It doesn't even matter what Monday holiday it is, crazy shit happens and I'm the fucking dog catcher. Labor day, Veterans day, Memorial day, Presidents day, and I assume Flag Day (whatever month that happens) are all semen encrusted turkey sandwiches. They have all been terrible to me.
Not sure what "Pink Monday" is but it's certainly more positive I think, maybe, what?
The hardest day I've ever worked, which is a true definition of irony. My morning started with a phone call at 7:30am asking me, "Hey [name retracted], we are super busy so can you come in early? Thanks." I was scheduled in at 11:00 am at this bagel shop from Mordor I was working in. I decided to let that phone call go to voice mail because those bitches can suck my left testicle, the public testicle. The women I worked with at this time were like every woman that ever appeared in a Dolemite movie. Subject to a "superior" man and they knew martial arts only when they are fighting white dudes like me.
Anyway, at 8:30am my phone rings again, but I let it go to voicemail again, "Hey, uh, we could REALLY use you. It's so busy, Danica is vomiting in the kitchen from some dude cursing her out about the amount of capers on his bagel with cream cheese and lox. It's fucking thunderdome in here." I once again decided to blow them off by sleeping and continuing to dream about mowing down zombies with a minigun.
9:00am rolls around and I am greeted with yet another phone call, this one I answer.
"What in the fucking fuck do you want?" I ask politely.
"We are DYING. Danica is fucking dead. Erica is praying to Cthulhu hoping he will drown the Earth in a watery grave. I hope you're happy you fucking asshole! - click -"
Despite thinking that, yes, I am happy, I decided to go in early at 10:00am only to find the bagel shop balls to the wall insane. We were looking at 15 minute ticket times, customers who didn't understand toasting bread took longer than 3.4 seconds, customers who thought all the employees were snake people and the Navy Seals busting down the front door after hearing about a nuclear bomb in the Women's restroom.
The rest of the day was filled with me being a zombie who only reacted to cream cheese flavors. I can't remember it too well but I remember a mother's screams after I ate her daughter.
She would go nice with a 1997 Napa Valley Pinot Nior.
It's always super busy wherever I work and customers think it shouldn't be. Why? Because they are veterans of the "war that never existed" and they should get service faster than a high school slut getting pregnant on prom night. It's like people think they are the only ones with the day off and food magically appears from Tinkerbell the college student, but she is too busy getting her mouse double clicked from Peter Pan the shift leader on the prep table.
I once had a person ask me, "Do you want me to get you fired?" on this day. I responded by telling him, "Do you want me to register you as a sex offender?" as I held his credit card. Not surprisingly, I never saw him again.
Oh, how can I count the ways this day went wrong. 1. An employee abruptly quit before even showing up for their 7:00am shift and leaving me shorthanded one dick emancipator. 2. One customer got confused about which coffee was decaf and after being told it's the urn with a sign on it called "neighborhood DECAF," the customer told me I wasn't being helpful enough but I guess that I should understand that as he is a 75 year old illiterate fuck stick. 3. Another employee was stranded on the road from a flat tire due to fuck all. I assume it was Karma's way of telling me that I really shouldn't have pissed in that preschoolers thermos. 4. The restaurant was busy as balls and I'm pretty sure undead Danica gave birth to a lobster child in the walk-in. Damion, the name she game to the hellspawn, gave me a wicked cut on my hand from one of it's pincers. Danica had some weird sex addictions. Don't ask.
"I really wish I didn't have to sign so much hentai." via flickr.
The most recent of holidays, let me explain the bullshit that just happened to me.
- I had a customer ask for only "nice tomatoes" on her sandwich. I put tomatoes I deemed "nice" on her sandwich, only to be reprimanded that those tomatoes, and I quote, "are not nice ENOUGH" for her sandwich. I immediately put on the worst tomatoes I saw and explained to her that those ARE THE BEST tomatoes we have. Truth? They weren't. Burn motherfucker burn!
- I had another customer, after I was done making her sandwich, complain that I didn't put enough spinach on her sandwich because she was a witch whose dark powers can only be suppressed with iron rich leafy greens. So after she already held her sandwich, wrapped ready to go, and only after resurrecting the souls of the dragon-blood children, did I put a shit ton of spinach on her sandwich when she was done being a cunt bag. But, I put so much spinach on that thing you could maybe call a sandwich, that the first bite she takes will wreak havoc on her surroundings like a rapper making it rain.
- I had yet another customer ask me what a fucking BLT was and I proceeded to beat the ever loving shit out of her. Okay, the second half of that is not true, but the person asking me what a BLT is? Absolutely true. And...fucking AND...it's not the first time this has happened. Who in the fucking hellish fucking cunt fucker does not know what is in a fucking BL-fucking-T? It's like these customers are aliens. And I'm talking about the E.T. variety, not the Mexican, "what the fuck is a Gordita?" variety. Did they think BLT stood for Bacon-Lobotomizer-Tobacco? I swear, the next person to ask me what a BLT is needs to be immediately examined for body snatching technology.
- After work, I saw some dude almost eat shit three times while riding some bizarre yellow tricycle without any handlebars. It was like a unicycle but the other two wheels were behind the rider. I wouldn't normally write about this except the person on the tricycle literally stopped traffic while completely failing to ride this machine in an intersection. It was like the parade was in town but nobody told the tricycle guy where to go. I almost wanted to buy a lion costume, put it on, then maul the dude just so he can feel like he belongs in this world.
I was stunk by a bee on this day once. Maybe. I think
So there you have it. I hate every Monday holiday ever. I've also worked every Monday holiday ever. I'm sure that is only a coincidence.
Disclaimer: If any of my former customers read this, you are all terrible people and I hope you learn how to suck a cock without gagging on it.
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