I Promised

I used to work at a liquor store with my friends. It was great. I could eat all the candy I wanted and smash beer bottles in the back to release my teenage rage. We got away with everything there because the cameras didn,t work and there were no records of sales or accounts or anything. There will never be a job that great again.

It was very cool working with all of my friends too. Everyday was an eight hour dance party. We made up a code to tell each other if we thought a girl was pretty while they were in the store without them noticing. We wanted to be jerks to their faces without them realizing how insulting we were. It worked really well. There were two main categories - Shake and Slice.

Cex - Bataille Royale
Shake was short for Shake a hat. Somebody thought that in the olden days you would shake your hat at a lady you were interested in. I don't think that ever happened. If somebody was a shake then not only would you be willing to have sex with her, but you would not be embarrassed if anybody knew about it. You might even be proud of it. There were variations on the Shake too. You could shake a top hat which meant that you thought she could be dating material and had some class to her. You could also shake a a box of hats which meant you were really, really into her.

Slice wasn,t short for anything, it was just a word we picked. A slice was somebody that you guessed was sort of okay and you might have sex with them on a Tuesday night if you had nothing better to do and nobody ever found out. Those were usually sort of shameful to admit. That was the fun of the Slice though. When some girl would come in with no pockets on the back of her ripped, faded, flair jeans, pulling her 2 year old son by the hand, buying 4 cans of Sparks energy alcohol for her work day and couldn,t figure out how to give exact change, it was always nice to ask the person you were working with if they were a slice and hope that you weren,t the only one with such debased standards and ethics.

It was always kind of a bummer when somebody was a slice in your head and nobody else agreed. Then you knew you were the worst of them all. You were the only one that would ever even think about looking at that middle aged bleach-blond woman with two cigarettes in her mouth and a crescent of white, veiny meat hanging out above her belt. You were a disgusting human being and now everybody knew it.