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bad bosses, blog, coworkers, diary, fire, humor, life, life personal, personal, work
“Excuse me, excuse me.” A soft spoken woman called me over to her table her son and daughter looked at me with doe eyes “I am so sorry to bother you, but there is a roach on our table.”
Holy shit. I offered them another table, as the woman continued to apologize for the inconvenience. Her children didn’t make a fuss at all.
A creepy bug eyed asshole sat in my ex-roommate Michelle’s section one night. I hadn’t listened to a CD he had burned for me, so he bitched and complained to her about me all night long. At one point she became too busy to serve him the coffee he had ordered so she asked me for help. As I set the fresh brewed coffee down a baby roach floated to the top of his drink. He was so busy flirting with me I thought he might not notice it, at which point I was going to have to physically knock the drink out of his hand, because he was an asshole but he didn’t deserve that. I pointed to the mug; he looked down and said “Opps” waving his hand in the air “Don’t worry about that I have millions of them in my home.” Of fucking course you do.
Two gentlemen on either side of each other sat in Mike’s section one night. I was a cocktail waitress and the first to greet the table, as I asked the guys what they wanted to drink a critter ran across the wall behind them. They were both looking at me trying to decide if they wanted shots with their beers or just beers. I tried to force their gaze away from the roach and by some miracle they both decided they wanted to go check out the salad bar before ordering drinks. I ran up to the owner-head honcho-main manager to let him know about the bug and he looked at me pissed as shit. He stormed into the room and yelled at me “WHERE IS IT SONYA?!”
As if I had imagined it, as if all these occurrences were not real, as if the back room wasn’t roach – roach – roach, tile, roach, tile – tile – filth, roach. I looked at him and considered that he might actually be out of his fucking mind. I mean I had though it before, but now I was becoming absolutely sure.
He was seething and the roach was gone. All there was a white wall and a crack in it big enough to hide a family of bugs. “Where is it??” He repeated with as much anger as before.
“Probably in that fucking hole, it’s here.” I was livid. Part of me wanted to smash his face in with my drink tray.
The fact was by this point it was so bad that most of us were actually numb to it. Which is so fucking disgusting I cannot even tell you. The back area where food was washed, prepped and cooked was a battle field. Half the time we would react before accessing what was happening. I distinctly recall being on the line (that is where food comes out after it is cooked for those that have not worked in the industry), as a chef threw together the last bits of my order, a baked potato with sour cream and chives, he tossed the chives at the potato and something scurried across the line. I slammed my hand down on it with conviction. I had begun this process physically incapable of killing roaches because they disgusted me so, now I was a mean roach killing machine. I picked up my hand to find it was in fact a chive, but the reaction was so normal it wasn’t even a thought.
-ducksoup- 