soapboxdiner

All cracked up

My beloved Ruby has some very unclever coworkers. I can only imagine her frustration with them. Bad liars... sigh... is there any vice that is more apt to make one want to simultaneously smack the crap out of someone, and then take them by the hand and teach them, "Here, child. Please, allow me show you just exactly how to NOT be completely insulting in your stupidity."

Which in a humorous bit of nostalgia brought me back to my own education in the fine art of becoming a lying liar.

Because wayyyy back in the day? I was a senior in high school. "In" being the operative word in that sentence, you see, because really? I had no time for no schooling. I was harboring a homeless boyfriend, smoking literally pounds of herbage (usually washed down with a 40 of Olde E), and in my off time working at the car dealership my mother managed.

Then one happy day, I experienced mumsy's walk-by busting of my boyfriend harboring. Oh, the horror. Oh, the travesty. Oh, the burning bustation.

Needless to say, I was no longer welcome at home and by damn, if I couldn't come down from my highs in the comfort of my own bedroom at home, I wasn't gonna let mumsy (s)mother me at work. Nonono. And that is when I struck out on my own. May, 1991.

So I got a couple different jobs. One was a rehire at a fish restaurant and the other was a burger joint. And inexplicably, becoming an independent woman caused a miraculous re-evaluation of my school career and I decided that I should probably pull my shit together for that last month of school and actually graduate.

Sigh, it was not to be. Instead, working until midnight and going home to the perpetual revolution of drunken and frisky military men took presidence.

Anyway, not the point of this story.

So, there I was, working at the fast food joint, right? Hung the fuck over. Daily. And then scheduled to work lunch shift. Sadly, I never could roll my sorry self out of the sack to get there at the despicably early hour of 11 a.m. every day.

Did they fire me? Oh no. When I showed up, I actually worked circles around the rest of the staff. And, my manager just wasn't nice enough to just fire me. No. Instead, she just cut my hours from 40 to, oh I don't remember. I think it was like 6 of something.

The hell?

Excuse me, boss lady. What in the bloody hell is this 6 hours bullshit? You know quite well that I need my hours. I have rent to pay, which is a lot more than can be said for the rest of these lobotomy victims you call employees. Besides, I'm indispensible. You can't do this to me!

Well, actually, I can. You see, something about your constant tales of woe and hardship that delay your arrival to work just don't seem authentic, dear. And as much as I'd love to help you, well, if I can't count on you to be here, I will simply have to find alternative staffing solutions.

Amazingly, getting to look forward to $50 paychecks every other week was just what the doctor ordered in remedying my daily ailments.

Funny how that works, eh?

5:25 pm - 11.23.03
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