2+2=5

Wow, I haven't written in awhile. Whatever...it's not like anyone reads this, lol.

Here's the scoop, I got a new job a l'hopital, or the hospital for my friends in New York that suck at all languages, even English, you know who you are. "Whatevuh." Anyway, my new job is going pretty well, I am a Dietary Aide, which is about one step up on the shitty hospital jobs list...right above housekeeper a.k.a.-Janitor.

This evening, I was being trained to work the cash register in the cafeteria, which I didn't mind at all because I was tired of doing the same damn thing for the past 3 weeks. Not to mention, I love being around money. Typical chick behavior, don't deny it ladies. My night was going pretty smoothly when this cute old man walked up and asked when the cafeteria closed. I told him that we shut down around 6:30, and he said he would be back at 6:29. He smiled...I smiled...and the little guy scooted off. So 6:15 rolls around and I notice that he's already back in line, waiting to get a plate full of chicken drummies and mixed veggies. Finally he makes his way over to the cash register with his white milk already opened and a straw inserted, so cute! I smiled again, and I rang up the total. I tell him that it comes up to 5.49, so I see him pull out a five dollar bill and start to fiddle with some change. Well he dumps some coins in my hand and he goes..."That should give me a nickel back." I start to punch in the amount he gave me into the cash register, because I have to in order to get the draw to open, and he starts to tell me a story. It went something like this, "When I was your age, we didn't need machines to tell us how to make change....blah blah blah, generation gap....I'm old and angry, etc." He keeps rambling on and on about how I'm not smart enough to make change, and how he was a teacher and all of his students were so bright, and he was such a blessing to the learning force of America in 1950. Frankly, it started to get on my nerves...that's when I looked down at the cash register and I got a little smirk on my face. Finally, this old bag of bones was done talking, and he sticks his hand out in front of me, demanding me for his nickel. To which I replied as professionally as I could, "I'm sorry sir, but you shorted me 20 cents."