Now that I watched all of season 11 in one session (and actually remembered watching every episode when they aired), I’m pretty sure I can stop my viewing of the Simpsons marathon. I looked at season 12, and the only episode I remembered was the one where Krusty’s long-lost daughter shows up. What made me stop watching, I wonder? Did I think that there was no way they could top “Behind the Laughter?” Did I take them at face value at the end of that episode when Homer said “this’ll be the last season?” Did I start to get annoyed by the discrepancy between the quality of animation in the opening vs. that of the couch gags?
- The next time I feel compelled to insult a spider, I’m going to use the phrase “itsy-bitsy bitch.” But really, how often do you have to insult a spider?
- Goddamn, that dude from the uSell.com commercial’s got a giant fucking mouth.
- NoMoreRack.com is an online retailer? I figured it would be offering discount mastectomies.
…I thought Ricky Martin was saying “her lips are deviled eggs.” I thought to myself, what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?
…for shortest length that I’ve ever held a job. Slightly less than a week (it’s hard to tell, because although I technically only got paid for a couple days I’d “had” the job for some time before that. Let’s call it a week. Previous record was two, count ‘em, TWO weeks). I won’t name the place aside from tellin’ y’all that it’s a major chain restaurant, but here’s why it didn’t work out…
They worked the kitchen staff for almost 7 hours on the first day while only giving us 3 minutes to scarf down whatever food we could after the wait staff we’d been cooking for had been eating all day.
And that’s just during training. I don’t even want to know what the place would be like after they were open to the public. I’m sorry, but if you stuff a bunch of folks dressed all in black in a hot, cramped, steamy kitchen and then force them to fight for two pieces of shrimp each? You’re probably breaking the law.
I wasn’t allowed to show any visible tattoos, even though I was just working in the kitchen.
…which is ESPECIALLY horseshit, considering half of the wait staff were allowed to show their arms no questions asked. Everyone (back of the house included) who was allowed to leave their arms uncovered & HAD tattoos? They were all bigger than any one of mine. I guess I just have one too many.
It was physically uncomfortable to work there.
This ties back into the “no visible tattoos” thing that seemed to apply to me and only one other dude. Hey, dickheads - I’m working in the kitchen. I’m standing next to a dishwashing machine that spews fiery dragon’s breath every 45 seconds. I’m getting heat rash on my arms. I’m already all in black like I’m Johnny Cash or someone according to your dress code, and you make me wear MORE layers? Fuck y’all.
We weren’t allowed to smoke on company property.
Here’s one that I kinda understood, but the way they went about telling us was the straw that almost broke the camel’s back (by the way, I’m a camel). During orientation they say “___’s is a non-smoking restaurant.” Well, no shit. We live in New York. THEN they tell us “and you’re not allowed to smoke on company property” - some folks ask, what exactly constitutes ‘company property?’ - “if you can SEE the restaurant, you’re too close.”
Alright, fine. I get it. You don’t want cigarette butts all over your parking lot, especially because for some back-asswards reason you don’t have exterior garbage cans. Then, and here’s what really ground my gears, the lady says “you shouldn’t be doing it anyway. If you can’t go 5 hours without a cigarette, you obviously have bigger problems.”
(puts on Randy Marsh hat) I’m sorry, I thought this was America. I thought we were free to make such decisions for ourselves. I understand your personal policies, but when one of the higher-ups condescends a large portion of their employees like that? On the first day? You can’y pay me enough for that shit. $10/hour to wash dishes (and be told you’re doing a shitty job at it by the person who’s supposed to be training you) doesn’t make up for being treated like a piece of shit just because you work in the back, need to eat & like to smoke.
…also, I call bullshit on your 5 Hour Rule.
The level of mandatory enthusiasm needed to work at those kinds of places.
This was really the final straw. They were paying me well enough for physically uncomfortable work, and I even kind of appreciate the “no visible tattoos” rule because it probably saved me from burning the heart off’a my sleeve one night (literally, I have a heart on my arm that will one day become part of a sleeve of tattoos). But the one thing that I thought to myself when they told me “hey, you’ll be working in the back” was HEY - at least I won’t have to dance, right?
THEY TRIED TO MAKE ME DANCE.
I dance when I want to. Unless you’re payin’ me to take my clothes off while doing so, I refuse to dance on command. Especially if I’m not makin’ tips.
But hey, it’s not ALL bad. Rather I get out now than ragequit several months down the line. Plus, I wandered around town looking for applications, and I got three definite “maybes,” one “holy shit this Help Wanted sign has been in the window all summer but you’re closed because it’s a Sunday so I’ll go back tomorrow before the gym,” and an honest-to-gosh INTERVIEW!
So, yeah. How was your day?
I can’t decide which name I like more - Department of Homeland Obscurity, “Nothing Rhymes With Orange, then… uhh, Everything Rhymes With Orange,” Punchface Champions, Just the Tip, or Threeskin.
Y’know what? Fuck it. I love everything about this man. I’ll probably even see the new Jurassic Park movie just because he seems to be the star. I mean, he was the star of Guardians, and THAT looked like it was gonna suck, right?
And then he did.
I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever. Your leg, my leg, your arm, my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.
Pretty sure I have that same figure squirreled away somewhere… someone should make a series of photos of all the super-poseable Spider-Man figures they can find and just make a porn blog titled “Spidey Fucks Himself.”
(starts looking through garage)