Get Ready for Valentine's Day! (Right F*&king NOW!!)

Wow, look at the time(and date!). A whole lot of time has past since my last Broken-Hearted Bitter Bitches Day. That said, let's get right to the nitty-gritty. Start Now. Buy a box of candy. Hell, Wal-Mart already has big-ass displays of them. You won't have to select from a mangy stack of cards for either your brother or your boss if you START NOW. And did I mention that the Hairy Peeter would be ecstatic to take your motherfucking holiday orders? NOW? It's like a reservation for an exclusive resto, only your quirky, resourceful, recession-proof self is going to wear a chef's hat and nothing else to prepare dinner for your sweet Foofy-tits. We would be happy to reserve you a pound or five of shrimp, scallops, salmon, fil-lay, or whatever the hell you plan on putting that fire extinguisher to good use for that day. We will cut steaks into the shape of hearts, steam your shellfish, even poke an engagement ring into a piece of grouper. (No, I probably can't, but the thought of a smug yuppie cracking her perfectly veneered chompers always needs injecting into my blog.)



What we won't* do....



*Now keep in mind that your state of mind when addressing the staff of the Peeter can greatly affect what kind of service you receive from us.



We will not clean your shellfish. Take your lazy, or unprepared ass to the frozen food section and purchase something RTG. You sadistic son of a bitch. Do you seriously not see that I am the only associate in this department with a line of five? This has never been allowed.



We will not steam fish fillets, scallops, or live shellfish, except lobster. We do not have any other seasonings for seafood except for Old Bay(NOT SPICE). If you want other flavors, buy them, the fish, and take it the fuck home and cook it.



We are not sommoliers. These fucknuggets barely taught me to fillet a fish, much less pair a wine with it! I'm going to tell you to to go to your nearest BP, buy a gallon of Wild Irish Rose, the blue kind because it kinda looks like the ocean, and take it to the neck.

And, in your haste to impress your mate/M.I.L/boo/, Please, PLEASE, PLEASE remember that we are trying to help you. Giving us a funky attitude because we ran out of something that you have planned all week for is not only unfair because you waited 1 hour before your dinner was scheduled to start and did not even have the good fucking sense to call, it will get you remembered as an asshole and we will make a point of letting our co-workers know it, possibly meaning that you will receive less-than-stellar, cold service from all of us. And we know our product. We can pick out a roast that will be talked about for years for it's tenderness, or we can select for you some shit that's best marinade will be one half battery acid and half being run over by an Escalade for about an hour. If you think years of shitty service are worth a snarky comment..... You make that judgement call. Now, I am preparing to go serve the masses, get pissy drunk from Sparks and cheap vodka, and grind my ass suggestively on some random penises at several clubs this weekend. (My SO has better shit to do! =]) Enjoy your Special Day, and yes my eyes just involuntarily rolled, and leave me a comment about your worst Valentine's Day. I wub you guys!

... The Hell?

After a four-day long vacation from the Fling, it was almost fun pulling into the parking lot, filled with cigarette butts and debris from other fast-food joints. I carefully backed my Mustang into a space with the passenger's side away from the windows, so none of my co-workers could see the sizeable ding in her side, stemming from just one (or three) sips of cheap brown liquor on my birthday's eve. Apparently it clouded my judgement enough to make me slam into the side of a concrete wedge sticking out of a median next to a gas pump. Surprisingly, I felt hungry when I smelled the hash browns and inevitably burnt bacon this morning. Probably because when I'm home and up that early, I eat. Mr. Dilbert was completing a drive-thru order as I walked in. We exchanged greetings and Wigga grumbled a "Good Morning" from the kitchen. I looked around, and as usual, 45453 things had changed since the last time I'd been there. We FINALLY made the switch to trans-fat free oil for the fryers. Most other fast food establishments changed months or even years ago, but I think the Fling was right in keeping it for as long as they legally could. The fries, onion rings, and hash browns will probably taste like shit now with that healthy freakin stuff. And FYI: I would not consider anything except for the Veggie Burger, which is cooked in it's own special pan, safe for a vegetarian. The Pork Sausage Patties are fried in any available grease, which sometimes infuses the other products, like French Toast Sticks, with a strange, rich, hoggy flavor. We also starting using the Trans-fat free crossaint-wich bread. I'm counting minutes until some hillbilly brings back their "Sawseh en Chaise Kussaint-wik" complaing of it's lack of grease. The prep was already totally finished when I came in at 6am, so we just waited around for customers and filled up sugar, dipping sauce for nuggets, and ketchup.Car pulls up. "Fancy", our General Manager, pre-recorded a message of her saying, "Good Morning, how may I help you?" to play within 3 seconds of a car tripping the weight sensor. "Hold on." said a deep, country voice. "Sure, let me know when you are ready!" I said in my disgustingly cheerful morning voice. About 60 seconds passed. I gently prodded- "Need a bit more time, sir?" A loooong pause. "A'ight. We ready." Another hellishly long pause. Mr. Dilbert poked his head around from the manager's office, where he was eating his daily biscuit with syrup. "What the hell do they want? Jackasses.", he snapped, running to the handwash sink to rinse the sweetness off of his fingers. "What can I get you??" he carped over the tinny drive-through microphone. "Ummmm...... We need fo' crassaints. On 2 of them, though, I just want the egg and the cheese." I tapped two Egg-Cheese Crossaint-wiches into the POS and waited. Another pause.... Mr. Dilbert cracked back down. "What are the other two?!" The drive-thru timer crept up on 2:30. "Uhhh..... with whatever else it come with!" At this, I collapsed. Tears sprung to the sides of my eyes as I screamed with laughter in the small window. My mouth wide open, I drooled on my arm slightly and Mr. Dilbert tried to stifle a chuckle as he sternly demanded, "What kind of meat?" But it didn't come out the first time, only "Meat??" to which they responded, "Sausage." But he didn't hear them, so he fairly shrieked, "WHAT KIND OF MEAT?!!" the second time. They again told him, "Sausage?" in a frightened voice. By this time, I was crouched on the floor next to the trash can, weeping and holding my aching abs. He hollered the total through the speaker, and immediately a car pulled into their place. I attempted to take their order. "Two Cini-Minis, please." I tapped the order in and spoke. "Okay, that's two Cini Minis; $2......BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!" I was no more good for the next ten minutes. Later on, after Fancy arrived, she started making the schedule and I noticed a new shift. Oh, SHIT. We are now moving to 24 hours. I immediately volunteered for a spot. Hurrah for drunks and 3rd shift factory workers!! The best blog fodder I know.

She's Baaack!

Happy Fun Times in my 97 Sebring.

Just posted to explain my (usual) tardiness. More posts coming very soon!