I Am Willing To Deliver An Ass Beating

I woke up extremely cranky this morning. Chalk it up to a lingering hangover and the four hours of sleep I had. Things at work did nothing to repair my mood.

It turns out the the certified horologist (read, master of time) actually has no concept of time. He came to work two hours late. This meant that I spent those hours explaining to his customers that I had no idea when or if he would be arriving, and no, I cannot replace your watch battery. Repeating the same three phrases every five minutes wears on my nerves. When he did arrive, his first order of business was to punch me in the elbow. I do not know what would possess a person to do such a thing, but my response was not pleasant. I can't remember exactly what I said, but it was something like, "Hey! Do you want me to kick your ass? I'm in a bad mood, you better leave me alone." He thought that was very funny, and made it his mission to irritate me the rest of the day. I don't know why, because I have access to over 150 guns.

A burgeoning guitar super star stopped by to play the first 30 seconds of every song he had ever heard. Sloppily. I was forced to endure "House of the Rising Sun", "La Bamba" (fuck I hate that song), "Welcome Home, Sanitarium", and "Jail House Rock". I missed the last 45 minutes of the impromptu jam session in a rage blackout.

The carney regaled me, yet again, with stories of why his cheap tennis shoes are falling apart. Apparently it has everything to do with the morning dew he encounters when walking to feed his chickens, and nothing to do with the fact that he bought $10 sneakers from Wal-Mart.

A man wanted to hold the Walther P22 that is in our display case. I took it out for him, and the following exchange happened...
Him: Does this come in other calibers?
Me: Not that model, but Walther has other models that come in .40 cal, 9 mm., .32 cal, and .380.
Him: What's the price of a Beretta 4x?
Me: Let me look it up.
Him: Can I see the other calibers of that Walther?
Me: Sure.
Him: What caliber is that rifle with the funny lookin' barrel?
Me: That's a 7mm.
Him: I'm lookin' for a .223.
Me: This is a...
Him:How much is that Beretta?
Me: I never got to look it up.
Him: What do those other Walthers look like?
I could bore you with the rest of the conversation, but it just continued in that fashion, him blurting out questions, and switching from gun to gun, without ever letting me fully answer a SINGLE FUCKING QUESTION!

On the bright side, I have been asked to judge the 27th Annual Do Dat Barbeque Festival in lovely downtown Nacogdoches. I was already excited about the prospect, because it combines two of my favorite things, barbecue, and passing judgement on things. Then I was told that the judges have access to a KEG in the judging room. I don't even have to pay to do this. This is considered volunteer work. Sometimes, my life rules.