Get up the nerve to finally talk to the handsome cashier at the juice bar.
“You like working here?” ask.
He’ll sigh. Like you just handed him a line. Try another.
“Like…juice?”
He’ll tell you he’s Christian.
“Like super-Christian,” he’ll say. “You know how sometimes you hear someone identify someone else where they say, ‘But he’s super Christian?’ That’s how people identify me. Because I am.”
Nod and smile.
“Still into me?” he’ll ask. “Because you’re not going to get my clothes off unless you let me tell you how awesome Jesus is.”
Think about it. You’ve put up with a lot of shit from guys. Alcoholism. Drugs. One guy stole all your money and sent it to his ex-girlfriend. The futons. The guys who sang you the awful songs they wrote about girls they dated before you. Rick, the guy who wanted you and his mom to hang out once a week without him so you could develop a relationship. And you even dated a couple of mole people.
Is a guy being into Jesus really that much of a dealbreaker in light of your history?
“Yeah I don’t think I can do it,” you tell him.
“Have fun in hell,” he’ll say as you leave with your juice. Go home and masturbate to the thought of putting up with him long enough to get him naked, then tomorrow find another juice bar.
Happy Handsome Cashier Day!
