Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Tip: Foreign Money Does Not Pay My Bills

You're looking at the lamest tip I have ever received. A man in his mid to late 50s gave me this and said, "Spend a week in Cambodia on this."

I promptly thanked him. The main reason was because he left in on my tip plate and I was several feet away from it. I could not see it. For a brief moment I thought it was something like a five or a ten. All I knew was that it did not resemble a one dollar bill.

After looking at my new tip I promptly wanted to kick that man in his groin. I like to think that I am familiar with the world and its economic powers. I knew damn certain that Cambodia is not one of these powers. If I had been left a Euro or a British Pound I would have at least been grateful, perhaps flattered. These currencies, at least, are worth more than the almighty U.S. Dollar.

But 100 Cambodian Riel? Do you have any idea how much this is worth? I'll tell you. According to this website (the only one that actually had the information on the rate of exchange for Cambodian Riels) the exchange rate is thus:

100 Cambodian Riels = 0.02567 U.S. Dollars

While it is interesting to see Cambodian money it's insulting to receive it as a tip. I don't know what this guy was thinking, but I'm currently having dreams that involve me shoving $0.02567 down his throat while screaming "Live on this in the U.S. for a week!"

Friday, January 27, 2006

If I Don't Get a Job Right After Graduating...

To break up the monotony I've decided to post a picture. And this is not just any old picture. This sign comes all the way from Prague.

A friend took the picture while on holiday for New Year's Eve.

Someone needs a restroom attendant. Too bad I don't speak Czech 'cuz I would enjoy living in Europe for a year or so.

Thanks for the pic Steve-O!

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Post Holidays = Cheap Drugs?

I was standing there, minding my own business, when Creepy Guy walked in. I call him Creepy Guy because I got a strange vibe from him when he had visited the restroom earlier. The following conversation reaffirmed my feelings of creepiness:

Creepy Guy: So, I'm hanging with my friend who's the boringest motherfucker on the face of this planet unless he has some bud in him, so, do you know where I can get some?

Y.E.L.R.A.: I can't help you with that.

Creepy Guy: Not even a little bud? A little bud?

Y.E.L.R.A.: Nope. Sorry.

Creepy Guy: Not even a little bud, huh? Well, I thought I would ask.

The story does not end there. As I was leaving for the evening one of the cocktail waitresses came up to me.

Cocktail Waitress: How'd you like the bud guy?

Y.E.L.R.A.: Wait, did you send him to me?

Cocktail Waitress: No. He asked me first and I told him no. He then asked me if you would know anything and I told him I doubted it. He was like, 'I'll go ask him.' All I could tell him was to knock himself out.

Y.E.L.R.A.: He was a little weird.

Cocktail Waitress: Yeah. The moment I saw him I got this creepy feeling. (See? It's not just me!) Any person who starts off the conversation with 'I'm not from the DEA, but I have this odd question' needs to just step away from me.

Normally I get requests for cocaine, but marijuana is a new one. Perhaps the holidays did not treat Creepy Guy too well and he has to resort to a cheaper drug.

Also, the restaurant is part of a month long promotion that many of the fine dining establishments are taking part of. Prix Fixe meals tend to bring out those unwilling to spend a lot of money. These people are otherwise known a cheapos. These are the type of people that have a nice three-course meal and only order a water to drink. Perhaps Creepy Guy is a byproduct of this?

I can't wait until January is over.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Meet Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead entered the restroom and I directed him to an open stall. After he was finished, he started washing his hands.

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead: Can I ask you a question?

Y.E.L.R.A.: Sure

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead: Why'd you tell me where to go?

Y.E.L.R.A.: I'm doing my job.

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead: Yeah, but why did you tell me where to go?

Y.E.L.R.A.: If you have a problem with what I do you are more than welcome to speak to my manager about this.

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead: I don't want to talk to your manager. I'm talking to you. You didn't answer my question.

Y.E.L.R.A.: Well, the restroom can be confusing and I'm just trying to help people out.

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead: Well, you don't need to help me out. I've been to this restaurant several times and I know what I'm doing.

Y.E.L.R.A.: Well, I don't know that. Sorry to offend you.

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead: You didn't offend me. I just don't like being told what to do.

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead then leaves

Y.E.L.R.A.: Have a great evening.

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead: *grumble*

Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead was forced to eat crow a short while later. These are the reasons:

(1) My manager was using the restroom at the time this conversation took place. He spoke to Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead and let him know that his employees should be treated with respect.
(2) A friend of Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead's happened to be tending bar that night. The bartender told Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead to quit acting like an asshole.

The next time Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead came to use the restroom, he apologized. I accepted his apology and told him not to worry about it. What else could I do? I'm not a big fan of confrontation. Additionally, I knew I had an advantage over the guy. If I started acting cranky and snubbing him I would be stooping to Mr. CrankypantsMcButthead's level.

In his lame attempt of an apology, he stated, "That's just my personality."

His personality is being an asshole. I bet that gets all the ladies.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Age Ain't Nothin' But a Num... Awww, Just Kick that Chick in the Shins!

A tall, skinny Asian chick comes into the restroom.

Tall, Skinny Asian Chick: Is it your job to be in the bathroom all night?

Y.E.L.R.A: It sure is.

Tall, Skinny Asian Chick: Oh wow! That's so exciting!

She then hugged me. I feigned interest and lamely hugged her back. I didn't know her, plus she struck me as a few bricks shy of a load.

Later in the evening she entered with a tiny, gay Asian man. They seemed perfect for each other. They were both way too excited to use the restroom. I really wanted to punch both of them, but I was in a patient mood that night.

The tall, skinny Asian chick entered a stall and the tiny gay Asian man washed his hands. He soon overheard a group of 20ish women talking.

Tiny Gay Asian Man: Oh my god! Is it your birthday?

Woman #1: Yes it is!

Tiny Gay Asian Man: Happy Birthday! How old are you?

Woman #1: 25!

Just then the tall, skinny Asian chick came out of the stall.

Tall, Skinny Asian Chick: Oh my god! Happy Birthday!

Woman #1: Thank you!

Tall, Skinny Asian Chick: I'm 26! It's the perfect age! You know what my mother told me?

Woman #1: (sensing something is now slightly amiss) What... ?

Tall, Skinny Asian Chick: She said that when you're 26 you're a Class-A woman! When you're 28 and not married, then you're Class-B! And if you're 30 and not married you're Class-C! Oh my god! Isn't that so funny?

Woman #1: Yeeeaaaahh...

The tall, skinny Asian chick and tiny, gay Asian man both decided to wash their hands. They proceeded to talk and squeal like thirteen year old girls. The rest of the people in the restroom couldn't help from staring at the couple. I didn't hear much of their conversation except for the following:

Tall, Skinny Asian Chick: Oh my god! We hang out at the same places. Do you know Tish?

Tiny, Gay Asian Man: Tish?

Tall, Skinny Asian Chick: She works at Bobbi Brown.

Tiny, Gay Asian Man: Oh my god! Tish! I know Tish!

They both squealed and hugged each other. Finally, they left the restroom. The group of 2oish women were still there, applying their makeup.

Woman #2: What did she say to you?

Woman #1: Something about being a Class-C person.

Woman #3: Yeah, something about if you're in your thirties then you're Class-C.

Y.E.L.R.A: Oh, you missed it. If you're thirty and not married, then you're Class-C.

Woman #1: Whatever. She's a fucking idiot.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Hey... ! Isn't Thirty the New Twenty?

I overheard some 20-ish women talking about how their friend is sleeping with her boss. The one girl explained to her friends how the boss flew their friend to New York and other minor details.

In describing the boss, the story-teller said, "And he's old. He's in his forties."


Friday, January 20, 2006

Three Hearbreaks for the Price of One

Heartbreak Number One

Guy #1: So, that's it? You guys are over?

Guy #2: Pretty much.

Guy #1: But, you guys are great together. What happened?

Guy #2: She wants to have her career and children. It wouldn't work out. She can only have one or the other. She's shouldn't have to give up her career. She's worked hard this far to get where she is at.

Guy#1: Yeah. Maybe you can work it out.

Guy #2: Maybe.

Heartbreak Number Two

Dude: I had to kick my best friend's ass.

Chick: What?

Dude: Yeah, my brother's stupid.

Chick: Why?

Dude: The dumbshit just got engaged and now he wants to back out of it.

Chick: Aww, that's bad. Wait... Is it your brother or your best friend?

Dude: He's my best friend and my brother. My parents adopted him when we were thirteen.

Chick: Oh. So, he wants to back out of it? Why?

Dude: 'Cuz he's a dumbass.

Heartbreak Number Three

Woman walks into the restroom crying. She grabs a tissue, walks out and sits on one of the chairs near the entrance to the restroom. As she is crying, her mother walks up to her.

Mother: Why don't we go somewhere else?

Woman: Where else can I go?

Mother: Okay...

Woman: Mother, you knew that was private information.

Mother: I know.

Woman: (sobbing uncontrollably) You know I wasn't ready to get married. He met her right after we broke up and now, they're getting married. I always thought he was the one for me. Now, I can't even pursue him anymore because he's going to get married.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Don't Condescend Me, Man!

As with any job, my job has an insane amount of repetition. Most of the time I'm letting people know how to use the faucets.

"Lift the handle," I tell them. Constantly. It's not their faults. The designer really had aesthetics -- not practicality -- in mind when he designed our sinks. They faucet handles are partially hidden, so most people think that the taps are automatic. Newcomers to the restaurant are frequently seen waving their hands furiously under the tap as if something magic is going to happen. It's fun to see them get frustrated.

After instructing a person on the basics of the sink I often am asked, "How many times do you have to say that a night?"

"Too many," I respond.

Many people misunderstand my attempts at being courteous as a sign that I'm being punished severely by the management for some unspeakable misdeed. In all honesty, I don't have to show people which stalls are open. I'm really there to show how the faucets work, to replenish the paper towels/toilet paper, and to prevent people from bumping nasties in the stalls. The rest is up to me. Therefore, I try to make the people feel welcome. I understand that the restroom is a big draw to our restaurant, therefore I'm just keeping up appearances.

I'm also spoken to in a condescending manner. That bugs me a lot.

This evening two women came in and I let them know which stalls were available.

"Oh," Woman #1 condescended, "is this your job to stand there and tell me which stall is available?"

Seizing the moment I did what I've always wanted to do.

"No, I don't work here."

The beauty of this is I said it with an extremely straight face.

The woman stared at me as if I had just told a joke, but weren't sure of it. Their rabbit-in-the-headlight half smiles fluctuated between wanting to finish the smile and screaming in terror. They had no idea how to react to this.

I finally let them off the hook and said I was just kidding.

That'll learn 'em.

Must Keep Sarcastic Comment to Myself

Ditzy Chick: Is this a unisex bathroom?

Y.E.L.R.A: Yes.

Ditzy Chick: So... does that mean that guys use it, too?

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Think Before Opening Mouth

Last night Manager #1 walked into the restroom.

Manager #1: Is everything okay down here?

Y.E.L.R.A: Yeah. How is it up there?

Manager #1: Kinda mellow.

I then noticed he was scoping out the restroom. He then left and went upstairs. After a minute or so, Manager #2 enters the restroom.

Manager #2: Did Manager #1 come talk to you?

Y.E.L.R.A: Yeah. Why? What's going on?

Manager #2: Oh, don't worry about it. The guy said he was just joking.

Y.E.L.R.A: What?

Manager #2: Nothing.

Manager #2 left.

As I was leaving for the night I saw Manager #1. I asked him what that was all about.

Manager #1: Oh, some guy was sitting in the bar saying 'Someone should go downstairs and check out the bathroom. It's a mess!' We came down to see if there was anything strange going on like someone was vomiting. We were both puzzled because the restroom looked like it always does. Manager #2 overheard the guy say a few minutes later, 'I hope I didn't get anyone in trouble. I was just joking.'

I have to deal with idiots like that every night. For some reason, their humor escapes me. I've said it before, but an audience of one is not a good thing. Whatever happened to telling knock-knock jokes?

Friday, January 13, 2006

La Mujer en los BaƱos

Y.E.L.R.A.: Ma'am, there's an open stall over here.

Idiot Woman: Oh, wow! This is cool. Does this mean I have to give you some pesos now?

No, Idiot Woman. What it means is that you need to get punched in the nose for that remark.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Cougar on the Prowl

Last Friday evening a Cougar showed up at the restaurant. (Go ahead, follow the link. I'll be here when you get back.)

Back? Good!

I had no clue who this woman was, much less she was a cougar until later in the evening. My first contact with this woman was when she walked into the restroom. One of our bussers was showing her where the restroom was. He looked as though he was bear about to gnaw off its paw stuck in a trap. When she entered I directed her to an open stall. She did not acknowledge me.

After doing her business she came out of the stall and set her enormous old lady purse on the sink. Since the sink is a flat surface with strategically placed drainage canals it tends to look like a table. Also, water tends to pool unless I use a squeegee to help it along its way. Since it was a little busy I hadn't had the moment to squeegee the sink. Of course, she set her huge old lady purse right in a pool of water.

I let her know that she was getting her purse wet. In fact, I moved it so it wouldn't get wetter. She did not thank me for it. Instead, she just put her hands under the faucet.

"It's not automatic, ma'am," I explained. "You need to lift the handle."

No response.

"Lift the handle."

This time I got a response. She shook her hands under the tap as if she was above and beyond any manual labor. I reluctantly turned the water on for her. Once she was done she did not thank me. She just walked out of the restroom holding the still dripping purse.

A little time went by and one of the hostesses came to answer the call of nature. When she was leaving I asked, "Hey! Have you seen that lady with the floral shirt and thick framed glasses?"

"Yeah," she said. "She's a weirdo. She'll be crying in the bar at 2am if no one goes home with her."

It's always nice to get confirmation that you're not imagining strange behavior.

Later in the evening a group of men in their mid to late 20s were using the restroom. One of the guys got done first and was washing his hands.

Guy #1: "Some weird lady was hitting on my friend in the bar. We had to get out of there.

Y.E.L.R.A.: "Was she wearing a floral print shirt?"

Guy #1: "Yeah! She's ... "

Y.E.L.R.A.: "Something else?"

Guy #1: "Yeah, that would be an understatement."

(Guy #2 starts washing his hands.)

Guy #1: "Hey, he's come into contact with that cougar."

Guy #2: "Dude, you know she's your type. You should ask her out."

Guy #1: "Whatever. Quit lying. You know you like her better."

As the night progressed I found myself going up to the bar a few times to take care of things. Each time the Cougar was talking to someone else. Each time her victim had a cornered animal look on their faces.

As I was leaving for the night, she was still there. She seemed desperate at this point. She was looking around for someone to talk to. I caught her looking at me and all I could do was look away and head quickly for the door.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

The New Year's Eve Story (New Year's Eve, pt. 3)

December 31st, 2005.

I arrived to work at approximately 6pm that evening. Having spent the last two days driving across country and arriving home at 5 o'clock Saturday morning, I can safely say that I was not in the mood to work. All I really wanted to do was spend time with friends and tie one on. However, I had the previous two weeks off. Therefore, Y.E.L.R.A. was feeling a bit broke.

Additionally, I knew I would get some interesting stories out of it.

The party that was downstairs for the first portion of the evening was deserving of a kick in the shins. There is nothing worse than a bunch of upper class white folk getting drunk. The more alcohol that is consumed, the more annoying they become. Their party had some sort of 1920s theme to it. However, no one seemed to understand what exactly that meant. They had a vague idea that they had to have fringe on their dresses, but that's about it. They also knew that they had to have feather boas. Therefore, the floor was covered with feathers by night's end.

One woman's skirt (if you could call it that) was cut so high that I could see her crotch and her ass. It was obviously something she bought for Halloween and wanted to wear it again. The visible panties were of the thick quality, something akin to what cheerleaders wear under their skirts. Nevertheless, it was tacky and unnecessary.

Another woman was wearing a short dress that showed her back prominently, exposing her absolutely ugly tattoo. Her hair covered a chunk of it, but I could make out a set of long horns on each shoulder blade. The best part about this woman is that she walked like she had just been created in Dr. Frankenstein's lab the previous night. You could tell that her outfit cost some money. I'm sure that here shoes -- which were very elegant I have to admit -- were a few hundred dollars for the pair. She was not a very graceful woman, but she acted as though she was the bee's knees. Therefore, it's okay to laugh at her.

As 8:30 approached, one of the food runners came up to me.

"Hey, dude," he said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I seriously hate white people right now."

I knew exactly what he meant. A bit of clarification is probably needed at this point. Most of front of the house the staff -- including the abovementioned food runner -- is white. We're just from the other side of the tracks from the folks we take care of. I guess that's always the way, isn't it?

The rest of the evening I was in a particularly foul mood. I kept up appearances and was extremely nice to everyone. That was mainly because people were tipping me left and right. Plus, I had nothing to be too upset about. There was none of the usual things that I have to deal with. I was prepared to stop several couples from having sex in the stalls. I was also prepared to deal with gallons of vomit. However, nothing happened.

Of course, people were doing drugs. A table in one of the handicapped stalls was covered with remains of uncut cocaine. I also found a syringe in one of the stall trash cans. I'll give the shooter the benefit of the doubt and say that they were diabetic.

All that aside, my main concern was that I was not going to see my fiance. She stated that she wanted to stop by and ring in the new year with me. However, we had a bit of a row that afternoon and I was nervous that she was still mad.

As 11pm approached, I was getting antsy. I hadn't heard from her. I finally texted her.

"Are you coming?" I wrote.

A few minutes later I received a text message with the following one word:


At around 11:30pm, my fiance and a couple of friends entered the restroom. Words cannot describe how happy I was to see her.

As midnight approached the restroom got a little busy. Everyone wanted to ring in the new year with an empty bladder. However, the closer it got to 12am, the less people I saw. When the New Year came, the only people in the restroom was my fiance and I. We kissed and everything was all right.

She left around 12:30, leaving me to do my job. She also left me with a bourbon and soda, which I had no problems drinking.

At around 12:45 my manager came in.

Manager: What do you want to drink?

Y.E.L.R.A.: What?

Manager: I feel bad. I forgot you were down here. The rest of the staff has been drinking since midnight.

Y.E.L.R.A.: Oh... ummm... a vodka tonic.

Manager: No, I mean a shot.

Y.E.L.R.A.: Ummm... I guess tequila.

Manager: I'll be back.

He shortly returned with a shot of Patron and a vodka tonic. I have to say that getting a buzz on at work is quite nice. It's not as though I've never done it, but it's nice when you get the okay from the manager. It tastes better.

As the alcohol took effect, I stopped being so uptight about my job. Plus, most of the people were leaving anyway. That's the thing about New Year's Eve. People go home shortly after ringing in the new year. Perhaps it's because the month of December is so full of parties that they've had enough once January first comes. Perhaps they just want to get home to avoid all the drunk drivers. Whatever the reason, it's nice that once 2 am hit very few people had to be ushered out the front door.

New Year's Eve never turns out how you want it to be. There are always high expectations to ring in the new year at the perfect place. I certainly did not expect to ring in 2006 in a restroom. However, the fact that my fiance was there made it so much better.

She picked me up at around 2:15. As we drove through downtown we watched all the crazy drunk people standing on street corners, waiting for public transportation or taxis. They are an interesting lot, those New Years revelers. On any other night these streets would be barren, save for the myriad of homeless people. On post-midnight January 1st everyone is greeting strangers that they probably spit on the the night before and giving them wishes for a happy new year. It's a shame that has to stop.

Of course, one can't stay drunk and cross-eyed all the time. Their eyes would stay that way. At least that's what my mom used to tell me.

Sunday, January 08, 2006


I really want to tell you all about my New Year's Eve, but this evening was so annoying and is still fresh in my mind. Therefore, I will give you a few stories about Saturday January 7th, 2006.


Story #1

Man: Can I ask you a question?

Y.E.L.R.A.: Sure

Man: What's up with the unisex bathroom?

Y.E.L.R.A.: That's sort of a rhetorical question, isn't it?

Man: No, I think it's a perfectly legitimate question.

Y.E.L.R.A.: Okay... what exactly do you mean by that question?

Man: I mean, why a unisex bathroom? It's a little unusual, isn't it?

Y.E.L.R.A.: I believe that's the point.


Story #2

As I was directing a woman towards a newly opened stall, the man who came out of the aforementioned stall decided to be a wiseass.

Wiseass: Don't go in there. Someone just tore it up in there.

He then walked away, laughing like he felt he accomplished something amazing.

At this point I gave him the thumbs up and stated "classy!"

He didn't get it.


Story #3

I am embarrassed by white people. Most of the people that come to the restaurant are what would be considered Yuppies. These are the people that can afford a new house and still go out to eat. They don't have children. Thus, they have money to burn. Or snort. Take your pick.

Time to admit my major secret: I'm white. Shocking, I know. However, I prefer to think of myself as Irish-German American and separate myself from those people that come to the restaurant. The first thing that makes me different -- at least in my mind -- is that I have taste in music, films, etc. The second thing is that I know that I cannot dance if my life depended on it.

Working in the restroom tends to be a double-edged sword. On one hand, I get to see and hear some of the most interesting things. There are speakers in the restroom and I get to hear some good music. On the other, I am a captive audience at times. Some to the drunk idiots know that and they like to dance -- absolutely horribly -- in the restroom. This is the point in the evening where I stop giving a shit.

I must also comment about one of the regular DJs (let's call him "DJ Predictable") that work at the restaurant. His repertoire is ... well ... predictable. He plays the same songs in the same order every night he spins. I haven't seen the good DJ in months. DJ Predictable isn't as bad as the guy who played mash-ups all night long, but he's a close second. DJ Predictable likes to play two songs that get the white people off their asses. The first is Ol' Dirty Bastard's "Got Your Money."

Another thing I need to explain is the Screaming Woman. Each night there is always at least one screaming woman that comes into the restroom. The Screaming Woman likes to scream at the top of her lungs and let everyone within shouting distance know that she is having the time of her life. Her expectations seem to be that everyone should be drawn into her world. Examples of what the Screaming Woman says is "Whooooooo! This bathroom is so cool!"

When ODB's "Got Your Money" came on tonight the Screaming Woman of this evening happened to be in the restroom. She and another man started dancing. Right on cue the Screaming Woman screamed, "Whooooooo! I love ODB!"

At this point one of my managers happened to be washing his hands. He came up to me and said, "White people. The make me so embarrassed."

See? I'm not the only one.

The other song is Kanye West's "Golddigger." I really like this song, but I'm quickly beginning to hate it. Every damn time the song comes on I hear a group of women screaming. Many run out of the restroom screaming "Whoooooooo! I love this song!"

They then dance as poorly as possible.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

New Year's Eve, pt. 2

In my previous post I noted that no one vomited in any of the stalls.

Although I was precise to state that said vomiting did not happen in the stalls, I do have to mention that vomiting did occur in the confines of the restaurant. Apparantly the stairs leading to basement -- where the restroom is located -- became the setting for someone's moment to barf. Thankfully for me the barfer did not make it to the restroom. Unfortunately, from what I heard, a good portion of the stairs was covered.

Rumor has it that a dishwasher had to be bribed with tequila to clean up the mess. At least we carry the good stuff. No Jose Cuervo, just Patron all the way.

Believe me I know. I had some on New Year's Eve. That's a story I will tell later.

Here's an interesting thought: Is the beginning of January the boom time for carpet cleaning services? Do rentals of carpet cleaning machines rise as well?

New Year's Eve, pt. 1

Yes, Y.E.L.R.A. had to work on New Year's Eve.

Don't be sad for me. I had the previous 2 weeks off. It's not like I intend on ringing in 2007 in a restroom.

I have some stories to share. Surprisingly no one vomited in any of the stalls. I'll keep the first one brief because I'm currently serving a stint of jury duty. It's occupying a chunk of my time. Plus, I'm feeling a bit lazy.

New Year's Eve Story #1

Lady: "Can I get a couple of cigarettes from you? All I have is a hundred. Do you have change for a hundred?

Yes, Lady, I do. I often keep a bank of a hundred and fifty dollars. You see, I'm actually a millionaire playboy who is masquerading as a restroom attendant so I can win the heart of a simple girl. I got the idea from Madonna's "Material Girl" video. I'm currently buying a beat up Dodge truck from a guy on eBay.

Yes, folks. The stupidity never ends.