I've Been Robbed!

My client cancelled on me due to a family emergency today, so I went in to Shmupplebees and picked up a serving shift. I had a decent section including two tables that seat four, and two tables that seat six down the ramp from my first two tables. I knew I wouldn't be at work that long but held hope through the two six-tops, since they are in the bar area and usually attract drinkers and large tippers. I was not disappointed, or so I thought.

My first table that got sat was a five-top of middle-aged men. Two of them had drinks, and a couple others ordered appetizers and desert. Their ticket came to about $120.00. My second table was also a group of five older men who had a couple drinks between them, an appetizer, and deserts all around. Their ticket came to $149.97. I had one other table with a $37.00 ticket that left me a little over two dollars, but I wasn't worried. Both of my other tables were joking around with me, knew how to act in a restaurant, and appeared to know how to tip. The second table that got sat left and I eagerly skipped over to find the thirty dollars that I was sure they left me. I picked up the credit card slip and stared, and stared, and stared. I couldn't believe my eyes. Could they really have left me this amount? Sitting on the tip line was a scribbled $10.00. I knew it wasn't a mistake because the total added up to 159.99. What did I do wrong, gentlemen? I thought we liked each other. I thought you found my jokes amusing and my demeanor adorable.

The other table left me about twenty-six dollars, and with tip-out I made thirty overall, which isn't bad for two hours, but I still want my twenty dollars. That is the thing about serving. No matter how much money you make, you will always feel robbed by the couple of assholes that gave you less then you thought you deserved.

Another dilemma I faced tonight that is quite common among servers was what to do with the money. I didn't make what I wanted to, so should I put it in my bank account or spend it on beer to help me forget the night? Who knows what the real answer to that is. I am late in opening an ice cold Miller Light, however, so I bid you good evening and sweet dreams.

And Your Little Dog Too

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.

Frustrated In Kansas

Tonight I picked up a shift at Shmupplebees. Ten months ago I had them stop scheduling me so that I would be available anytime I was needed at the Mental Health Center, where I had just started working as an attendant care worker. I pick up serving shifts when I am available, which usually consists of me walking in between five and six and asking if anyone wants the night off, or me covering for someone that has too much homework or is sick. Because I haven’t been there as much, and I don’t solely need Shmupplebees to live off of, I was actually starting to enjoy my job there again. I remembered that I do like serving. Days are rarely like the last. I get to meet new people every night. They tell me where they have been in life and bring something fresh and new with them when they come into my section. They give me ideas for blog posts which have been severely lacking since even before I started as an AC worker (sorry..).  But tonight I received a reminder why I do not want to work in a restaurant for the rest of my life. The employees; or, for this purpose, the management.

Working at the Mental Health Center, I have found something that I had lost a long time ago. Pride in my work and a hunger to do my job well. I even tried to bring this mentality to Shmupplebees but tonight I was sorely disappointed to find out that I am not as invested as other employees to do my job correctly since I am not scheduled. At least this is what I was told (by someone other that the person who said it) tonight.

It began when I asked the manager on duty if she thought that my closing duties were less than what they needed to be. I had a bad close a few weeks ago, in which everything was fixed before I left, and have been punished, so to speak, for it ever since. The manager that was working the night of the bad close told Smichelle that I could close for her, but if I did a bad job then Shmishelle, not me, would not be allowed to close again. Come to find out, it was not because I had been performing poorly consistently, it was because I wasn't as ‘invested’ in doing a good job. The manager working tonight said that my job performance was excellent, by the way.

Shmichelle, the manager, and I were talking in the office after the restaurant was cleaned up this evening, and that is where I found this information out. I was also told by the manager that I had the most guest complaints than any other server that worked there. The manager said that she had never seen a complaint on me, and I have never been told of any at all by any of the managers.

None of this should bother me. It’s just Shmupplebees and I don’t want to rely on it to survive anymore. I’m just upset that I am hearing these things through other people. Wouldn't it be easier to talk to me directly so that the problem can be fixed? Unfortunately the people in charge of running the restaurant can’t simply sit down with the person and talk to them about how to fix the problems that are occurring, so that the employees creating said problems can do better at their job performance. It would make sense to, but why deal with confrontation when you can just sit in a manager’s meeting and never do anything to actually solve issues.

It does bother me, though. It makes me feel bad about myself. I have no proof that I have the most customer complaints, but in my mind tonight there is a plethora of people out there hating my guts for ruining their dining experience, and that doesn’t make me feel great about myself.

I will probably have let it go by the morning, but for tonight I remain frustrated in Kansas. 

It Could Have Been True Love

Dear 503-457-1003, 

I really appreciate you calling me again today. I'm sorry I haven't answered, but you must understand that you really are a strange number, and it just didn't seem like I would enjoy talking to you. I have looked you up on Google, and have seen the error of my ways. Why, you're just a harmless number, aren't you 503-457-1003? I shouldn't have called back and pressed one after your automated message said that you were a preferred marketing company and I could press a button to be taken off of your list. Now I'm afraid I'll never get the chance to talk to you again. Please give me another chance, 503-457-1003. I think I could really learn to love you.

A lot of people online agree that you just call and call but don't leave a message. This gives the impression that your call cannot really be that important, but we know better 503-457-1003, don't we? Carolyn, Karen, Mona, and many others have been brave enough to answer when your mysterious number shows up, and they found you to be quite rude. I personally thought you were very helpful, however, when Mona asked you how to get off the calling list. You politely told her that the way she could be removed was to suck your dick. Very original, 503-457-1003, very original. You're not like those other boring companies that simply make you press a button, or ask three times before you remove them. You really do have a business that works hard at setting itself apart from the rest, and really standing out and shining. 

We really must know where you are located, though, so that we can make sure to send more customers your way for, what is it that you do? You seem to be really expanding into different areas such as trying to collect fake debts, selling home security systems, and selling air conditioners. Bob D. was nice enough to tell us that these calls were coming from Tillamook, Oregon, where, as he so eloquently put it, "I can only guess must be a hotbed of mental illness. And if your reading this and you are Tillimook well, I'd say something insulting but you've got it bad enough being from someplace called Tillamook."

Uh-oh, 503-457-1003, looks like your giving Tillamook a bad name.

Well, I would love to stay and write more about you, 503-457-1003, but I simply must go sit by my phone in hopes that you will forgive me for taking myself off of your calling list. Thank you again for calling me so many times a day. It really makes me feel better knowing that you care.

Love,
Kara



To see the other lies people have been spreading about this wonderful, innovative company, go here.  

Not Every Man Can Be A Hero AND A Vampire Slayer

Four score and seven years ago our father brought forth on the continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, that would eventually be taken over and ravaged by vampires.

Confused? So was I since I never learned this part of history when in school. I have recently come to find out that everything I learned was a lie, and wanted to share my new found knowledge with my blogger friends. Before I start, though, I need you to find your nearest window. You may also want to store this location in your memory for when you want to jump to your death at the end of this blog post. Open the window. Now, take everything you have ever learned about Abraham Lincoln and throw it out. Just toss it on out into the free open air never to be heard of again, because the truth is about to take our known history and bang its head on the pavement until it stops trying to spread these awful, awful lies.

Now that you have cleared your head you are ready to hear the truth. Lincoln was not the great man we thought he was. He was better. This baddass of history not only ended slavery and brought the nation back together, but he was also a killer of those pesky little blood-suckers we call Vampires.

According to the novel, Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Slayer, by Seth Grahame-Smith, Lincoln found out at age eleven that Vampires do exist, and they killed both his grandfather and mother. Being the all-mighty future president/hero that he is, Lincoln began killing Vampires, including the one that killed his mother.

If that plot line isn't awesome enough, you find out through the book that the Vampires who were leaving Europe (those damn English causing problems for us Americans again) to come to the United States had been using the slave trade to find humans on which to feed. Well Lincoln couldn't just stand by and let that happen, especially when he found out that these Vampires were planning on starting a Civil War and enslaving the entire country. And what do you do when white people are about to be enslaved along with black people? Well you finally actually do something about it of course. Good job Smith for incorporating that into your plot.
The book ends with Lincoln being killed by a Vampire version of John Wilkes Booth, who is surprised that the other Vampires aren't rallying around him, finds himself alone, and is supposedly killed by one of the good Vampires in the story. This Civil-War-Meets-Twilight novel ends with the good Vampire and Abraham Lincoln attending Martin Luther King Jr.'s I Have a Dream speech, because 'some people are just too interesting to die.'

Don't feel like reading the book? You don't have to. Tim Burton is helping produce the film which, contrary to my opinion of it being a comedy, is under the genre or horror and thriller.

Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish

Oh Drama. Don't we all just hate to love it?

I know that my posting has lacked a little something lately. Mainly it has lacked....well...posting.

Let me catch you up a bit. My boyfriend got a new roommate towards the beginning of the fall semester. Let's just call him Shmel.

Shmel was not my favorite person in the world. My best guess was that he is in his fifties, even though he looks closer to his eighties. Shmel has also done a lot of drugs in his life. Way too many drugs. Shmel was a little creepy. He was upwards of 300 pounds and had bad teeth and a wheezing laugh that inserted itself into my life at awkward unexplainable times.

Also, Shmel liked to dumpster dive. If you don't know what dumpster diving is, it is where mentally insane people and/or hoarders peek their heads into dumpsters hoping to find that one item that will change their lives forever. One man's trash is another man's treasure, right? With the exception of a few novel trinkets, what they mainly end up with is a bunch of useless shit that should end up in the dumpster.

One day Shmel came home from work. He was carrying a blue box that I didn't really give a shit about. Unfortunately he told me all about it anyway. This box had been in the dumpster behind their apartment complex. And what wonderful marvels did it reveal upon opening? I know because Shmel also told me this. He liked to talk, that Shmel. It contained a computer monitor, a laptop, a journal, a music pedal, cassette tapes, some receipts, and shoes. I didn't pay much attention to him, mainly because I was ignoring him, until the name that was on the stuff was said aloud. I went to take a closer look, and sure enough it belonged to a friend from high school.

I told Shmel that I would like to get a hold of this guy on facebook, and helped him put the items back in the box. I still wasn't listening to him that closely because I don't enjoy listening to people I hold a large amount of disdain for, but he gave at least three sentences that included the phrase, "Well, finders keepers in my mind."

Mainly he was complying for the moment because he either didn't want to stand up to me, or he didn't think I would actually do anything about it.

I got a hold of my friend and discovered that it was some stuff that he found in his parents' house that he was trying to get rid of. He gave me his number and asked me to retrieve the box so that he could dispose of it properly. The next day, I went over to my boyfriend's apartment and picked up the box so that I could give it back to my friend. When he came and picked it up I asked for the computer moniter as a consolation prize, since that is what Shmel had verbally expressed the most interest in. I also asked about the laptop but was informed that it was royally fucked and there was no point.

The next day my boyfriend joined me at the bar for a shot because of his terrible day. He told me that on top of other things going on, Shmel had yelled at him when he was told that I had taken the box. I later found out that he had yelled at him in the middle of the open kitchen of the restaurant they both work in, and had chosen to scream like a five year old without any consolation from the truth that the laptop did not work. He refused to speak to my boyfriend after that, either at work or at home.

About a week and a half ago I got a phone call at work. It was from my boyfriend. "You know how I told you I had a funny feeling about Shmel lately?" he said. "Well, I came home and all of his stuff is gone."

Yes, Shmel upped his piece-of-shit-ness by just moving all of his stuff out of the apartment without any warning other that being a shady bastard. He then had the balls to tell my boyfriend at work that he had left some things of his at the apartment and would like them back. The response? "The apartment is now considered abandoned by you. Legally that shit is mine."

You may think you won, Shmel. But I won, you piece of shit. I won.