Greetings, parrrrteeee peeeeepuuul!
Dole Fruit was kind enough to sponsor the boys from Canning Ops (and Rebecca Goodman, the token Jew, natch) for our annual trip to the Briggs-Goering Existentialism-athon in Stroudsburg, PA. Dole Fruit, in the face of the looming American recession and the recent attempted kidnapping of Ronny Balboa (yes, that's his real name) in the parking lot last December, put up quite a fight about giving us the money. But in the end, we argued that money was transitory, and profitability even more so. We also managed to secure a lucrative endorsement deal with Briggs-Goering to add the bake sale to the Existentialism-athon, which I'm pretty sure was what finally tipped the scales in our favor.
Dole Fruit also stipulated that the event be moved to Stroudsburg, and not held in that shithole East Stroudsburg anymore. That was fine with me. Personally, I had long wondered how the -athon got marooned in East Stroudsburg in the first place, and why I wasn't informed of the rules and regulations, but just thrust into the ranks as if I had been bought by a peddling shanghaier of human beings. Relocating to Stroudsburg, as arbitrary as it seemed, was fine with me.
But then, I was never really the type who paid attention to the fine print. The ink wasn't even dry on my signature before one of the faceless corporate bigwig assholes (seriously, he/she/it had NO FACE) handed me a polo shirt with the Dole logo on it and a pineapple apron. "Here you go," he/she/it said, "and thanks for your participation."
I don't even want to speculate on what orifice he/she/it used to say that.
Long story short, I got to go to the -athon this year, but because Dole took my ignorance and unwillingness to read fine print for granted, I'm actually working the bake sale. I do not blame Dole for this, as I am ultimately the highest authority to whom I am answerable. But for the next few days, while any number of supreme individuals are wandering around discussing the finer points of Nietzche and Kierkegaard, and debating the ultimate derivation of higher purpose, I'll be deriving my higher purpose from schilling fruit pies to feed the ravenous intellectuals. My spirits will remain aloft on the aroma of baked goods and the knowledge that I am providing a vital service to my fellow men and token Jews.
2:27 PM - Eustice "Not The Supervisor, But Wishes He Was" O'Dowd and Phaedrus T. "Not The Supervisor, But Is Totally Fine With That" Kinney's canned peach and cherry pie is selling like hotcakes - hot canned peach and cherry pie cakes, that is!
2:29 PM - I totally can't do this anymore. I'm handing in my apron. I am so goddamn depressed. I'm going to re-read No Exit.