I just recently bought a house that was rented out to two lesbians before me. They trashed the place and I'm still cleaning up and fixing things that they screwed up.
I know what you're thinking-- two lesbians so wild for each other that they made hot love every day and night, resulting in the fucked up house that I live in now. Well, think again Mister. I'm talking about real-life lesbians. Not the "Hey-I-need-extra-money-so-I'm-going-to-makeout-with-this-equally-hot-girl-and-pretend-to-be-gay" lesbian that you'd probably see on Girls Gone Wild.
I'm talking about real life lesbians. You know, the fat ugly ones with crew cuts. There's a reason these girls go lesbian, you think any guy would give them a chance?!
Not that I'm one to talk, I'm very picky about my women. I like my women like I like my coffee.
Ground up and in the freezer.
HI-HO!
The master bedroom of this house was hot pink thanks to the Bash 'em Sisters, so I've been wanting to paint it for the longest time. My friend Bizmark decided to come visit
While half-way down the the back alley, we passed a gas station. To the right of the gas station were several men just standing there beside their parked vehicles. Bizmark and myself decided to stop at the station to fill up on gas and grab some snacks.
While inside, I asked the attendant behind the counter what all those men were outside standing around for.
"Those guys are here everyday. If you noticed, they're all illegal immigrants. They drive here everyday and wait there for men to come by and pick them up and put them to work. If someone needs their yard work done, they can come by and say that they need two or three laborers, then three of those guys will hop in the back of the truck, do the work, get cash for it, then brought back here. They'll all wait out here until about 3, and the ones that didn't get work that day will go back home and try again tomorrow."
Basically, day laborer
"How much do they usually work for?", I asked.
"Depends. Most guys get 'em to work for under minimum wage."
I thanked the lady and walked back out to my car where Biz was waiting, then continued to drive up the mountain.
"Musty , why don't you pay one of those guys to paint that room in your house?"
"That's not a bad idea."
"What do they work for? Money?"
"No Nutzo, they work for puppies and tortillas."
"What?"
"Why do they work for tortillas..?"
Fucking moron.
A few days later, I drove to the gas station. There they were, about 30 laborers standing around and talking. I pulled my car up to the group and stepped out.
They all looked at me like dogs at the pound begging for a new owner.
"Hey guys, I need one worker to paint a room."
They stared at me. They didn't understand what I was saying.
"Um.... Anyone speak English?"
A small, dark guy in a cowboy hat and denim buttoned up shirt stepped up. Okay, wait. All of them were small dark guys with cowboy hats and denim shirts.
"I speak... little English."
"I need someone to paint a room for me."
He stared at me.
"I...NEED...SOMEONE...TO...PAINT...A...ROOM"
Like speaking louder and slower would suddenly make them understand english.
I was growing irritated.
"How about 7 dollars an hour?"
Their eyes grew wide, like that scene in that one movie that really sucked.
"Siete dollares?", one of them spoke up.
"No. 7 dollars."
"I...go."
Finally. After standing there for ten minutes, I finally got one of them to work for me. I was negotiating with a labor union on wages and working conditions. Except an alien labor union that didn't understand what I was doing or what their job was.
While driving back, I let the guy fiddle with my radio. He seemed to like talk radio.
When we arrived, I pointed to the utensils on the ground. He immediately started doing the job, and that's when I left the room. Two hours later, he emerged from the bedroom with paint on his hands and arms. I paid him his money and drove him back to the gas station.
This morning, there was a knock at my door. I opened the door to two guys, one of them the one that painted my room. The other one was apparently trying to find work. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, not exactly impressive for a guy looking to find work. Now, if he had worn a suit and tie and brought along his credentials and resume, then maybe I'd be impressed.
Right now, the two are outside raking the yard. That'll keep them busy for a few hours. Until then, I'm trying to think of a way to tell them their services are no longer needed here. I can't afford to keep paying these guys to do my work for too long.
I'm thinking I'll just call them inside, sit them down, and break the news to them silently. Or perhaps I could pull the Donald Trump approach.
Either way, I'm going to fire these two.
Right after they make my dinner....
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