My Recycling Bin

7: Dear Diary, blah blah blah blah BLAH. (x10000)

7: Dear Diary, blah blah blah blah BLAH. (x10000)

That right there my friends is how I am currently feeling about my so called 'story'. It's a freaking diary! Although, if it were actually a diary, I wouldn't start it with 'Dear Diary'. That's been used so many times.

I'd probably name my diary. How about Bertha? Doesnt that name sound so unattractive? No offense to all the Berthas out there, but doesn't that name just pop an image into your head? (Shall I describe what I see? I see a short plump girl with braces and blonde hair that is pulled into two crooked pig tails. Her nostrils are flared up into two perfect circles as she laughs/snorts at a joke about the periodic table.)

Yeah, Bertha works perfectly for my unattractive story.

To clear some things up before hand, I would like to say something before I get started. After rereading my last chapter, I've realized that I forgot another important event that happened to me. (And since I am writing with a pen, I can't go back and earse since I already started writing down this chapter. Ag. That's what I get for writing this instead of typing.)

Anyways, here it is. Four:

The Kee Empire. As you know it, it is the place where I was caught in my act of passion. As I see it, it's the place where I have to show up every Monday, Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday and get bossed around by rude people with no patience. I see it as a place where I need to spend unnecessary amount of time with Wing Kee, the girl who started this all. Whoopie.

I was working Wednesday night. It was practically dead. And most of the workers were cut. I had about two tables to wait on, an elderly couple who had trouble chewing thier orange chicken and Nick Masters. (Yes, Nick Masters the same guy that Lyra has a crush on.)

Nick was by himself at the table, piling together a pile of straws. Next to him, a stack of straw wrappers was beginning to fall of the table. (I was annoyed at that since I had to clean up after him.)

"Excuse me, Violet." Nick called out to me as I was walking past his table.

I walked over to him. "Yes, sir. How can I help you?" (Gah, I hated calling him 'sir'. It felt so wierd. But, alas, I must. It is in the employee handbook.)

"Whoa, Violet. No need to go all formal on me." Nick said. "You know my name. Please, use it. Or I will start calling you ma'am."

I was instanly relieved. Before, everytime my friends would come over to the resturaunt, (they would purposely come on my night. Gah.) just so I can call them 'ma'am'. It's ridiculous. (Oh, and I can't just nit be polite to the customers. The Kee Empire has people watching us. One time, I forgot to call this man 'sir' and I got a whole lecture on how to be polite. The Kee Empire is full of spies. Beware.)

"Sorry Nick. So what did you call me for?" I asked.

"Well, i was wondering if you had any more straws?"

I stared at his overflowing pile of straws and laughed. "Dont you think you have enough? I think I'm gonna have to cut you off."

"Come on, Violet. Don't be like the other resturaunts. They all kicked me out." He said.

I looked around and noticed that we were the only two people left in the dining section. (The old couple must have given up on trying to chew thier chicken and went somewhere else.) "Okay, Nick. I'll get you some more if you tell me what you need them for exactly."

"Well, I am making a sculpture out of straws if you must know."

"Out of straws?" I questioned. I forgot that Nick was one of those Artsy people. No wonder I hardly saw him around at lunch, most art kids go to the art room to eat.