I spent much of last night and most of this day praying to The God of Rain. Oh God of Rain, I humbly beseech you: make it pour, make it pour. Please bathe the land in your tears so I won't have to work my mandatory shift at the "Snack Shack" for the youth softball association. Oh please oh please oh please.
Eventually, The God of Rain heard my prayers, but not until I had spent nearly two hours in the horrifying and loathsome Snack Shack. Not until I had poured ten pounds of nasty nacho cheese and "chili" over twenty pounds of tortilla chips. Not until I had fished several quarter-pound hot dogs out of the murk and into buns. Not until I had pulled dozens of corndogs from the freezer and microwaved them in the circa 1982 microwave. Not until I had asked "Um, regular or barbecue?" to twenty-five people who wanted sunflower seeds. Not until a weird lady with smeared eyeliner and hair akimbo approached the window five separate times and each time ordered only a .10 tootsie roll.
Because I love you I will not describe anything having to do with the clean-up portion of my Snack Shack shift. I will only say that...
...I am changed.
I am changed forever.