I have decided that this recounting was much too long to be written in one journal entry. The conclusion of this story will be posted tonight at midnight.

Parker, Part I
1.30.5

Yesterday, I received the following message on my answering machine (click to listen):

[Saturday, 1.29.5, 11:06 AM]

Now, allow me go back a bit, to where it all began.

I work at Papa Murphy's "Take 'N' Bake" Pizza. I generally don't like telling people that, because it's a rather unsavory job. I am so very close to getting a real job, but for now, I'm stuck doing repetitive, tedious busy-work, for $7.50 an hour.

As the end of 2004 was nearing, I was approached by the store's owner about a promotion. He told me that his store in Parker was having some problems, and he wanted me to be their assistant manager. He wanted me to see what I could do to fix things up over there.

I begrudgingly accepted the offer, because as afraid as I am of change...I needed the pay raise and extra hours.

It was on January 3rd, 2005, that I took my position over there, and remembered exactly why I generally don't try new things. I discovered the root of the problems almost instantly: The manager there was a moron.

There were so many little things wrong with that store, that when one added them all up, they became one huge problem. This was compounded by the fact that their manager, Joe (Not to be confused with my usual manager of the same name. I will from here on out refer to Parker's manager as Señor Dipshit) was a pothead, and a drug dealer. As such, he had filled his staff with rich 16 year old pot smokers, and he was supplying their habits. Perhaps, had he spent less time smoking pot with teenagers behind the store, and more time running the store in a competent way, none of this would ever have happened.

An aside:

I hate pot. I have seen it turn too many people into complete idiots. Throughout my life, it has played a major role in the demise of several relationships...including my recent breakup with Kris. The thing that gets to me is that potheads always try to justify their addiction by comparing pot to alcohol.

They are right. Pot is like alcohol. Imagine if you will someone who does the following things:

Drinks every day.
Drinks alone.
Drinks in the morning, immediately after waking up.
Drinks before driving.
Drinks before going to school or work.
Drinks during school or work.
Carries alcohol in their pocket...just in case.

A person who did all of those things would be considered an alcoholic. They would be looked down upon. People would try to get them to kick their "drinking problem." However, all of these things are common practice amongst pot addicts. That's right...I'm saying it: Addicts.

It is ok to have a drink on occasion. I also have no issues with a person who sometimes smokes pot with friends at night. That is not the way it generally works, however. Pot destroys people...it consumes their lives, and they don't even realize it.

Case in point:

Señor Dipshit knew that what he was doing was illegal, and could get him fired. Señor Dipshit knew absolutely nothing about me and my code of ethics. Still...Señor Dipshit did not even wait 3 days after my arrival before blatantly engaging in a behavior that (were the right person to find out about it) could take away his job. Could take away his entire livelihood.

That day I called Larry, the owner, and told him to get me the fuck out of that store. I had no desire to spend each and every day around these types of people. I had no desire to fight a constant battle of keeping that store running well, when I knew it was useless. I told him that I didn't even care if he did anything about the problem...I just didn't want to be subjected to it.

Larry asked me to stay there. He wanted me to collect information for a few days, while he was busy with "customer appreciation week" at the store in Colorado Springs. After that, he would come back to clean house, and he and I would run the store. I agreed. I agreed because I've actually always had somewhat of a desire to be a private detective. There is something I love about doing research in order to discover a secret.

Over the next couple of days, I did my detective work. I took notes. I watched. I recorded conversations. I even did a couple of stakeouts. The results, however, were all less than spectacular. I knew what was going on, but I had no way to prove it.

A week after starting at the Parker store, I was told I'd be leaving.

The reason I was given was that the employees hated me. That's right...they hated me. They claimed that I was "mean," and that the only time I talked to them was to tell them what they had done wrong...which was quite often.

These things are true. I hated them. I hated having to work my ass off just because none of them knew what the hell they were doing. But let's face facts: That was not the reason they were getting rid of me.

They got rid of me because they knew I was a liability. They knew that their little smoky world was in danger of crashing in on them. They knew this, not because of any common sense on their part, but because I am not very good at hiding my disdain for people like them.

The day I found out I was to be leaving, was the same day I found several comments about myself written all over the store. Comments like:

Brian...the fag?

and...

Not just cock. Mad cock.

Stupid people generally don't have the cleverest insults. Their first instinct is to resort to accusations of homosexuality. What I like about the second example is that it appears they had made an attempt at writing "BRIAN SUCKS MAD COCK" in bubble letters...but apparently they found that to be too daunting of a task, and gave up.

This, I could handle. I'm a secure person, and could care less what a bunch of worthless little rich kids think of me.

However, when I left the store that night...I found that my tire had been slashed.