Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Ali of El Vermino Boulevard is taking a bit of a breather; Where the hell are all of the St. Paddy's Day winos?
Bitter over at bitterwaitress is reminding me again of why I love her, especially because of her STD. Old people suck fuzzy kitties out of drainpipes!
Bitchy Waitress at "At Least Call Me Miss" is totally right on the money with this one. I'm so sick of fucking stuff up while trying to meet a goal for speed. You don't have to go nursing-home slow to take a minute and make sure your shit is correct.
Restaurant Gal is back, and reviewing a restaurant-themed movie I have been curious about for quite awhile. Great review! Might even be worth hunting the bootleg man down for!
Ah! Ryan! I serve idiots, too! I totally would have slipped some Visine in the drink of any yuppie-in-training with a mouth like that. Jesus Christ!
Upset Waitress almost made me crap myself from laughing. Long live blogging, dammit!
Manuel at the Well Done Fillet is being mildly horrified by obese, gangsta whales; But sometimes, customers are the most satisfying form of entertainment, especially when they tip 25%.
Lobster Boy (My brothafromanothamotha) struck a nerve with me in this old-school post. Why are some people such cheap bitches? SMH... You can always see the scammers 50 miles away.
Waiter Rant shows us again that arrogant, snarky SOBs are easily manipulated: They can and should be taken advantage of as much as possible.
Ribeye, I have a suggestion. When these little vag-heads try to buy drinks underage, agree, and use rubbing alcohol in place of whater liquor they request.
Tony Dine, I see you! :) I think that "wine experts" (or old farts with too much time and money who eat out WAY too much) just need a few puffs of reefer before the meal. It will make Wild Irish Rose taste like a $80 vintage wine.
And finally, I am going to start making up for lost time, with an explanation for my tardiness here at the Seafood Department. Next week's Round Table will be hosted over at El Vermino Boulevard... Big ups to Ribeye for allowing me to host this week! Although I'm sure Affirmative Action played a major part ;-) .
The links should work this time, thanks to Ribeye doing some editing.
It all began when I got into an accident last month. It involved sleeplessness, darkness, and a stationary utility cart sitting quite comfortably in the middle of a usually(but not at 11:30pm) highway. Bottom line? It was my fault. From the insurance company's wack-ass P.O.V, "What if it had been a small child?" If this conversation had not been recorded for training purposes, I might have revealed the answer that A. The child would have been one dead mothafucka. B. You would not be recieving a call from my ass. Sheesh. My car insurance shot up to $350.00 per month, and this is before these asshats found out about the accident.
But fortunately, nobody was injured. But I found myself as broke as a joke, but not laughing worth a damn. I was washing my Hairy Peter uniforms and found myself cruising past Burger Fling. On a whim, I walked in, completed an application, and spoke to a manager. I got an interview the next day, and started working the day after that. I have a brief, troubled history in fast food(WacArnolds, Chubway, Vato Hell, PiPi's Pizza, Smithfield's Nigga-Free BBQ, ect) but nothing that they needed to know about. Hell, I didn't even get drug-tested. Not that I would be bold enough to do drugs, knowing about the Peeter's random drug testing.
And I found myself there... at the Fling... I was dropped off in the bitter cold at 4:30 in the morning. The early 80's music was being played even outside, from the speakers above the doors. My uniform consists of a black and red striped fugly-ass polo shirt, which seems deliberatly unflattering and androgenous, and Wal-Mart special "hooker pants." SMH. Not the classiest way for a manager to try and describe my attire, especially with a cold sore lingering around her lower lip(don'tlookdon'tlookdammitilookedagain). I even dug my old slip-proof clown shoes out of the closet. I hate those damn things, but my sneaker of choice, Vans, is probably not going to sit well with anyone. Period. The smell of bacon, burnt hash browns, and biscuits was really not unpleasant. I clocked in, checked in with a manager, and started getting to know everything I could about opening the restaurant. I would have to say that the employees I met on my first day made me feel like the whitest person on the earth. I got used to the curious glances and the whispering and snickering. I've done it; everybody has to start off as a nOOb. But some of these women.... Jesus take the wheel, please? What possessed this girl to put hot pink weave in her head? The women were making me feel a little embarrassed about my skin color. There were a few women who would be considered "hit-able" after a few beers, but got-damn! there was a lot of beat-up looking mofiggitys that day. The worst one reminded me of Suge Knight with a lacefront wig, and the best kind of looked like a cross between Busta Rhymes and a moose. There was quite a lot of lazyness that went un-corrected, and probably not noticed by management. While I scurried around like a chambermaid, scrubbing doorhandle mounts, soda machines, and wiping off stainless steel fixtures, I noticed a lot of the jerks watching me, while eating candy, Cheesy Tots, and drinking soda. The entire morning's gossip was centered around a shooting in a local housing project that I used to live in. That place is rough; the first night I moved in, I saw a pregnant white chick get her ass walloped in front of the BNN convenience store (never did find out the meaning of the acronym). It was such a change from the Peet! Everyone is so chill, and relaxed, and DGAF. I just wanted to let everyone know about the changes going on; there will sure as hell be more to follow.