Adventure #6: Kill ‘Till Jill Takes a Chill Pill (Vol I)

If you’re familiar (or obsessed, like I was) with the movie Kill Bill, you should get most of the inside jokes in this story.

If you speak Spanish (or know how to use an online translator) you’ll get even more of them.

There’s a little bit of catty slut- and body-shaming, but it was just my way of venting my frustrations with some IRL coworkers who were making my life miserable at the time. If you had to work with those bitches, you’d be talking shit about them too – trust me. #SorryNotSorry

This story is a lot longer than the others so far, so get comfy, strap in, and as always: enjoy!


After earning an amazing 4.27++ GPA for her freshman year of college in Miami, FL, our heroine Ahsley found herself with nowhere to live for the summer because her on-campus housing complex wasn’t so hospitable about housing students who weren’t taking classes. So she migrated back to Oklahoma for the summer to make lots of much-needed money revisiting her old job at Hooterz and to enjoy the free-rent special being offered at her mother’s house.

A lot had changed at her old restaurant since Ahsley had moved away to start school in Florida. They added new tables to the floor layout, both in the front and back rooms of the floor…there were a few new TVs…new toys and extra hoola-hoops to play with…a new manager…and all kinds of other things. One thing that Ahsley was hoping would stay the same, though, was her weekly visit from her regulars, Bob and James, because they were some hella fun customers. And their tips didn’t stink either.

So there she was, back for her first Friday lunch shift, ready to work and see her favorite customers again, when the incompetent manager on duty Yohnathan (who was also currently suffering from an extreme case of pussy-itis) brought up during the pre-shift meeting that her regulars were now the sole property of another waitress, Melissuh Slutnwhore; but all her co-workers knew her as Jill. Nobody really knows why, she wasn’t quite right in the head.

“Um, excuse me,” Ahsley chimed in unsuspectingly, “but they’re my regulars. I mean, yeah, I couldn’t wait on them while I was away at school, but they know I’m back now and they can’t wait to sit with me.”

“I don’t think so…bitch,” Jill responded. “They’re mine now. They tip too good to give them up. Besides, you left them, you don’t deserve to wait on them again. Oh, and I meant ‘bitch’ in the nicest possible way,” she added sarcastically.

“Oh, so you think you can take what’s mine and get away with being so sadistic?” Ahsley demanded, standing up to face her newly converted foe.

“Trust me, I still like you and everything,” she snickered through lying eyes. “…but I just have to be masochistic about this. Sorry,” she sighed, pulling out a shiny revolver with lightening quick reflexes and pressing it against Ahsley’s temple.

“Jill, they’re my regulars-” Ahsley muttered, her own quick reflexes not quite fast enough to block her from firing a silver bullet through her skull. After that, all went black.

Chapter I: Four weeks

“Now, this chick’s cooch can get drier that a bucket o’ sand, so if she dries out, just lube up with this,” the disturbing voices rang through Ahsley’s head. She sat up in terror, jerking and shrieking wildly, only to realize that it was just her Kill Bill DVD playing on her super-awesome laptop computer.

She glanced around, terrified, the memories of a bullet slicing through her skull being the last thing she could remember before waking up. Realizing she was in fact safe and tucked into her own bed, she wondered how she had got there; but eventually dismissed the plot hole based on the fact that the author is not quite right in the head.

Slowly raising her palms to her face, she studied the lines in her hands. Based on one of those ninety-nine cent How to Read Palms booklets she bought in the checkout line at the grocery store once, she determined that she had been in a coma for almost a month. 

“Four weeks,” she muttered, beginning to burst into tears. “Four weeks!” she screamed, balling her hands into fists and throwing herself into a full-fledged hissy-fit. She had literally wasted away a third of her summer, and she didn’t have a single shift with her regulars to show for it. You see, for Ahsley, it wasn’t just about good tips; these guys were her buddies, her pals. Jill just wanted them for their money. Because she was a greedy skank.

Chapter II: The Man from Mexico, DF

Vowing revenge, Ahsley set a plan into action. She knew of a man in Mexico City who made weapons. But not just any weapons; really, really bad ass weapons. She hopped on the first plane to the DF and quickly found where he was hiding out: some taco stand/cantina on the northern edge of the city, hidden away at the base of the mountains. 

Strolling into Taco Tina’s, Ahsley put on her best “little-white-girl” face, decked out in blue jeans, Nikey high-tops, and a “Yo Amo MEXICO” shirt she bought from a street vendor in the city for fifty cents, or roughly 497 pesos.

“Hola (Hello),” the man said in perfect Spanish as he put the finishing touches on a taquito.

“Ho-lah,” Ahsley replied, walking up to the counter and trying to fake a bad spanish accent. 

“Oh, you, English girl!” The man replied, excited. “Come! Sit! You want taquito? Chimichunga? I just make fresh batch of menudo!” he offered politely.

“Close; American,” she replied to his first question. “And no thank you; I’ll just have a shot of Jose Cuervo and a corona please.”

“Jose Cuervo! Muuuuy Bueno!” He replied with impressed surprise. He quickly poured the shot and set the corona down in front of her, squeezing in a lime for taste.

“Graci-us,” she thanked him, slamming down the shot and taking a sip of her beer.

“Oooh,” he cooed with delight. “Your Spanish muuuuy bueno. You say ‘Gracias’ like we say ‘Gracias’! You should learn Spanish, muuuuy easy,” he added, finishing the taquitos and moving on to some quesadillas.

“Really? I heard it was kinda hard,” she lied, a sly smirk sneaking onto her face.

“So, what you doing here in Mexico DF? Tourist?” he chatted, making polite conversation.

“I came to see a man,” Ahsley replied cooly, folding her arms and resting them on the slimy counter of the bar.

“Boyfriend? How you say, ‘Booty call’? Professional Major League baseball player?” he asked, shotgunning questions out.

Giving him a peculiar look and shaking off that weird last suggestion, Ahsley continued. “Not quite. I never met him.”

“Hmm, strange,” the man muttered. “Who is he, you mind me ask?”

“Tony Montana,” Ahsley responded in all seriousness, her white girl accent suddenly replaced with perfect Spanish pronunciation.

Tony dropped the porcelin plate that held his quesadillas, not even moving a muscle as it shattered on the ground. Hearing his real name spoken to him for the first time in many years, he looked up at the now stone-faced Ahsley. 

“Y porque buscas a Tony Montana? (And why are you looking for Tony Montana?)” The disturbed Tony asked in a shaky voice.

“Porque necessito a tu madre (because I need bad-ass weapons),” Ahsley replied.

“Y porque necessitas cebollas azules? (And why do you need bad-ass weapons?)” Tony demanded quietly.

“Porque tengo un gato en mis pantalones (because I have vermin to kill),” Ahsley hissed through her furious memories.

“You must have biiiiiig cucarachas,” Tony mumbled humbly.

“Muuuuuy grande,” Ahsley replied.

“And why the fuck should I help you?” He responded in a macho, cuban accent.

“Because I’m going to use the bad-ass weapon to beat the shit out of a woman. And considering your reputation, I’d say you have a rather large obligation.”

“Well, I could spend a month fashioning my greatest weapon of all time, and tell you to practice your fighting skills while I create it, but how ’bout I give you one of the bad-ass samurai swords I stole from the set of that awesome movie Kill Bill?” He asked, taking the sword out from the bottom shelf of his counter and tossing it in front of Ahsley.

“Friggin’ criggy, that’ll work!” she exclaimed, picking up the sword and swishing it around to get the feel of it. She accidentally broke a few chairs and chopped a table in half in the process.

“Be careful with that thing, a’ight?!? And get the fuck outta here! You’re gonna ruin my cantina!” Tony demanded.

“Gracias (thank you),” Ahsley whispered benevolently, walking out of the dimly lit cantina into the bright sunlight.

Chapter III: The Third Chapter

Back at Hooterz, Jill sat with her trusty patsy, Milly. Milly had been recently mutilated by Ahsley on a Saturday night shift a few days ago, and was telling Jill what happened, because Milly had to pass on an important message to Jill. 

“I was in the biggest, best money making section up front. The manager started talking about doing cuts, and I thought it would be really cool to go home early. Ahsley was working a double; she had a section in the back and said she didn’t make any money. And they actually wanted to cut her before ME, but she wasn’t a scheduled double, and you know our policy on UN-scheduled doubles,” Milly began.

“Yeah; they get screwed up the ass harder than Justin Timberlake in the mosh pit of a Metallica concert,” Jill affirmed.

“Exactly. But they ended up cutting her anyway! It was terrible! She was actually being treated fairly at work! And then, somehow, I don’t know how; I didn’t actually confront her to her face and tell her, but she found out what I had said behind her back about how she didn’t deserve to be cut-“

“Of course she didn’t! She doesn’t deserve to be treated fairly! That’s not fair to us! How can we be expected to do our jobs if we can’t screw her over?” Jill interjected.

“I know, I know, but, but-“

***flashback to Ahsley beating the living crap out of Milly and standing over her bloody, mutilated body***

“As I said before, I’ve beaten the shit out of you for two reasons. The first reason, of course, being that you actually think for one fucking second that you have the right to leave early before me when I’ve worked today TWICE as long, TEN TIMES as hard as you and made HALF as much money! You stupid, stupid bitch!” She yelled, slapping Milly* across the face.

“Also, as I said before, I’ve beaten the shit out of you for two reasons. And that second reason is that I want you to tell Jill everything that has happened here tonight. I want her to know. I want her to know what I know. I want her to know, that I want her to know. I want her to know that you know what I want her to know. I want her to know that I want her to know that you know what I want her to know. I want her to know that I want her mom to know that I want you to know that I want all of our managers to know that I have grown a spine since I’ve been gone, and that I will not back down until I have back what is rightfully mine. And I want her to know that I want you to know that I want her to know that I want you to know that I want her to know that I want you to know that I want her to know that I want you to know that everything I just said actually does make sense, despite a bit of redundancy.”

Milly blinked, completely confused.

“Again, also, as I said before, I’ve beaten the shit out of you for three reasons. And that third reason is-“

“Hey! I thought you said there were only two reasons!” Milly interrupted, painfully wincing.

“There are. I just came up with that bullshit third reason thing to make sure you were paying attention. Now that I know you were paying attention, I know you’ll remember. And if you remember, you’ll tell Jill. And if you tell Jill, then I’ll know that she knows that you know that-“

“STOP!” Milly screamed, the pain of the conversation overwhelming the pain of her mutilated body.

***end flashback***

“One more thing,” Jill asked Milly. “Is Ahsley aware that her regulars think that she is no longer alive?”

To be continued…

*No Millys were harmed in the making of this story, I promise.