Some days my neighborhood is a mindfuck a minute. Wednesday was one of those days. As I was walking along McGuinness Boulevard (because some of the finest things to be had in Greenpoint are usually located there) I found this.
As I was waiting to cross the street at Driggs, there it was: CRACK PROS. I could not stop laughing. McGuinness Boulevard has a lot of crack: ass CRACK, phat bags of CRACK (and the people who consume them who, more often than not, have ass crack) and now, presumably, foundation cracks. Thank god we have the CRACK PROS to help us!
Most of my experience as a corporate wage slave involved answering telephones to one degree or another. This is what the business sector does with young women with pleasant-sounding voices (regardless of work experience or education): stick them behind a desk and give them a telephone to answer. Much of my misanthropy comes from interfacing with the public in this manner. One can only understand how truly unredeemable the human race really is by answering telephones at some corporate hellhole. Even if only for a day.
That said, I might be willing to answer telephones for this establishment. The prospect of being paid (albeit meagerly) for rattling off crack jokes for hours on end is almost too good to pass up.
Good morning, CRRRRRRRACK PROS. How may I direct your call?
Sir, could you describe the nature of the crack you are experiencing so I can direct you to the appropriate CRACK PRO?
That’s quite a crack problem you have sir, let’s see if I can connect you with one of our crack prevention specialists.
Sure I’d probably get fired, but think of all the cracktastic fun I would have in the meantime! I wonder if these guys have tee shirts? If they do, I want one.