copyright © 2004 Jesse Wozniak

Let me tell you something about bad days. No, let me tell you something
about retards. No, the mentally challenged. I don't know what's wrong with
calling them mentally retarded. I mean, the word retard. What's wrong with
that. Look it up. "To cause to move or proceed slowly; delay or impede".
trust me, these people are slow. I play checkers with them and I lose.
But I
have to try to lose. I have to try hard, becase they don't know how to
but they know when you're lying. Why is it that they can understand that so
fucking well, but they can't do their god dmaned job right? Anyway, the
"retard". It fits. I mean, it's a perfectly good word. Why do we have to
rid of it?. We're always fucking doing that. This word is perfectly good.
Why do we need to throw it out? Jesus people, I can't help it that some
fucker thinks it's funny to use it as an insult against normal people. So
suddenly I can't use the word to refer to the people it's meant to refer
Anyway, I want to tell you somehting about retards. Well, it's not so much
about the mentally retarded, as it is about bad days. I mean really fucking
bad days. The mentally retarded are only the backdrop, you know? Like
setting a story in the Alps or something for dramatic effect. Except this
isn't for dramatic effect. This shit actually happened. It happened between
me and this retarded guy. And don't act like that's all un-p.c. and all
shit and get on some big political rant about what's right and what's
because this guy was actually retarded. Anyway, it was a tuesday. The pussy
monday. Tueday is an even shittier day than monday, because you know
monday's are supposed to be shitty. I mean, every monday you can read some
fucking Garfield comic about how a 40 pound batch of lasagna is going to
fall on your head because mondays suck so bad. Wednesday is hump day.
Thursday is almost the weekend, and friday has its own fucking acronym. So
that leaves tuesday. Tuesday is always shitty, because even when it's good,
you have nothing to look forward to. Who the fuck looks forward to
wednesday? So even a good tuesday is not so good. But this wasn't a good
tuesday anyway. This one was a fucking terrible tuesday. But this story
isn't about tuesday. That's backdrop, too. This story is about the mentally
retarded. Well, it's not about the menatlly retarded, it's about being
selfless. You know, furthermore, what's wrong with calling them retards? I
mean, isn't that a logical abbreviation of mentally retarded, which we
already covered isn't wrong to say? I mean, do we go around talking about
how the New York Metropolitans have never had a god damned person on their
roster who could play third base? Fuck no. That's because we talk about how
the New York Mets can't ever find a hot corner man worth shit. So why can't
I say retards? But this story isn't about retards. Or tuesdays. It's about
hypocrisy. Or irony. Or whichever fucking word applies to the situation I
was in, you know? Because I had just had the tuesday from hell. I mean,
seriously. I supervise the mentally retarded as they do meanial tasks for
less than minimum wage pay. Don't ask me how they pay them less than
wage. I don't know, and this story isn't about minimum wage. One of they
jobs they do is hanger recycling. We get a bunch of fucked up hangers
form a
dry cleaner every morning at 7 a.m. and their job is to bend them back into
shape so they dry cleaners can use them again. Sounds pretty fucking simple
right? Well, it's not when you don't have fine motor skills. Then, it is
incredibly hard. So there's this dude Mark. he's a big fucking dude. He's
like 6'4" and 275 pounds. He's deaf, non-verbal, and mentally retarded. We
call it "MR" at work, because it's not kosher to call people retarded, but
apparently it's ok to use an abbreviation that stands for retarded. Anyway,
Mark gets pissed off really easily. But this story isn't about Mark. Well
kinda. Mark is more than backdrop, but he isn't the point of the story.
an antagonist or protagonist, or whatever they call the guy who moves the
plot along. So one tuesday we have a really slow day because there weren't
that many hangers to fix. So I have everyone slow down. So I get really
picky about what hangers I will and won't accept as good enough, you know?
Beause we had just gotten a new training on hangers that day. Apparently
many bad hangers were getting back to the dry cleaners and they were pissed
off about this. The hangers now have to be bent back into shape, but not
far into shape, or they fall of the rack, and then they have to clean them
again. So now we have to explain to the rearded the abstract concept of
bending a hanger far enough but not too far, which is really fucking hard,
so don't judge me for being upset with them. But this story isn't about
hangers or abstarct concepts. Well, kind of about abstract concepts, but
whatever. So anyway, I'm picky about the hangers. And there's this retarded
guy Mark who always does them wrong, and usually I just fix them for him,
because that's the kind of fucking guy I am, right? You know, selfless and
shit. But today, we don't have much work to do, so I tell him to do them
again. Apparently, you're not supposed to do this because it pisses him
but of course they didn't tell me that. They don't tell me anything at
like I'm just supposed to figure this shit out. But this story isn't about
my probelms at work. Well, it is, but that's only backdrop. So he gets
really pissed off, and long story short, the supervisor comes in and tells
me to get everyone out of the room, which I do. As soon as I close the door
behind me, it sounds like there's a riot going on in there, and I'm pretty
fucking creeped out. Then Mark comes bursting out of the room and throws a
fucking fire extinguisher at me. Yeah, a fire extinguisher. And to give you
some perspective, it bent in half because he threw it so hard. So I've had
it. Man, I about pissed myself, because I thougth I was going to die at the
hands of really big, pissed off retarded guy. Anyway, that's the turning
point of the story, because everything befoer that was just exposition. The
point of the story is that I got home after work and my stupid wife
tells me
she had a hard day at work because she had to file papers, and I tell her
that she doesn't even know what a fucking hard day is and that she should
shut up. So she gets all pissed off and now I know I'm not getting any
dinner tonight, let alone some fucking sex for once. But that's not the
point of this story. The point is that you shouldn't be so quick to pity
yourself all the time, because you live a very comfortable life. And no
matter how hard you day was, I can bet you that no overwieght retarded
person tried to kill you. That's what this story is about.


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