I’m gonna be a drug dealer, yay!

So some totally crazy lady offered me a job working at the pharmacy chain she owns.  Like, wow.  Who would want me near their drugs?  I mean, after all, I was voted “Most Likely to Become a Drug Dealer” in High School.  I guess they were right.  Maybe High School was an important part of life and wasn’t just about making everyone feel totally awkward at the time where we felt most awkward and vulnerable.  Or maybe the people at my school were part of some super secret government experiment to enhance the human brain power and create the greatest soldiers and intelligence officers ever in the history of the world and the drugs the government gave them actually worked and they voted me “Most Likely to Become a Drug Dealer” because they knew that, some day, I would have a career in pharmacies!  Or, you know, they could have just voted me that because I used to sell the free coffee creamers from the corner store by the school for a buck a pop and those $.99 grab bags of Dorito’s for $5 and boxes of Girl Scout Cookies I bought for $1 each for $8 each (true story).

Hey, I had the best profit margin out of any seller of any goods in that school, and I am very proud of that accomplishment!

But all this reminiscing has got me thinking: Just how much of what I did in high school affected who I am and what I do today?

For starters, I no longer wear crazy Hawaiian shirts with camo pants and running shoes when trying to hit on girls.  I learned that doesn’t work so well.  I’ve also become an excellent salesman and can sell almost anything to almost anyone.  I’ve thought about car sales, but that’s easier with my selling technique, so it would be too boring.  I mean, really, who wants a quick and easy path to being rich?  I sure don’t; I wanna have as much fun along the way and struggle quite a bit, living on beans and rice, and having to patch my socks with woven grass because I can’t afford thread.  Mmmm-hmmm, yes sir.

So maybe this lady really isn’t completely psycho for wanting me to work for her since I have a great smile and am the most wondrous customer service person on the planet, or she could just be too lazy to go out and hire people so it’s easier to just chat up and hire the strange guy who sells her coffee and cigarettes everyday and also it makes her feel good because she has ginormous tits and wears low cut outfits.  Seriously, it’s like a lava lamp, you just can’t take your eyes off them!

But when the zombie apocolypse happens I’ll be able to easily get antibiotics and pain pills so I won’t get a sinus infection and, when I am about to die, I can get totally high and completely enjoy the zombification process, unlike this guy.