and i can respect that.
because, my bitchiness? it is a wonder to behold sometimes.
anyhow, i now give you the top five things that are irritating me today.
the nacho ladies.
holy crap, these ladies are the devil.
for those of you who don't work in the same restaurant as me--i know there are a few of you out there--the nacho ladies are an infamous twosome who come in at least four days a week for lunch. even though they have done this for the past three years, they still manage to find at least ten things to bitch about it on every visit. there are so many things they hate about eating lunch at our restaurant, that one would think they would decide to never come back again.
we just aren't that lucky.
the nacho ladies order the same thing every time they come in--veggie nachos. but it's not that simple. one lady can't have onions, but would like extra green pepper. she doesn't want sour cream, but she does want eleventy hundred sides of salsa. she also does not want to pay for the salsa. she must have two cups of coffee in front of her at all times, but you must cover up one of the cups with a plate, so it doesn't get cold.
something is ALWAYS wrong with this woman's food, but she can never just tell you what it is.
witness the following conversation:
me: how's everything going over here, ladies?
evil nacho lady: oh, everything's...*she wistfully looks into the distance*...fine.
me: are you sure there's nothing i can get for you?
evil nacho lady: no. we're fine.
me:ok, i'll come back and check on you in a few minutes.
i go away.
i come back.
me: are we holding up ok over here, ladies?
evil nacho lady: oh, sure...*gives me a look of blatant unhappiness, despite her clear statement of being ok.*
me: stand there, sort of confused. can tell that nacho lady isn't happy, but she's not saying anything. also, this bitch is never happy and i kind-of have to pee.
evil nacho lady speaks again: do you make your nacho chips, or do you buy them?
me: we make them here.
evil nacho lady: oh.
evil nacho lady: do you make them all in the morning, or just, like, twice a week or something.
me: actually, we make them fresh for every order.
me: *taking the bait like a sucker* are your chips ok?
evil nacho lady: actually, they seem really stale.
see? this is a classic example of the passive aggressive bitchiness that is the nacho lady. she could have just said that something was wrong with the chips, but no. and, p.s., chips that were made ten minutes ago cannot possibly be stale.
i'm sorry if this doesn't seem all that bad--but, trust me, if you had to deal with it four times a week, it would wear on you, too. and i didn't even tell you about the time that she tried to get a gallon of free salsa because her friend ordered a sandwich, but didn't want any catsup for her french fries. so, she should totally get all that salsa for free, in place of the catsup, right? you know, that catsup that comes on every table, regardless of what you order?
yeah, i can't stand that lady, in case you couldn't tell.
as for the other nacho lady, she's not so bad. her only fault is bad choice of lunchtime companionship.
my apartment complex claims that they can't find my rent for this month. which i put into the rent drop-box. because, you know, by the name, i figured that was an ok place to put it. also, i've put it there every month for three years.
so, that sucks pretty bad.
and i hope they find it.
i mean, what kind of person has an extra months rent lying around?
i'll give you a hint:
not a person with the shopping problem that i have.
this guy who comes into our bar, and picks his nose and wipes it onto his beer glass. this man also smells like b.o. ninety-six percent of the time, and when he does, it's so bad that you actually have to hold your breath when you're near him. or maybe that's just me, because i have a bad gag reflex.
anyway, aside from the snotty glass and the foul odor, this man sucks because he never leaves more than a quarter for a tip--no matter how long he sits around picking his nose.
fortunately for us, we discovered that he doesn't like music, or noises of any sort.
so now we just turn on the jukebox whenever we see him coming, and he seems to go away pretty quickly.
the sometimes drizzling, sometimes misting, sometims pouring-so-fucking-hard-that-you're-positive-you're-going-to-be-washed-away-at-any-moment-rain, which it's starting to seem will never EVER end.
|Your 2005 Song Is|
Don't Phunk With My Heart by the Black Eyed Peas
"I always want you with me
I'll play Bobby and you'll play Whitney"
You were insanely in love in 2005 - and still might be!
because, hello? first of all, i hate that song. at least, my public self claims to hate that song. and also, i don't want to be whitney.
please, don't make me be whitney.
why, oh why, couldn't i have a cool song?
*as you may already be aware, i didn't have to spend too much time trying to think about things to bitch about. it's like, a natural gift. of sorts. or something.