Hiya all....
So remember my proverbial chicken? The one that came home to roost? Well, pull up a plate and enjoy some extremely foul (ha, get it?) poultry with me. It might be a tad difficult to swallow this bird, but if you chew it long enough you'll not only get it down but you also might be so inclined to
. I won't hold it against you....hell, I won't even clean it up.
Last Tuesday my chicken flew the coop. Right in the middle of lunch service. There he was, pissing the shit out of me yet again for his slovenly ways, his dour attitude and that godawful funky mustache that slept on his upper lip... He had no guests at his station, yet the deli and pizza/panini station was knee deep in co eds seeking uneventful lunch meat sandwiches and nothing to write home about pizza (yes yes yes, I'm working on that area, I'm working on it). Any conscientious team player would be happy to assist other team members who couldn't see their way past the row of guests. But, no, not my chicken....he wanted to scratch and squawk and wriggle that stinky stache while he pretended that all the answers to earth's science were somehow printed on the ceiling tiles. Had to be....that was the only place chickenboy was looking.
I walked past the stations and looked at the crowd of jennie-o jonesers and then made the hairy eyeball at the chicken. Apparently, my hairy eyeball wasn't hairstute enough because he did like he'd been doing for the past three days, he ignored me.
'Chickenboy' I said, 'you can jump on that deli line to help them out while you have no customers here'.
His response to me was a serious attempt to snatch the best actor award from my beautiful Sean Penn. With all the drama an over weight middle aged two toed sloth can muster, he pulled his chef coat off and mumbled 'I know what I can do.....' and he proceeded to recede into the kitchen that he'd just recently left in such a state of disrepair that it would take weeks for the merry maids to reestablish order , drop the jacket on the floor outside my office, punch his time card and with all the grace of a tumbleweed, barrel out the back door.
Goodriddancetobadrubbish.
In his attempt to have the last word he phoned the local board of health. Can you believe that shit?? He called my client, too. I had to deal with a spot inspection today and explain to my client why she's getting phone calls that I have tendency to serve outdated milk, stale bread, moldy produce and permit rodents to meander throughout the kitchen. christonaphuckingcrutch....
I passed the board of health inspection. The guy was cool enough to get the disgruntled employee gig. Can't blame him for doing his job, and I don't. My client seems satisfied with the explanation (I told her I only used the outdated milk when Bessie the Gurnsey had been on a bender for the weekend and I was loathe to serve spiked milk to the coffe drinking klutch).
I have this jackass' address. You have no idea how badly I want to extract a damn pound of flesh. I didn't sell everything when I retired from my previous business....and I'd even do this session for free....
There really isn't a hell of a lot I can do. I can think of lots to do but my career and my future mean more to me than petty revenge. Still, I can only promise to behave for so long. If I should be absent for some time, I'd check the local gaol first...chances are pretty good I could be vindictive enough to warrant a warrant.
So, who wants to join me in a little greasy chicken?
So remember my proverbial chicken? The one that came home to roost? Well, pull up a plate and enjoy some extremely foul (ha, get it?) poultry with me. It might be a tad difficult to swallow this bird, but if you chew it long enough you'll not only get it down but you also might be so inclined to
. I won't hold it against you....hell, I won't even clean it up.Last Tuesday my chicken flew the coop. Right in the middle of lunch service. There he was, pissing the shit out of me yet again for his slovenly ways, his dour attitude and that godawful funky mustache that slept on his upper lip... He had no guests at his station, yet the deli and pizza/panini station was knee deep in co eds seeking uneventful lunch meat sandwiches and nothing to write home about pizza (yes yes yes, I'm working on that area, I'm working on it). Any conscientious team player would be happy to assist other team members who couldn't see their way past the row of guests. But, no, not my chicken....he wanted to scratch and squawk and wriggle that stinky stache while he pretended that all the answers to earth's science were somehow printed on the ceiling tiles. Had to be....that was the only place chickenboy was looking.
I walked past the stations and looked at the crowd of jennie-o jonesers and then made the hairy eyeball at the chicken. Apparently, my hairy eyeball wasn't hairstute enough because he did like he'd been doing for the past three days, he ignored me.
'Chickenboy' I said, 'you can jump on that deli line to help them out while you have no customers here'.
His response to me was a serious attempt to snatch the best actor award from my beautiful Sean Penn. With all the drama an over weight middle aged two toed sloth can muster, he pulled his chef coat off and mumbled 'I know what I can do.....' and he proceeded to recede into the kitchen that he'd just recently left in such a state of disrepair that it would take weeks for the merry maids to reestablish order , drop the jacket on the floor outside my office, punch his time card and with all the grace of a tumbleweed, barrel out the back door.
Goodriddancetobadrubbish.
In his attempt to have the last word he phoned the local board of health. Can you believe that shit?? He called my client, too. I had to deal with a spot inspection today and explain to my client why she's getting phone calls that I have tendency to serve outdated milk, stale bread, moldy produce and permit rodents to meander throughout the kitchen. christonaphuckingcrutch....
I passed the board of health inspection. The guy was cool enough to get the disgruntled employee gig. Can't blame him for doing his job, and I don't. My client seems satisfied with the explanation (I told her I only used the outdated milk when Bessie the Gurnsey had been on a bender for the weekend and I was loathe to serve spiked milk to the coffe drinking klutch).
I have this jackass' address. You have no idea how badly I want to extract a damn pound of flesh. I didn't sell everything when I retired from my previous business....and I'd even do this session for free....
There really isn't a hell of a lot I can do. I can think of lots to do but my career and my future mean more to me than petty revenge. Still, I can only promise to behave for so long. If I should be absent for some time, I'd check the local gaol first...chances are pretty good I could be vindictive enough to warrant a warrant.
So, who wants to join me in a little greasy chicken?
sure!
All I can say is you have more patience than I do, because he would of never made it to the back door in one piece with me. 
If you do that I'll feel obligated to not that all that hard fund raising go to waste!
