Street Cred

I was sittin' here thinkin', because I do that sometimes. I left "the south" to travel even further south, to the South Island. I guess a southern girl just can't escape that fact. Last night my roommate confided in me that he really does enjoy country music, but he can't tell his wife or any of his friends because that would completely ruin his street cred. And I guess I can see how being a body piercer with a deep, unabiding love for Kenny Chesney, might not go over so well with his clientele. I mean it's hard enough to get people to let you poke holes in their faces, but if you start singing, "Devil Went Down to Georgia," needle in hand, your customer might flench and then you've got a pierced eyeBALL instead of a pierced eyeBROW. I digress.

I have taken it upon myself to educate Dave in the ways of country music. I feel it is my duty as a Texan to do so. The thing is I'm not so sure where to start because a lot, if not most, country music is complete shit. I also feel it is my duty to educate New Zealanders in the majesty that is Mexican Food. I hope New Zealand won't kick me out of their country for trying to push my screwed-up redneck values on them, but in the end, when they have taco grease stains on their shirts and "Whiskey River" in their ears, they'll smile and thank me.

The other day we had a staff meeting at Hell, or Work, where I learned that our hotel is considered "Five Star". Uh, wouldn't that have been something I should've found out at the interview? I probably would've bragged about how I work at a FIVE star hotel. Not four. FIVE. Oh well. Now they're trying to encourage me to scrub dirt out of corners under the pretense that we're a five star hotel and we need to provide "five star service". So now I guess I'll have to stop scrubbing the toilet bowls with the guests' toothbrushes.