Be warned now that at some point while reading this there is some fair amount of chance that you will read something that you can never unread. I'm not saying, you know, I'm just saying.
I really just want right now to share with you the the horrible thing I said today. It isn't the most horrible thing that I said today, a day filled, it seems, with me saying horrible things. The most horrible thing was an extremely horrid yet funny joke involving a minor shaking hands with a good friend for a long time. It finds less notoriety than the other horrible thing I said solely because of the volume at which each were said relative to time and place. The horrible joke was only told to a few people, and if you want to know, ask in the comments and I might share. The other horrible thing had more audience than I intended.
One of the servers who worked lunch today actually approached the window within a couple minutes of the horrible thing I said and pointed out that perhaps my voice carries farther than I realize. Sadly, my voice does in fact carry, and I've know this since getting in trouble during church youth groups type activities when I never failed to get caught saying whatever horrible thing I said.
As a bit of a side note, I decided to learn how to say, "Hago las cosas que hacen que grita el bebé Jesús," a thing that some may consider horrible, after a Mexican coworker asked me if I went to church. I'm sure the news has gotten to her, though I can't be certain, concerning my interest in the fairer(as far as I'm concerned) sex and that was my immediate response, but I only know the English, having waited till just now to go to Babel Fish and get it translated. I add this only as a blatant attempt to raise my horrible-things-said score.
As we re-approach the main story I have to introduce you to Gruff. He's typical kitchen if not a little more punk than most. Our families have a little something in common though a different parent turned out to be the gay in their situation, and their outcome was somewhat different. I love working the line with him because he's great to talk shit to. He's a regular kitchen type, perhaps a little more punk than most. We say some crazy/stupid shit to each other.
Basically I told Gruff that I was going to rip his head off and douche my ass with the blood that gushed out of his neck.
And we were both on the line directly in front of the window looking out onto the dining room.
And my voice carries farther than I sometimes remember. Or maybe I'm just not bright enough to figure it out.