So today I was at work doing my thing wamp wamp what it do what it do and the receptionist forwarded me a call from a woman with a speech impediment who was using at&t disability services to communicate. I immediately jumped at the chance to absolve myself of the guilt I've been feeling lately for in general being an all around piece of shit asshole. I thought to myself "I'm gonna help this person who's on the fringe of society because she's something she shouldn't be;different." Yeah I know, the horse shit that comes into my head sometimes. So I proceed to bypass several security protocols in order to help this woman purchase....wait for it...79 sparkplugs. Now the mechanically inclined among you realize that seeing as you would only ever use 4,5,6,8, or 12 at a time and that none of these numbers goes cleanly into 79 that this is an odd fucking order. never mind that we only stock about 20 to 25 of each kind of sparkplug. But, no I'm gonna be a nice guy today and process this order as quickly as I can because it takes an hour for her to simply communicate what she wants and I want to make sure I give the best service possible because she deserves it or some such shit. I ask my supervisor if it's cool that I'm gonna sell every single bkr5e spark we have. He sees dollar signs and says "hell yeah money is money" .Right before I begin to finish processing the order he regains his senses and starts to ask me a few questions. "Are you shipping those out?" "No, she's sending her personal fed ex driver to pick them up." "How the fuck does she have a personal fed ex driver." "I mean she's- you know handicapped." "well uh...you got a zip code to run her credit card right?" "yeah" "what is it?" "01331...uh wait..." "That's not a georgia zip" "No..." "then..." I type it in to google and it comes up as Athbol mass. I look at the ups shipping map on the wall and realize that this doesn't add up. B-dubb(my supervisor type guy) tells me to fax over a credit card authorization form(which I should have done in the first place mind you). I do it and when I get back from faxing it they've hung up and there's no doubt that I've just played myself and damn near made myself an accessory to a crime. My manager comes back from lunch at this time and we explain what just happened and he and B-dubb become righteously pissed and track the fax number to Seattle and begin trying to trace the people who just bent me over and damn near ruptured my rectum. In the end the tracks were covered too well. Everyone chalked it up to a learning experience for me. I chalk it up to me stupidly trying to assuage my guilt about something I shouldn't have guilt over in the first place. We are all mean and rude because we are all horrible people. I tried to go back to being that soft kid from the southside of Atlanta. I thought I missed him. not anymore. That kid was always playing himself ,tripping over his own tongue and flaying his brain to bits. I think I' m going to stick to being mean, rude and inconsiderate. All I can say to the would be criminals is "nice one." Blah blah blah...and that is the story of how I played myself today. The emperor has new clothes and is missing 79 spark plugs. ..parabellum