Vindicated Part 1

16 Jan 2012 13 Comments

by yellowcat in The Daily Grind Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I love it when I’m right. 

It’s hockey season and that means one thing:  hockey parents.  More specifically, it means bitchy hockey moms.  For the last month or so, I’ve warned Pro Rodeo about hockey parents and the bullshit they pull such as insisting the kids sit at a different table so the parents can talk while the kids destroy the dining room, yell, scream, throw food/drinks and run around like a bunch of assholes.  No one ever listens to me.

We’ve had the adult team (I don’t know what you call them, semi-semi-semi-pro?) and of course they behave like adults.  They sit, they eat, they leave.  We’ve had a mom or dad with a couple of kids and it’s the same deal, the sit, they eat, they leave.  Everybody’s polite and well mannered.  Pro Rodeo essentially told me I was full of shit about the hockey parents because no one has caused any trouble. 

Until Saturday night.

A woman came in to hold a table.  No problem because we do reservations.  This was an issue at the Harribalsac because of the NO RESERVATIONS!! policy.  She said she wanted a table for 8 kids and a table for 4 adults. 

The Host with the Most set the kids up at the long table and when he tried to push another table with it, the hockey mom repeated that the parents did NOT want to sit with the kids.

Let the games begin.

He seated the parents at an adjoining table and for the next hour and a half the parents talked while the kids (ages 10 and under) turned the dining room into the play room at McDonalds.  It was AWESOME!  They spilled 3 Shirley Temples (on the new carpet) made enough noise to piss off our other dinner guests to the point that no one would sit in the back dining room and ran their server to death. 

Pro Rodeo spent most of that hour and a half standing at the bar, glaring into the back dining room, grinding his teeth and cussing like a sailor.  I thought he was going to have an aneurysm.

I hate to say it, but I TOLD YOU SO. 

Okay, I don’t hate to say it.

Finally, he went back and told them they either needed to pay attention to their kids or leave.

It took 4 people fifteen minutes to clean up the mess.

I wasn’t one of those people.

I have a feeling that the next group of hockey parents won’t get to pull this shit. 

 

Tweeking Tweekers

13 Jan 2012 10 Comments

by yellowcat in The Daily Grind Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

My sister sent me a text yesterday asking what “tweeking” is.  Bless her sheltered little heart.  But then, maybe there are other readers who don’t know what tweekers are.

Urban Dictionary defines tweekers as:

A methamphetamine user. Tweekers are known for their extreme paranoia, flagrant dishonesty, and lack of non-tweeker friends. A tweeker will steal your stuff and then help you look for it.
 
Use it in a sentence:  “If you let those god damned tweekers come to your party, don’t expect to have your stereo in the morning.”
 
or
 
Any poor soul who has the bad ass luck of growing up in a small depressed desert town in CA or elsewhere who is emotionally addicted to CRYSTAL METH. They will kill and die for it, and can never be cured. They will want it every day for the rest of their lives. They start by doing lines, then smoke it, and eventually they graduate to “slamming” using needles. At this time, they never want to see anyone, unless they are tweeking. They are afraid of everything, except death. All of their friends are parolees, and they ain’t shit until they have been to prison at least once. They steal everything in sight, draw sexually explicit pictures, talk shit, disappear for days or even weeks, will physically assault the people they love, slash their own wrists and arms. They will lose up to 100 pounds in a few years. They will have spent all of their money and lost any job they might have once had. They are unemployable. They hate themselves. They will spent 5 to 40 hours straight beating off and sticking things up their asses. Some will steal panties from the apartment dryers and wear them. They will eventually accomplish self fellatio! Anything is possible with speed!!!
 
Use it in a sentence:  “Tell your tweeker friend to get the fuck out of my bathroom!”
 
Obviously, the second entry was written by someone with an up close and personal relationship with a tweeker.
 
All other drug addicts, even heroin addicts, hate tweekers.
 
You can google “meth use before after” and find dozens of images of what people looked like before they started using and after.  Some of the pictures were taken a few months apart and show a horrible decline in appearance.  The sad thing is tweekers think they look good and that no one knows about their drug use.
 
Yeah, I don’t notice a difference at all.

A number of sheriff’s departments across the country have started a campaign of billboards with before and after images.  The pictures are depressing:

 

In addition to the weight loss, rotted teeth and skin damage, meth gives people twitches and grimaces.  It’s awesome trying to talk to a tweeker without laughing your ass off, but then, one of the first side effects of meth is no one wants to be around an unpredictable, moody, aggressive, asshole except other tweekers, and they don’t notice all the twitching.

Okay, on one hand it’s funny, but on the other it’s horribly depressing that young people use this shit.

When I first started working at the Harribalsac, I worked with a beautiful young woman who just got out of rehab for prescription drug and meth abuse.  She was 22 years old, funny, a good worker, reliable, happy, and an all around sweet person.  I looked forward to the nights we worked together.  After about 6 months, she started calling in late for work.  Once she finally dragged her ass in, she asked non-stop if she could leave.  She was willing to fight, verbally and physically, with anyone who said she couldn’t be the first to leave.  The general manager caught her stealing and she was willing to go a few rounds with a guy who looked like a Vegas pit boss even though she was guilty.  She eventually got fired for being completely worthless.  After she got out of rehab all she talked about was regaining custody of her daughter.  Once she started doing meth again, she didn’t care enough to show up for the custody hearing.  What’s sad, is her entire personality changed within a matter of a few days.  You could pinpoint the time she started tweeking again.

Just say no.

   

Problem Solved

11 Jan 2012 6 Comments

by yellowcat in The Daily Grind Tags: , , , , , ,

Apparently some shit went down Saturday night after I left work and the AR is no longer with us.  Something about trying to close the kitchen at 8 pm (an hour before close) when the dining room was full pissed Crissy and Pro Rodeo off.  The AR rolled up the rugs (which keep people from falling down in the kitchen and waitstation) and hauled them through the dining room (full of people).  Everyone goes to a fine dining restaurant to see the nasty kitchen rugs paraded passed them while they are eating.  See ya, dumbass.

Sunni and I are sad because now “Suck my ass” won’t have the same impact.

In other news, I got busted parking in the private lot behind the restaurant.  I’ve tried to buy a permit several times, but the guy is never around.  I figured he’d catch up to me eventually and I’d buy one then.  It seems he and Pro Rodeo don’t get along and the guy is unwilling to sell permits to anyone who works for him.  When I tried to point out the flaw in his logic, he apologized and said, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”  Okay, he’s not that smart or cool so he didn’t actually say that, but it sounds good for my story.  So I had to move the truck and as I was driving away I said, “Sucka my ass!  Now I have to walk.”  That made me laugh.

My last table on Saturday night was an old drunk couple who slurred, “We heard you had good food” when I greeted them with “Hello, how are you tonight?”  At the end of dinner, I noticed $6 on the table as the guy shoved his money at me.  He gave me $50 and the total was $50.85.  I puttered with some other tables while he dug for the extra dollar, but then The Host with the Most stepped in and took the check presenter.  “They left you $5!” Pro Rodeo happily told me after he cleaned the table.  Well…not exactly.  It made me laugh, but only because shitty tips and shitty tippers are a rare thing at the Spaghetti Western.

“I Have to Work…”

08 Jan 2012 11 Comments

by yellowcat in The Daily Grind Tags: , , , , , ,

As with any restaurant, there’s a good deal of ridiculous bullshit among the employees at the Spaghetti Western.  On any given day at least 2 people are late, (and I don’t mean by a minute or two) and at least one person is irrationally pissed off.  One of the cooks is perpetually pissed off to the point where we all hate working with him and wonder why he sticks around.  He has become the source of endless mockery due to an episode of extreme ridiculousness the night before Christmas Eve.

So, December 23rd…we were fairly steady until about 7pm when things started to die off.  For some reason, this cook (who we secretly call the Albino Retard or AR for short) decided to start closing the kitchen, 2 hours early.  I don’t know why he’s in such a hurry to get home, it’s not as if he has a girlfriend, or kids, or any sort of responsibility calling him home.  He gets paid the same amount when we’re slow, so a smart, paid by the hour person would relish the slow time and collect the money.  But no.  He wants to be out the door when the clock strikes 9pm.

At around 7:30, an hour and a half before we close, a table of 10 people walked in.  It was my turn, 10 people equals at least a $30 auto grat (unless they order pizza, please no pizza), so I was pretty jazzed.  I went in the waitstation to get water and I heard the AR pitching a fit.

“Fucking people, right before we close, now I have to cook, suck my ass.”

Okay, 7:30 is nowhere near “right before we close”.  Sorry these people came out to eat and spend money, which keeps the restaurant open, and keeps YOU employed.  Idiot.  Bitching about having a job in the winter is as absurd as bitching about having air to breathe.  I’ve yelled at the AR several times for this attitude and suggested he apply at the Harribalsac, since that’s the common attitude there.

Apparently Sunni heard his rant as well because before long I heard her saying, “Right before we close.  Now I have to cook.  Suck my ass.  Fucking people,” in her worst best fake French accent.  This went on for an hour and a half.  Everytime he opened his mouth she went off on a Frenchy tirade:  “Now I have to cook.  Suck my ass.  Fucking people.  Right before we close.”

Since that night the saying has been shortened to, “Now I have to work.  Suck my ass” or just “Suck my ass.”   We use different voices and accents, and since we are little better than schoolyard bullies, we apply it to everything.

Sunni:  Let’s spray the glasses with vinegar water before they go in the dishwasher so they don’t streak.

Me:  No.

Sunni:  Uh…why not?

Me:  Because…now I have to work.  Suck my ass.

Everyone knows who what we are making fun of talking about and everyone thinks it’s funny as shit.  Certainly he has to know as well.

Me:  Will you hand me a glass?

Sunni:  Suck my ass.  Now I have to work.

We aren't either

Last night the AR came to work (late) with a tremendous scowl on his face.  Sunni, Pro Rodeo and I were at the bar.  Pro Rodeo saw him first and said, “He looks like he tried to shit a bear sideways.”  The AR came around the corner, Sunni & I looked at each other and said, “Suck my ass” in unison. 

The thing is, work is as fun as you make it.  If you have a shitty attitude, people will avoid you or make fun of you until your shitty attitude improves or causes you to quit in a flood of tears.  Working with someone who has a constant shitty attitude is tiresome.  I feel it’s a matter of time before I lose my mind and tell him off.  Maybe when the new cook is fully trained…

Are You Buying Lunch for Me?

05 Jan 2012 7 Comments

by yellowcat in The Daily Grind Tags: , , , , , , ,

No?

Then who gives a fuck what I like to eat.

I had a table of women today who nearly pushed me over the edge.  Lunches are tricky.  I’m by myself, Pro Rodeo backs me up, and we usually aren’t terribly busy…except for about an hour when everyone comes in at once and everyone wants my attention NOW because they are in a big fat hurry.

All of my tables came in by twos today, which for some reason threw off my timing to the point it was like my first day on the job.  My last set of two tables were two regulars and three women who had a reservation.  I didn’t understand that having a reservation meant you cut in front of the other people waiting to be seated and attempt to seat yourselves, but I was having “first day” issues.  Seconds after I seated the women, they started staring at me.  Looking at your server means you need her attention so I skipped what I needed to do at the other 5 tables and made a beeline for the women. 

Of course they weren’t ready to order.  They said they were, but then they proceeded to hem and haw about menu choices.  One woman suggested the other women order.  This was met with a round of, “You go first,” “No, you go,” “No, I want to know what you all are having,” “No, I don’t want to be the first to order,” and on and on and on.  I offered to give them more time, but they declined and continued arguing about who should order first.  I started looking around for something sharp to end my misery. 

Just as I had settled on shoving my pen in my neck, two of the three women ordered.  The third one looked at me and asked, “What do you like?”

Most good servers have a standard answer with a full description of the item and the reason why they like it, such as taste, value, or the uniqueness of the item.  What pops in my head as an answer is, “A really big dick.”  Hey, at least I’m honest.  I realize that this answer won’t go over with, well, any customers so I end up politely telling them to think for themselves.  Experience shows I’m either going to suggest something they hate or something they won’t choose anyway so WHY ARE YOU WASTING MY TIME???!  CAN’T YOU SEE MY DINING ROOM GOING DOWN IN FLAMES???!

The woman ordered the eggplant (which I think is evil), but she was stumped on salad dressings.  “I usually order blue cheese (which I think has the consistency of lion semen), but the Italian Greek sounds good.”  I told her it was either Italian OR Greek and she gave me a blank stare before asking which I like better. 

Ranch.

I do not understand why people ask their server what s/he likes to eat.  My roommate likes to grind Ramen noodles to a powder, boil them to mush, crack an egg into the nastiness, add a slop of spaghetti sauce and some cheese and call it ‘good eatin’.  Show of hands, who wants him to do the ordering?

Slow Down!

03 Jan 2012 8 Comments

by yellowcat in The Daily Grind Tags: , , , , , , ,

I haven’t been posting regularly because I really don’t have anything to complain about.  Gushing on about how wonderful my customers are either seems like bragging, lying or tempting fate.  The customers at the Spaghetti Western are nicer than I ever imagined people in Cody could be and they are more generous than I ever dreamed of.  Every day I’m shocked at my tip percentage and sometimes I’m embarrassed that people throw so much money at me.  I feel very blessed.

However, (you knew there had to be an ‘however’) since I’ve been working more day shifts and I am my own hostess, I’ve noticed our non-regulars need to work on their manners.

You people can wait 5 fucking seconds while I remove the extra place settings from the table before you sit down!  You don’t have to be in such a big assed hurry to get in the booth that you kick me in the back of one, if not both, knees causing me to nearly fall down and crack my head on the glass topped table.  If you can’t wait 5 fucking seconds and insist on dropping me to the ground with what feels like a size 11 steel toed boot, you can at least apologize for being a twat; extra points for acting somewhat sincere with your apology.

Did I mention it’s ALWAYS women who do this?  Why yes, yes it is.

 

 

New Year’s Rockin’ Eve

01 Jan 2012 10 Comments

by yellowcat in The Daily Grind Tags: , , , , , , , ,

To get the full extent of my excellent New Year’s Eve, we have to go to back to the eve of NYE.

We were pretty busy on Friday night and we expected to be even busier for NYE.  We had reservations to fill the restaurant for most of the night and I was scheduled to work open to close.  I went home and noticed a new flashing sign at the top of the Rim warning of elk crossing the highway for the next 5 miles.

For the last several weeks I have seen dead elk on the highway at the bottom of the Rim.  It’s a blind corner with meadows on both sides and drivers can’t see the elk until they are right on top of them.  By then it’s too late to do anything but let Jesus take the wheel and hope you get out alive with minimal damage.  Elk are large.  Deer do plenty of damage, but an elk can be a deal breaker.  Last winter I came around the corner and ended up in the middle of a herd of about 20 elk and somehow managed to come out without hitting anything.  I did have to pry the steering wheel from my hands and pull the seat cover from my ass crack though.

Friday night I did what any responsible adult scheduled to work the entire next day would do:  I was in bed by 11, turned the TV off by midnight…and stared at the ceiling until sometime around 5 in the morning.  I listened to the wind howl and the snow hit the side of the house all night.  I wondered if I was going to make it to work.  Would the van start?  Would I be able to get out of the driveway?  How bad was the road going to be?  Should I give up on sleep all together and leave for work 3 hours early? 

I got to work without incident and told everyone my goal was to make $200.  My winter full day personal best total is $250, but I didn’t want to appear too greedy and jinx things.  Things died down at around 8 pm so I clocked out at 8:30 and had dinner (salmon scampi, oh yeah) and a glass of wine while I waited for my last table to leave.  I started packing things up at 9:30 when my last table showed no signs of leaving even though they paid their ticket at a little after 8 and we closed at 9.  By the time I had all my crap gathered and my money counted, they started showing signs of leaving so I moseyed by their table to see if their tip took me to $200.  My grand total for the day was $210 so I was pretty happy…

…until I looked at the schedule for the next two weeks and noticed that Pro Rodeo had switched one of my nights shifts for a day shift.  That gives me 1 night, 1 full day and 2 day shifts.  While the tip percentage on days is awesome, people don’t buy the things that run up a ticket total…bottles of wine, desserts, appetizers.  More than the money is the principle.  A few months ago one of the servers got into a bucket of trouble over drugs.  At best she’s unreliable.  She’s full of drama.  If she’s not in jail, she’s fighting with her on/off boyfriend.  Between her and one cook, it’s the Harribalsac all over again.  She was bitching that she can’t make it working day shifts, so guess what.  I now have the day shifts.  Logically, I know Pro Rodeo doesn’t want her on days because if she can’t make it, everyone is screwed.  Enough people work nights that it doesn’t matter if she shows up or not.  Lunches are pretty consistent, therefore the money is pretty consistent.  Thursday nights can be boom or bust.  All this is logical and it’s a win/win for me and Pro Rodeo, but for some reason it irritated(s) the shit out of me and I feel I’m being punished for being drug/drama free and reliable.

I was still irritated when I stopped to buy cigarettes (I’m smoking less than a pack a week!).  I was even more irritated when somehow I managed to slam the middle finger of my left hand in the door while I reached for my seat belt.  I thought I might pass out in the gas station parking lot.  After about 5 minutes the woozy passed and I noticed my passenger side high beam was out.  I started driving home and decided two dim lights were better than one bright light.

Top speed was less than 55 mph since the highway was sheer ice and the wind was howling.  I continued to stew about my schedule and whine about my hurt finger.  I got to the halfway marker and decided I was never getting home at the speed I was driving.  I wanted a hot bath, time with my dogs, some TV and bed.  It was almost 10:30 and there was no way I was staying up until midnight…and really, fuck everyone.  Fuck my finger, fuck the schedule, fuck being reliable, fuck people who can’t show up for work, fuck, fuck, fuck… 

Wait!

What the hell?!

Oh fuck me!  It’s an elk!

Okay, I missed it…SHIIIIT!!!!!

Yeah, I didn’t miss the second one.  I don’t know if I even had time to brake.  It wouldn’t have mattered since the road was as slick as an ice arena and the van turns into a gigantic skate on ice.  I know I wasn’t going very fast, but fast enough to kill the elk and trash the front of my van.  Something tells me the Game & Fish need to put up more signs since these elk were about 5 miles before the warning sign. 

A LITTLE ’HEAD’S UP’ WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE!   

So now I have to decide what to do about the van.  I paid $1500 for it 2 1/2 years ago and before the elk it was right on the cusp of fix it or fuck it.  The wipers need fixed, the ignition doesn’t work when it’s cold (uh…can you say January in Wyoming?) the left passenger tire wears out about every 3 months, it leaks transmission fluid and oil, and it’s rusted almost through in places.  I refuse to spend more than $2000 on a vehicle.  I drive them ’til they have to be towed away, I suck at checking fluids, I haul 5 big assed dogs around, and more often than not my ride looks more like a dump truck than a passenger vehicle.  I figured I would replace the van this summer, which would give me time to save up some money and find exactly what I want, but now I might not have a choice.  Finding a cheap all wheel drive van with high clearance isn’t shaping up as an easy task.

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