Dizzojay's Dean Dreams (dizzojay) wrote,
Dizzojay's Dean Dreams

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Job Satisfaction

Here's a little something written for the spn_bigpretzel Annual Outside POV meme.  The prompt by At a local Wal-Mart or whatever their supply run locale may be: the POV of a very loud self-checkout machine that seems to hate Dean Winchester with a cheerfully mechanical passion.

Genre: Humour
Rating: K+
Character: Mechanical OC, Dean Winchester
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Word Count: 630
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own them


I hate my life.

No seriously, of all the cool things my components could have been made into; you know, a battleship, a space shuttle,  a satellite; and I had to end up as this.  A freakin- self-service machine in the grottiest suburban multimart you’ve ever seen.

Sheesh, I could have been floating in geosychronous orbit around the earth, furthering the knowledge of mankind, or hurtling through the solar system taking photos of Jupiter.  Instead here I am, weighing goddamn carrots.

Sometimes I break down just for the hell of it, just to relieve the monotony of the day, but the other machines don’t like that – says it gives them a bad name – so most of the time I just sit here making the most of whatever little victories I can eke out of my pointless existence.

Oh, and here comes my next customer.  Jeez, would you look at that swagger; this one looks like an arrogant dick. I’m gonna have some fun with this one …

Okay, here we go:

One jar of revoltingly cheap Guatemalan coffee.  BEEP

One stick of douchebag scented underarm deodorant.  BEEP

One pre-packaged slice of monosodium glutamate pie.  BEEP

One six-pack of cheap and nasty gnats piss, otherwise known as beer.  BEEP

Two ten kilo bags of rock salt; asking for a heart attack this one.  BEEP

One bottle of ‘stud’ shower gel, the shower gel for assholes, sorry, men.  BEEP

Two packs of … oh, yeah!  This is wonderful … a gift!

Two packs of ultra-safe ribbed condoms, latex-free, extra large.  Yeah, right, don’t kid yourself pretty-boy.  ASSISTANCE REQUIRED.

Oh yeah, if I had a fist I’d pump it; he’s squirming.  Ladies and gentlemen, we have squirming.

Of course, I only did it because Daphne’s on duty.  Middle-aged, matronly, church-going Daphne, and she’s giving him that withering look of disapproval.  Oh yes, my day is complete; suddenly he’s four inches high.

Now we’re getting the “the machine’s got a problem with ‘my brother’s’ condoms” explanation from him.  Hah, she doesn’t believe that crap any more than I do.

Nope, I’m not going to show her the price because that means …

That’s right Daphne, do it; you take that PA system and …


Heh heh, you should see this stink eye he’s giving me.  But it’s nowhere near as good as the look every other customer in the store is giving him.  I can feel the heat radiating off his ears from here.  In fact, it might even give me a valid excuse for breaking down again.

Ah, right, she’s got the price; she’s punching it in, so I think I’m just gonna flag up …

“Sir, these are on a three for two offer, I can get you another pack.”

He’s shaking his head, but Daphne, bless her, she’s on a roll with that PA system.


I’ve never seen a grown man cry before.  This could be a first.

The line behind us is getting longer and longer and more and more impatient; oh my throbbing diodes, this is good.

The runner’s handed over the third pack to Daphne and … what’s that?  They’ve only got size small left in stock.

Okay, so he snatched them up and ran off with his shopping.  Yeah, just as I thought; see ya later dinky winky.

Pity he didn’t pay for his goods before he ran, still, the store detective’s gone after him.  So I guess that’s my excitement for the day over.

Oh look, here’s old Mrs Meeks with her carrots … sigh, time to break down I think.


Tags: dean winchester, fan fiction, humour, spn-bigpretzel, supernatural

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