Gardening Grumbling

GRAH!

So, part of buying our house in the city was that we got a double lot- which means we get a nice big green space, and even better: the sellers didn't bother to plant a damn thing other than grass, and there is a GIANT Elm tree in the backyard. When I got my catalog from a mail-order nursery this year, I was crazy excited.

See, the catalog came with a 50% off deal- worth up to $500. I planned on ordering about $300 worth of crap, and only paying $150- plus, free shipping. Well, I was telling my gardening-enthusiast/hippie neighbor about the deal, and asked if she wanted to order with me, so as to also get 50% off of her order. She said she was really interested, and requested to see the catalog.

Now, my stupid/smelly/crazy/hippie neighbor has managed to lose my catalog. I officially hate her. So, I called the company, praying that if I was super nice, they would give me the 50% off deal, especially given that I am referring customers to them.

After waiting on hold for well over 30 minutes, this annoying bitch on the line tells me that they only sent those out to first-time home buyers (because the city's "welcome wagon" sells our data to companies who might profit from our new purchase- like furniture and home-repair people). And, because there was "no way" to track that we had received this catalog, there was no way for us to receive the deal.

I informed the woman that we would not order from their company unless we got the deal, and we would certainly not refer the company to any of our neighbors. I mean- COME ON!

First, lesson learned: never trust anyone who smells of patchouli. NEVER. All of the excessive amounts of pot and/or hallucinogens have managed to rot out the part of their brains that remember where they placed the belongings of others and why it is BEYOND funny that they sit around in Whole Foods and bitch about the local coffee shop chain being "too big" and that it edges out the "mom and pop" coffee shops. Does anyone else see the irony?

Second: you'd think that it would be in the company's best interest to keep a customer- especially one who might create more business through referrals. I mentioned that several of our neighbors might order from their company after they see the quality of the plants that I receive, but without the discount, I would not be ordering said plants. Losing my business makes for a much greater loss.

I'm not sure who should bear the brunt of my wrath: my nonsensical neighbor or contemptible company. I've decided: both.

The best part is the Boyfriend lectured me (like a little girl!) about letting people borrow things because "they always lose or destroy" your property. Harrumph! I hate it when he's right.

Me 'n' Jesus

I like to read Service Industry blogs- it makes me feel better knowing that other perfectly reasonable people face the same types of crap that I do. One of my absolute favorites is Ryan over at IServeIdiots.com. He gets to say all of the things I only wish I could say to my *ahem* guests.

Recently he posted about homelessness/an experiment in being homeless, and then a follow-up post outlining why he went homeless for spring break and how this works into his believe system.

To be totally honest, I stopped being into Jesus in high school. I went to a non-denominational church that leaned toward baptist beliefs- and with that, baptist insanity. I was totally into Jesus until a girl got pregnant in our church- her boyfriend was completely absolved of any wrongdoing, and she was actively called a whore and treated like a lesion. I'm pretty sure that if Jesus was God, and if Jesus cared enough to pay attention to the happenings at our church, Jesus would damn sure have been ashamed of the retardation. Something about that whole parade really struck me, and that's when I stopped talking to Jesus. It just seemed that the people who didn't call themselves "Christian" were behaving in a much more Godly manner.

Now that I'm a little older (and partially at the urging of my mother), I decided to re-examine my feelings/belief in any religion.

To be sure, I really want to be religious. I want to be caught up in the whole "I love Jesus, and He loves me and we all are happy and la la la!" thing. I want to go to church and feel like I'm part of a community again. The problem is that I think it's a giant crock. That's right, Mom. I totally do. I just don't believe it. I want to, though.

And really, the only reason I'm really not that into Jesus is that I think that the foundations of what is "sin" and "wrong" and "immoral" are based on social norms of people who lived, literally, several millennia ago. Premarital sex is bad because there weren't effective forms of birth control or a social system to deal with bastard children. NOT because the act of inserting one set of genitalia into another is evil. Homosexuality is sinful because tribes needed to repopulate, and if no one was mixing the right gametes, it wasn't going to happen. NOT because it is unnatural for two people who are attracted to each other to act on their attraction.

So, my moral code is broken down into simple rules:
1. Don't idolize stupid things. Being materialistic leads to selfishness and wastefulness.
2. Censor speech or other forms of communication so as to minimize hurt and offense while not compromising the sentiment.
3. Don't work too hard- remember to take a break and remember what is important.
4. Family and friends are "what is important."
5. Don't kill.
6. Don't cheat.
7. Don't steal.
8. Don't lie.
9. Avoid jealousy.

So, I am not always good at keeping to these rules, but darn! They do look pretty much like the 10 Commandments- and those don't seem to be too bad as far as rules go.

Maybe I'm not cut out for mass worship/religion. I was always bothered by the idea that my pastor would be my shepherd because he's obviously so much better, smarter and more spiritual, so my stupid illiterate soul better just do what he tells me to do.

Anyway, coming back around- after reading Ryan's post, I feel like I can approach religion again. It won't look much different from my daily life. Maybe someone will see me church-hopping around the city, trying to find a church that's not full of lies, blasphemy, and hypocrisy (HA!). But I feel very much like I don't have to join the establishment to have a spiritual life.

As a fan of reason, I'll follow the rules that make sense in a modern life and honor a moral code that fits for who I am and who I want to be.

Sordid Tale of Prostitution

Ready for one heckuva post? I have a whole day to sit on my butt and read all about the internets- which, of course, gets me to thinkin' that I ought to tell the internets all about me; it's only fair, right?

So, I'm not very good at quitting. Sure, I'm a lot of spitfire talk, but when it comes to summoning the balls and telling the boss I'm out, it usually ends up with me chickening out and sticking with a shitty job for longer than I should (and therefore working too many simultaneous jobs). I'm getting better.

I work in the service industry as a server- a fine dining server. I took a job with a brand-spanking-new steakhouse, under sworn testimony that this thing would do some serious business in a wealthy area.

LIES!

But, I can handle that. I'm not making top dollar, but I'm doing better than if I had been working at Friday's or something like that- so I stick with it. Plus, most of the fine-dining restaurants in the area are union, so I've been having an extra hard time getting a job.

What I can't handle is all the grabbing. It started innocently-ish. We'd all go out for a beer with the boss at the pub on the next block and eventually that led to dancing. And, if you know me (and you don't) you would know that if there is dancing, I'm on the floor and I AM NOT LEAVING until the music stops. I don't even care that the DJ has managed to play all of the shitty hip hop and the "Soulja Boy" song three times in 1 hour. I like to dance.

Eventually, my boss decides that I need help. I was on the dance floor with my back waiter/assistant/bitch and he cuts in. I cut him some slack when he slaps my ass, and decide to dismiss.

This evolved into a bra-snapping, crotch-groping, erection-rubbing-into-my-back, breast-biting, neck-grabbing, shoulder-biting, ass-fondling mess. And, after I came home with a bruise ON MY NIPPLE from him walking up to me and biting me THROUGH MY CLOTHES hard enough to leave bruise for a week, The Boy was concerned. I blamed the dog. However, after The Boss (who is apparently REALLY into BDSM) got his hands on my neck and shoved his thumbs under my jaw hard enough to leave what looked like hickies and slapped my ass enough to leave a mark, The Boy forced me to confess.

And then he found his baseball bat and started walking to the garage.

So, I told him that I would make it stop without him busting my boss' kneecaps. I did. The next time he did it, I pulled him aside and said "I don't appreciate this attention, and now that I'm sporting marks, neither does my boyfriend."

It did totally stop after that, but so did my income. All of a sudden, he starts telling everyone that I'm not a very good server, despite the fact that I am still the dining room captain. He gives me only the two tops that look like they aren't going to spend any money, and seats me half as often as everyone else.

I went from clearing $300 on a Friday/Saturday to clearing $60 all weekend.

Of course, the backlash also means that none of the back waiters want to work with me because no matter what, they aren't going to make any money. If I make $60, they're making $40 for a weekend. Bullshit! So that means I get the dumbest, slowest and least motivated assistant EVERY SHIFT, so I have to do twice as much work making 20% of what I was making before.

BULLSHIT!

I confront the boss, and he tells me that since I "can't handle the volume." I have to be in the low-volume, non-VIP section until my service improves.

BULLSHIT!

So, even though as a condition of my hire I established that I DO NOT EVER work on Sundays unless it's a required holiday, like Mother's Day AKA the Apocalypse; I was scheduled for the Sunday dinner shift.

It's notoriously slow in high-end restaurants on Sundays because people usually go pick up grandma from the facility, comb their brats' hair and take everyone out for Sunday dinner. And, when the average price on a meal is $40 and there is no children's service, people don't generally opt for the steakhouse. The people who do don't usually know how expensive the place is, and so they buy the cheapest thing on the menu and tip like crap.

I took two tables before his horrible horse-faced wife walked in with her stupid inbred waitress friend and sat themselves in my section. Up till that point, I felt sorry for her, and we had always been friendly with each other. It would suck to be married to The Boss, and she seemed like a genuinely good human being- the kind that takes in stray cats and goes on bike rides. However, it seems that in spreading all kinds of horrible rumors about me, The Boss gave The Boss' Wife the impression that I'm worthy of contempt.

She chats with her friend and refuses to even acknowledge me, even though I am standing about 2 feet away, trying to take her goddamn order.

"What do you think, Tammy; should I have the Filet Oscar, or the Crab? I don't know if I am hungry enough for the crab- I mean, the Oscar is only a 6oz portion." TBW says, still refusing to address me. I tell the ladies to take their time and go back to the kitchen.

On Sunday, the kitchen closes at 9pm and it was 8:50 when when waddled in. Chef L. snarls at me and asks me what is taking me so long to get the order.

I stare at them through a window where they can't see me, and as soon as they put down their menus, I walk in to take their order.

"Where have you been?" TBW snorts. I flushed and was shocked- she's never talked to me like that, and there couldn't have been more than a 5 second delay between when their menus were put down and when I was at the table.

"I didn't want to rush you ladies. I saw that you were still examining the menu, and I didn't want to seem as though I was trying to push you." HA! This stupid bitch helped write the menu, she knew full well what we have!

"Did you serve any crab today?"

"Yes, it did look very good- and Chef L. has been experimenting with a blackening technique if you are interested."

"You're just saying that because you want a bigger tip." She hissed, flaring her nostrils. I smiled graciously and told her that the Oscar had the very same crab on it, and I could have the Chef do something interesting with that crab if she thought the legs would be too much.

She rolled her eyes, ordered the crab, and her companion ordered the chicken and some bruschetta.

OF FUCKING COURSE. It is now 10 minutes past closing and these bitches finally order, and they need multiple courses after both complaining that they weren't that hungry! I'm thinking of murderous rampage.

They literally took 25 minutes to eat half of the bruschetta. Then, their soup/salad course took another 15 minutes. If you're a waiter and know general cook-times, you can guess it is now 55 minutes past closing and these bitches haven't even gotten their dinner, yet.

They get their dinner at exactly 10pm, the chef has now left the building and so it is just me, the dishwasher and the asst. manager.

"Um, F.Y.I I wanted the Steak AND Crab." She whined. I turned white.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought you had ordered just the crab legs. I would have asked you for the temperature on the steak had I thought-"

"You didn't think, did you?" She interrupted, and her foul companion chortled.

The blood returned to my face full force and I felt myself flush.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. I'll check to see if Chef L. is still here and I'll get a steak for you right away." I tried to hide my anger.

"I saw him pull away, already." She responded sternly. "I'll just eat this."

They slowly picked through their food and I finished up all the cleaning duties. I had sent my back waiter home before TBW showed up, so I had everything to do. They hemmed and hawed through their meal and I kept tabs on them.

I went back when they had both placed their napkins on the table and were leaning back- classic "I'm done" sign.

"Ladies, may I wrap these for you?" I asked, gesturing toward their half-eaten plates of food.

"Um, do we look done?" TBW seethed.

"I'm sorry. Ladies, please continue." I returned to the kitchen and checked the clock- 10:45.

Not 2 minutes later, while I was walking past with a tray full of glasses to be re-stocked, TBW grabbed my jacket.

"Could you be bothered to wrap this?" She inquired- sarcastically.

I smiled, agreed to return, and quickly put down my tray at the server station. I drop a hot napkin for TBW to wash her hands (since she had just eaten crab legs), and picked up the plates.

"What is this?" She snarled, pointing to the napkin.

"It's a napkin lightly soaked with warm water to wash your hands after eating the crab legs." I smiled, internally seething.

"Does The Boss know that you're wasting his linens? Do you know how expensive it is to have these things washed?" She pushed.

"I haven't asked him. It's standard practice in high-end restaurants to allow guests to wash their hands after a potentially messy meal." I began.

"Just wrap the food. We have a bathroom if people wanted to wash their hands." She retorted, rolling her eyes. I ran back and wrapped the food as quickly as possible. I returned the boxes, asked the ladies about dessert, and they thankfully decide against it. No after-dinner drinks, no cocktails, no dessert, no coffee- I'm almost out!

I grab the assistant manager and ask him if TBW gets her meal comped. He tells me "no." So, I drop check. 15 minutes later they finally get their cash straight. It's a total of $75 for both women, and they put 4 $20 bills in the book. I get the manager to cash it out and I bring the ladies their change.

"No, that's all your's." She said, smiling. It was probably the most gracious thing she said to me all night. I smiled, bade them a pleasant evening and ran to the back to finish cleaning. I gave those bitches the benefit of the doubt that, after keeping me 2 hours past closing, they'd leave a little more cash on the table. 15% of 75 is just over $11, 20% is $15 even. Maybe I'd find another $10-$15 on the table when I went back.

NOPE!

For the math challenged, that was a tip of 6.67%

2 hours after closing

And I waited on them hand and foot

And took their bullshit.




This, my reader, was definitely a set-up. She MUST have tried to mislead me about her order. If she wanted a steak, she would have, you know, ordered a motherfucking steak. Or at least said something like "and I'll take the filet medium rare." She went out of her way to make my night a living hell, and then financially rape me when it was over.

So, I quit that job.

I have to turn in my uniform (http://www.ambassadoruniform.com/shopexd.asp?id=593).

Her family-style restaurant is just down the street. So, I think that when I return my uniform, I'll go over to her restaurant and return the $5. Clearly, that family is in more financial trouble than me, so I better do the right thing and let her know that I believe in charity, and I'll give her the fiver back.

And, out of the kindness of my heart, I'll find a way to summon the courage to tell her that her husband is cheating on her with one of the back waitresses and that the bruises on my neck, nipple and ass are from her husband, too. Such a poor and unfortunate wretch needs to know what's going on behind her back.



So, it occurred to me that while at that restaurant, I was doing sexual favors for money. If I let The Boss use me and abuse me, I made money. If I cut him off sexually, he cut me off financially.

He didn't hire me to be a server. He hired me to be a prostitute.


So, if you got through everything, I have a poll.


I took pictures of the damages to my body and have documentation that as soon as I stopped allowing The Boss to harass me, I stopped making money. I know that there is at least 1 other waitress currently receiving the unwanted attention, but she allows it after seeing what happened to me. Do I press charges? I haven't told his wife about anything, so I'm thinking maybe I'll press charges and let her find out the hard way. Although, I'm poor, I have no time for anything, and I don't want to think about this scumbag anymore.

What do you think?

Oh, you again!

Well, there has been a profound failure on my part to keep up with this blog. No updates in over a year, and the last entry was some stupid link! What.the.hell.

Well, as you can imagine, a thing or two has happened in the time lapsed- some good, some not so good.

First, the big news: The Boy and I purchased a house. I know...right. I thought we might kill each other before such a thing occurred. In the mean time, I finally decided that I am going to stop fucking around and finish my degree. There's a lot of self-doubt, etc etc that I really don't want to get into...I'm not one of those goddamn emos, afterall.

I've continued my quest to finish the St. John's great books list. (see: http://www.stjohnscollege.edu/academic/ANreadlist.shtml) I have not been able to keep up with the pace listed, and it would really really really help to have a few friends who would be interested in reading with me to discuss, but alas, they think I'm a nutjob.

I'm not.

I got a dog. A black chow. His name is Archibald- Archie for short. He's a dick. A big mean dick. I don't recommend that you mess with him (and that goes double for you ghettos who enjoy hanging out in the Alley).

Did I mention that the house we bought is in the city. Yep, we're officially city folk, now. No more two-bit suburbs for us! Now we can pay double the taxes for only half of the services AND triple the crime!

I am one lucky lucky girl.

So, got a house, got a dog, got a plan and I didn't kill the boy.

The bad news is that for no apparent reason, whenever I truly start getting my shit together, the depression sets in again. Whenever things look really ugly for me and the options run out, that's the exact moment when I can pull myself together mentally and emotionally. However, take any moment of my life when things are going well, and you can bet that I sleep twice as much and mope even more.


Meh.

I'll keep up this time...isweartogodkinda.

Who's Windows Can I Lick, Now?

So...apparently the old Nothing Studios is up for sale.

http://www.latter-blum.com/RLNET/Listings/ListingDetails.aspx?ListingID=940017


I got pretty depressed upon seeing this, especially later seeing that one of the neatest restaurants in New Orleans is being sold. An old friend who lives on Magazine previously offered me a job and apartment (not to mention boyfriend) if I would move down there, but I just don't think I could go back to the city- it seems too depressing.

Promotion and Anticipation

So, uh...Democrats won both the House and the Senate.


w00t!

w00t?

w00t.


Please don't fuck up, guys.

P.S. I'm now a Saucier.

Bad Habits, Bad Jobs and Bad Spinach

I'm kind of irritated today: the kind of slow and reasonless irritation that comes from being exhausted, frustrated, bored and moments away from going to work.

I went grocery shopping to get out, today. Before that, I went to the manicurist to get my fake nails taken off. I have [had] the horrible horrible habit of biting at my nails and cuticles- mostly to the point where I have ripped bits of flesh and nail sticking out of the ends of my fingers. On the advice of a friend, I went to get acrylic nails put on. You can't bite acrylic nails, and because they feel so foreign, you really don't want to- and if you leave them on long enough, you will break the habit.

Well, she recommended a month, but after two weeks of those motherfuckers, I couldn't take it anymore. I was pretty much counting the minutes until the nail place opened for business today so I could get the things taken off. I'd rather bite my nails than have trashy acrylic foreign bodies glued to my body. That, and they clicked on everything I touched.

I felt the need to move to Jersey or something.

So, today my nails are short, natural and a light shade of pink (since I had to have them painted over to cover all of the scratches from removing the acrylics). I feel significantly better- and my hands look at lot prettier to me. I might keep going back to get regular manicures, I mean...I can spare $24/month for nice nails- especially if the thought of destroying a manicure would keep me from biting my nails and cuticles.

We'll see.

I'm not looking forward to work tonight. I'd rather crawl into bed and sleep for three days straight. I suppose it's probably because I've completely resolved to find a new job tomorrow, and the joy of knowing that I probably won't rely on the Shithole for the majority of my income makes going to the Shithole that much harder.


Oh, and I finally got some fresh spinach today- tomorrow, there will be a fantastic spinach salad consumed in my apartment.