrigued by my slightly above average use of vocabulary, and bet you will read this whole post. That said, let us sit, blog connoisseur, and further analyze my course of action last night.
Think about the employee. If you find yourself laboring at 7-11, guess what: You fucked up. I know, such a glorious position may constitute envy from societies of people such as: crackheads (so cliche!), guys who wear ed hardy, students of Devry University, and most people who surf Manasquan Inlet. But, to the rest of us, a position at 7-11 is worse than being Richard Simmons’ yoga mat. What brought this man to give up on the good old American dream and stoop to this convenience store low? I can not answer that. But what brings him to continue to accept this choice of employment? I can answer that. Lack of ambition.
Disturbances can be of great benevolence. They alter the way we think, and can bear the gifts of appreciation and perspective. Sometimes, it takes a near fatal car crash to make people appreciate their lives. In other cases, it may take a drunkenly pitched bagel to the chest to motivate you to strive for improvement in your general quality of life. My course of action was an absolute and direct attempt towards the betterment of this man’s life. My intention was for the bagel to be the portly, english as a second language, front desk stationed woman on the other end of the line for this man’s wake up call, metaphorically. My intentions, both honest are pure, were that because of the incident, this man would say fuck this, get a degree (not from Devry), and have a nice house with a fence, complimented by a beautiful wife, two children, and an SUV within a decade.
The point is: Should you ever find yourself clad in beer soaked attire, bagel in hand, employee in sight, I urge you to make the right the call. Just know, years later, your target will be watching Dog the Bounty Hunter’s E True Hollywood Story on their brand new flatscreen from their Italian leather sofa, and it will all be a result of your kind heart.