I used to be cashier at this steak restaurant. It was the cheapest
steakhouse in town, so you could imagine the kind of people we got in
there. The restaurant happened to be family owned and when I say
“family owned” I mean FAMILY owned. The whole damn family was my
boss. There was always family drama I had to deal with like Dick
getting mad at Tim because he bought baseball season tickets without
him, just childish crap. Each family member had their own way of
telling me how to do and how not to do things so when I’d fuck up I’d
tell Dick that Tim wanted me to do it this way. So Dick would get
pissed at me saying “You only listen to me, not my brother, he’s not
right in the head.” Both of them were always on drugs by the way. So
then Tim would come in saying the same shit, it was endless cycle of
bullshit. This family didn’t even know how to run a fucking
restaurant, I’m no entrepeaneur or restaurant whiz, but I could run
that place better with my left ass cheek. We never had a manager on
duty, which was cool to an extent, but it was a problem you had a bunch of
customers complaining and nowhere to send him. They went straight to me.
I’ve probably heard everything in the books having to do with
restaurant complaints. Once a guy found a fly in his drink…too bad
he didn’t find out until he drank it all the way to the ice. I once had
to scoop a dying rat into a trashcan that was making its way toward
the customers, that rat got pretty far. Close enough to the customers
they never came again. I was a damn good employee and always showed up
to work on time and sober, which seemed to be hard for most of the
people in the place. One thing in particular sent me over the edge.
The past two years that I did work there, they were closed for
halloween, so I assumed and asked if we were closed halloween, I got
a yes from Dick. Thought I was good to go. Set up party plans got my
costume. 3 days prior to halloween, Tim! Good ol’ Tim decides we
should be open and says I have to work. WTF! So I decide to stick it
to the man. If I can’t party on my time, I’m sure as hell gonna party
on theres. I go ahead and show up blitzed, trashed drunk with my
Joker make up running down my face and get away with it for good two
hours. Some customers are jokingly telling me how nice my “cologne”
is, others are just digusted. As soon as I decided to slip more jack
into my coke, the owner walked in and went apeshit,wouldn’t be
suprised if he was drunk too. I gave him a good ol “Fuck you” felt
great.
Op rat makes food more tastier
Ass.
TL, DR.
OP, you sound like the restaurants biggest asshole. Either work there and tolerate it or quit.
What else did you expect when you applied to work for a family owned business? Of course there is a lot of personal drama; it’s family working together. That is to be expected, and if you expected anything different, then you are delusional. If you didn’t want all that drama and stuff, you should have quit much sooner and found another job elsewhere, with no drama, because those exist and all. (Sarcasm on the last part there)
What else did you expect if you weren’t willing to complain to the health department.
You are responsible for the choices you make, not the choices your boss makes.
the OP is just as much a part of the problem as the owners. OP could’ve gone to the health department, as well as any other agency that needed to be involved. instead, it was too easy to slip the problems under the proverbial rug.
Sounds like something that DDF dude would do.
It may come as a surprise to you guys, but the greasy spoon type restaurants are my favorite places to dine. Laid back atmosphere, no annoying waitors or waitresses, a home grown menu (so to speak)…they’re great! There’s this one I used to go to often (the owner died, it was taken over by another business), the chef never washed his hands. I mean, he’d use hand sanitzer a couple of times during the day but he felt the grease and grime on his hands from cooking previous meals helped season other meals he’d cook. I agreed. Some of the best food I’ve ever had. Of course, you’d eat there with the expectation of needing a bottle of pepto bismol later but sometimes that’s the price you have to pay for a great meal!
Story teller, working at a restaurant entails making it a safe place to eat, does it not? You were a part of the problem. With your last shenanigan I surmise you purchased yourself a first-class ticket on the bullet train to Hell.
Yesterday I was admiring my new crossbow when it misfired. It broke the Jesus statue on my mantle. I fear this is a very bad omen indeed. This morning Mother was late to my home to cook my breakfast and she burned my oats. Just as I was giving her a talking to for it, I stepped on a shard of glass that was hiding in the carpeting from that unfortunate incident last month in which I kicked through the tv screen. I reckon I should seek medical intervention, as I think God is smiting me for the broken statue. I believe he may have temporarily foresaken me for the purposes of teaching me a lesson, much like Job.
Having you been FAPing, Walter? I thought prayer was the answer to everything. And, I think you should respect your mother more.
A crossbow is a tool, Walter. It is not capable of mis-firing, without the assistance of the person wielding the tool.
IT did not mis-fire. You mis-fired IT.
And by dressing down your mother for burning your breakfast, you’ve dressed down Jesus, for he said that what you do to the least of his people, you do unto him.
I daresay between shooting him with the crossbow, and giving him a hard time about your oatmeal…
You’ve angered our lord and savior.
Perhaps you can pray the glass shard away
This story reminded me it’s time for my spring pedicare.
OP, your story gave me a headache.
Barbara, what does your coffee cup say?
I read “World’s Okayest Mom.” Nice.
Walter, my brother in Christ! Perhaps some FAPing is necessary for you to rid yourself of your sins. I feel that my 6 “unplugged” months were the best time of my life. So much time dangling my worm at my secret hole. Ahhh, the house smelled of fish for nearly the entire time thanks to my wife. I did miss you my brother in Christ. I am unable to sign into my The Facebook, however. I have forgotten my code word. I may not rejoin social networking if I can not obtain it.
Stupid–Zephyr is right. It says, “World’s Okayest Mom.”
Walter, it was so nice to speak with you earlier on the telephone! I must admit, I am somewhat tempted to try your unplugging method, however I have discovered Christ-filled websites which make my spirits soar like an eagle! Amen, my brother in Christ! I have not visited The Facebook in some time as it keeps requesting a telephone number at which I might be reached and I am concerned my information has been sold to third parties.
Oh Brother. It was wonderous to hear your voice indeed. Great pleasure celebrating our friendship bond indeed. I am so happy to call you my brother in Christ and also my brother in life. Praise be, good sir.
It’s obvious you’re not a whiz at spelling, either. It’s “entrepreneur”, doofus.