In which I prove my eternal smoothness

So, I have proven time and time again that I am amongst the smoothest people to ever live. Typically, when I decide to prove this, I wind up injured somehow. Like the time I was getting ready for school and managed to chip my bottom front teeth while sneezing. Or the time I was drunk at a party and decided that I wanted to show the host and his girlfriend that I was Batman. Yeah… I wound up with a nifty knot on the head during that performance.

This morning, I seem to be attempting to break the trend of getting hurt whilst proving my smoothness.

See, 3rd shift gets to do minor chores. Don’t think I’m bitching about that cuzz, while I do piss and moan about having to wash dishes (which happens to be my most hated chore evAr!), it’s not really that big a deal and there’s usually more than enough time to do them. Every now and again the night will be insanely busy, but usually things are steady enough on 3rd that whoever happens to be working can still dispatch and pick up around the office.


I decided to get my chores out-of-the-way a little earlier than normal today, so I could dick around with this new blog of mine until I finished my shift. And it also got me off my ass and gave me a chance to stretch out my legs. I looked into the kitchen and saw that the dreaded dishes had not washed themselves, even though I had been commanding them to do so with my mind for quite some time. I found some music to listen to and headed into the kitchen to attend to my night shifter duties.

Nothing too exciting happened then. I mean, if you REALLY want, I can go into great detail about how I washed such and such dish and how I made sure to start the coffee pot at exactly 0623 to make sure that it would be done at 0639. That just seems boring to me, though, so we’ll just say it wasn’t all that exciting.

After I got all that out-of-the-way, I went around and gathered up the trash out of the cans. Yeah, it’s still that exciting. Well, as I was changing out a garbage bag, I realized that my zipper had started to come down on my uniform pants. No big deal, sometimes it happens. I finished changing out the bag a decided that I should probably make sure the zipper was done up all the way. Making an ass out of myself was just not that high on my priorities at the moment since I was trapped in the bat cave all by my lonesome.

Seems that deciding the zipper needed to be in the proper, upright position is where I decided to eat a big can of fail.

As I was tugging my zipper back up, it decided to give me the big “Fuck You” and come apart. It didn’t split, which I am assuming is due to the fact that a split zipper is not really all that difficult to fix. Oh no-no. My zipper felt the urge to allow the little pully thing to only be attached to one side.

I didn’t panic, though. I merely set out to grab my hoodie off the back of my chair so I could grab a few safety pins off it and remedy my problem. That’s when I realized that my hoodie may or may not have found its way to the garbage dump unintentionally.

I now get to attempt to figure out how I’m going to leave the building without looking like a complete jack ass, holding up my pants.

So fucking smooth…

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