Move Over Cart Girl
Today I almost ran over a cart girl with my car. If you don’t know what a car girl is, she is a young girl who drives around in a golf cart, on a golf course and sells beer to men playing golf – while looking cute. Think Hooters-on-wheels.
Anyway this bitch is driving the wrong way down a one way road. I pulled over, she sheepishly waved, but man did I just want to punt her little cart with my BMW. Not hurt her, but just send her dumbass into the bushes, you know?
Anyway, I needed to do some soul searching as to why I was so annoyed that this chick was driving head on into me. I realized I was jealous! This broad doesn’t even know what “one way” means and yet, she is probably making more money than I am! She is raking in the cash selling alcohol and snacks with a side of smiles and cleavage.
Earlier in my life I would have snubbed that job thinking I was above it. Now?! Fuck it! I want to be a fucking cart girl! But I’m too damn old! So where can I get a similar gig at 41?
Hooters! Not as the talent of course, as my tiny ta-ta’s leave me underqualified, but maybe as the manager, or at least a bathroom attendant. It doesn’t matter though, as a quick google search confirms that there are no Hooters within commuting distance from my home. Maybe in my next life.
Brewery? Winery! I like wine and I’ve got some connections at a local farm (that may or may not serve pizza that gives you diarrhea). Learn from my mistakes and remember, “farm, to table, to toilet”.
Anyway, I could sell wine! And snacks! And smiles! (I will not be selling the pizza). There would be no cleavage sadly, as one of the employees once told me she was scolded just for rolling up her short sleeves. Apparently showing your arms is considered scandalous. Apparently they also feel compelled to impose a farmer’s tan on you. I guess if they have to be unevenly and unattractively pale, then you do too. Zero cleavage I can live without (since I have to fake mine anyway), but farmers tan?! I think not. I have to draw a line somewhere and awkwardly tanning my body? That’s a level of self-disrespect that I will not stoop to.
I got it! Food truck where I get to wear whatever I want, but instead of food I sell alcohol. Like an ice cream truck, but for adults. I’m certain there are many legal challenges around it, but a girl can dream. Cocktails and dreams. I will be the last barman poet, driving my truck (in the correct direction!), selling beer, wine, shots and snacks with my perfectly tanned arms. Win, win, win. Move over cart girl! There’s a new bitch driving an alcohol-mobile in town and mine’s bigger.