Even though yesterday found me frustrated at Shmupplebees, I am quite attached to the working electricity in my apartment so I went in to try and pick up another shift tonight. My client at the Mental Health Center cancelled our session, so I curled my hair, drove to Shmupplebees, and put on some make-up using my rearview mirror expecting someone to go home and let me work for them. I want you to know that I am quite opposed to curling my hair and putting on make-up most of the time, but I am desperate for money and the tips are better if I look pretty.
After a point, all but one server had told me no, and the remaining server was not there yet. I was told that if she did not arrive within five minutes I could have her shift since she was already late and had not called to inform the management that she wouldn't be there on time. I went outside to smoke a cigarette in anticipation while I waited to find out if she would show up. I was excited not only because I needed a shift, but because I view this girl as one of the few people I would seriously think about running over with my car (I wouldn't actually do it), and it would feel oh so good to see her face after I was allowed to steal her section right out from under her judgmental smaller-than-average nose.
Look, don't judge me. Let me tell you a little bit about this person I have named Shmody. Imagine you are having a conversation with someone. I don't care what the conversation is about or who it is with. I am giving you creative license on that one because it doesn't matter. It can be. any. conversation. Now imagine that someone who doesn't have anything to do with what you are talking about comes up and says things like, "who?" "what's the problem?" "what happened?" "Robert from accounting?" or "who's boyfriend did that?". She will come up to any conversation or situation and attempt to micromanage it when she has no idea what is going on. She walks around the restaurant telling employees in stations that she has never worked how to do their jobs. I literally cannot speak to Shmody because words won't come out of my mouth without sounding like a death threat when they are directed at her.
Alas, and woe is me, she showed up with a minute to spare so I am free to sit at home and tell internet strangers about her. Will she ever see it? I sure hope not because this shit will get me fired. Would it have an effect on her anyway? Doubtful. Does it make me feel good? Of course! That's why I'm doing it. So enjoy the money you make tonight, Shmody. I'll get you next time my pretty.