As I start this posting, I must apoligize for my blatent rude title. As this is said, then I can now go on to my posting.
I am deeply concerned for Mr Ganz. As a man in his 50's I see a side of him that I feel should happen in somebody much older. I do not want to be cruel, but I feel that he may be suffering from some sort of Dementa. I guess you can say that it all started last Monday. I saw Mr Ganz at work, and he asked if we are still going to the 12 Penny this weekend. He also asked if we can play bingo before. I snapped at this and said. "WE ARE NOT GOING TO MENZA THIS WEEKEND". I feel that if Mr Ganz wants to play bingo, then that is what we will do.
Well Mr. Ganz told Mr Laytom about this and Laytom asked me about this on Friday. I said I was kidding, that he pissed me off about the bingo. He said that he will call Mr Ganz and tell him the news.
Well driving back from Scranton on Saturday, all he kept talking about was that He thought we were going to leave at Midnight and that I am going to tell my sister that I was at Stupids house. I am like shut the fuck up. Stop talking about your sister because you piss me off everytime that you mention her name. Second of all, we always stay for the duration. And Finally you are a 55 year old man, who has accomplished nothing in life except to add your name to the record books for having the most Cds, developing the FARTING GAME, and finding the most ways to Masturbate.
MR GANZ THIS ONE MESSAGE IS FOR YOU "GROW THE FUCK UP"
6 comments:
This reminds me of a funny story. I was moonlighting in a second job over the summer, let's say in the service industry. It was a slow afternoon and this shapely young lady (mid-twenties) came up to me. She had shoulder-length pale brown hair and was wearing sunglasses that she soon placed on top of her head. I specifically remember the gray tank top she was wearing quite well and remember thinking that she was kinda' hot, although nowhere near as hot as she thought she was. Anyway, I waited on her for some time and she seemed to be getting restless, fumbling with her cell phone. She had a sandwich and was drinking Miller Lite. Soon she was joined by an older guy (mid-60s) wearing a grey hairpiece that was none too convincing. I don't recall what beer he ordered but I think it came in a green bottle, probably Yuengling. They started getting all cozy in their conversation and decided to order some shots of, let's say Jack Daniels. Being outside on the patio the "glasses" that I had available to me were made of plastic, this included the shot glasses. I set them down and started to pour. They looked at each other and started to mumble something. I said, "Excuse me?" They both proceeded to tell me that the glass I placed in front of them was only such and such milliliters and was not a full shot. I looked at them with a blank stare and said, "thank you?" Apparently they thought I needed to be educated by the likes of them. I then reached for the $7.00 that the sugar daddy owed me, he said, "oh, yeah, go ahead and take your money." Did he think I might do otherwise? Maybe give him a shot on the house? I don't know, but my relationship with these people went downhill from there.
You know what? Now that I think of it, the post really didn't remind me of this story. I just wanted to tell it and I guess that was as good an excuse as any.
So, where was I? Oh, yeah. He didn't want another beer after I had screwed him on the shot (after they left I checked the bottom of the cup, it is clearly marked 1fl. oz-the same amount that a shot should be). By this time I began to wait on other customers. I came back to the two love birds at one point to find them gone, 2 empty beer bottles sitting on one dollar each. Let me correct that. The Miller Lite bottle was not empty. It had about one finger width of warm liquid sitting in the bottom that she had not drunk in the course of an hour. Obviously,
aw, shit. something came up.
i'll finish this later.
Obviously, they had finished, left a dollar tip, and then went on their merry way to fornicate in some cheap motel.
Wrong.
As I went about serving the other customers this bitch comes back to the bar. "Where's my beer?" she asked. I told her I threw it away when she left. "I didn't leave! I just went to the restroom!" she shouted. I forget how she put it but she let me know that this was the incorrect way for me to do my job. She began bitching to some female friends who had joined her at the bar. "Where's my dollar?" she bellowed. One of the friends commented that I must have assumed it was a tip and had already taken it, so I reached into the tip jar, pulled out a dollar and put it in front of her. "Well, can I have another beer?" she demanded.
I really didn't understand what was going through this tramp's head. It seemed to me that she was having a bad day and wanted to take it out on someone so she kept setting me up with these little tests which I repeatedly failed. WHO CARES?!
I put the new beer in front of her took her money and went to ring it up and wait on the other customers. The bar was pretty crowded at this point. As I walked past her sometime later she was bitching to her friend (who was actually very pretty, but, like my adversary she too was a twat). "I'm a bartender," she said "and you have got a lot to learn. You don't do that to customers."
So I leaned forward, extended my hand and said, "you're a bartender? Congratulations, I'm very proud of you."
You should have seen the look on this bitch's face! It was priceless! It was like nobody had ever spoken to her like this before. The twat friend was equally shocked and horrified. Right about this time the owner came around the corner. The two of them spoke up saying, "Are you the owner? We need to talk to you about your bartender."
What this idiot didn't know was that my father was the owner. I explained to him what happened but he didn't seem to care. He was counting money or something. He then went around the bar and listened to their story. When he came back I asked what they said. He told me to relax, I had done nothing wrong just keep working. This pissed her off even more. She turned to the friend and said,"He's got his head shoved all the way up his dad's fat ass." That is a quote. I leaned forward and got really close to her before I said, "you know, you're really charming." I didn't shout just said it "matter-of-factly".
She was enraged. "Do you think I care what you think of me?!" she shouted.
"But I'm supposed to care what you think of me?" I returned. This poor ignorant bitch was out of her league. "Why are you so hostile to me?" she demanded. At that point she and the friend stood up to leave. As she was leaving the bar I picked up her second empty Miller Lite bottle. I held it up and asked her if I could throw this one away. "Are you coming back? Maybe I better not throw this out." I looked over at two other women who had been sitting with but NOT commisserating with her. I told them, "I think she might be coming back." They started to laugh. She shot me one last dirty look before she walked out of my life.
Shortly thereafter the two remaining friends spoke up. "We're bartenders too," one of them said, "and she had no right to treat you that way." I thanked her and told her that I wasn't really a bartender by trade, but just helping my dad. She said it didn't matter and I didn't deserve the hard time she was giving me but that I handled the situation quite well. They stayed late into the night and left a rather decent tip.
What is the moral of this story? Mind your own goddamn business. Don't go looking for trouble.
Post a Comment