Yes, no, Maybe. I don't know. Can you repeat the question?

Filling out job appliciation now. Still nervous, but more determined than ever. Stuff should be, y'know, HAPPENING, so I'm going to make it happen. Logical!

Still nervous. Augh. Head explodes.

It's a really easy form. Name? Previous Job? Bye.

...well, there's also stuff like phone number and what hours I don't mind working. Am I in school? No but I probably should be. Do I have experience as a cashier? Uhm. KB Toys never did actually train me on a register in spite of promising they would several million times, so no.

"Anything else you want to tell us about yourself?"

...
I'm a big fat lazy guy, but really, I'll try.
My hovercraft is full of eels.
I don't think working at a convience store/deli is beneath me. I want to make people happy whatever I do.
AUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH! WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING!? AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGH!
My mind keeps changing. I have no ability to make choices.
I like free food.
I like money.
I have no idea what I'm doing.
I'm actually very excited at the thought of being employed again.
My brain reels at the thought of work. I feel dizzy and sweat. I wish to go home.
All systems gone. Prepare for downcount.
I am made of flesh and bone and therefore fear the big electric knives behind the deli counter.
I need this job because my fans on the Internet crave more unique life content.
You better be nice to me 'cause I'M GONNA EAT YOUR BRAINS!

... I'd better just leave that blank.

The package is dropped.

Well... there's good and bad points to having turned in the job application.

One is that I got to briefly talk to the boss, who was distracted but seemed enthused by things like "You live ten minutes or less away" and "You like to stay up until midnight".

The bad point is that while talking to him, the omlette wrap I was nibbling decided that I would be better suited to the title "Cheesebeard, Lord of the Spanish Wrap" (Yarrrr. Yarrrrlsburg, matey. Arrr.) and dribbled on me, which prompted quick napkining while he snickered at me.

So... yeah. Okay, it's done. He'll call, in theory.

Mrf.