WARNING: This post is profane as fuck

Because I love you, my readers, I feel it appropriate to give you fair warning.  Up until now, I have made efforts to maintain a certain level of emotional distance, both in the topics I have chosen to write about and in how I write about them.

This post will not be one of those posts.

One of my least favorite things about my job is when it’s been painfully slow all night long, and then all of a sudden, about an hour and a half before closing…EVERYONE fucking comes in.  W.A.S.T.E.D.  And in a goddamn hurry.  Especially if it’s a big night and we’ve literally been waiting for the rush since before midnight.

Yes, I understand that your order is two slices of pizza, and that theoretically that shouldn’t take THAT long.  However.  The phones that we have to answer are maybe six feet from the register, less than two from the grill, haven’t stopped ringing for ten minutes.  We know you can hear it, you’re crowding the fucking counter making an ass of yourself with the other thirty drunk douchebags and white-girl wasted frat mattresses all bitching at us.  When it rings, we have to answer it.   Yes, if we’re busy we can put it on hold, and they’ll hang up and call the fuck back.  Over and over.  And  that’s costing us money…more money than you spent on your two slices and a water, damn near guaranteed.  And your free ranch.  And then we gave you another one because we’re too busy to care…and now you’re mad because we won’t give you another one?  Go. Fuck. Yourself.

And if you’re bitching about me about how your food isn’t out yet…well maybe that’s because I had to fucking stop what I was doing, which was probably fixing your goddamn food or someone else’s so that I can get to yours, to pay attention to you while you drunkenly blather what the fuck ever you think is so goddamn special about your fucking food.

Shut. The Fuck. Up.  Sit the fuck down.  And wait for my loud ass to yell.  AND FUCK YOU PAY FUCKING ATTENTION GODDAMMIT.  IF I HAVE TO USE MY GODDAMN OUTSIDE VOICE I FUCKING WILL…and anyone who knows me…knows how loud my inside voice gets.

If you’re mad because someone got his two pepperoni before you did, maybe you shoulda been shut the fuck up and listening.  Fifteen of the last thirty people all ordered two pepperoni…you gotta be fucking faster on your shit, or we don’t fucking care until the dust has settled and you still haven’t got your food.

Because some of us are actually fucking professionals.  We’re doing the best we goddamn can with less than we NEED.  And we want to feed you.  We want to give you your money’s worth and for it to be a positive experience for you.  So we’ll get to you, even if it takes a while.

But more importantly, fuck you for coming into my place of WORK, fucking drunk because it’s your day off and you want to “rage” or “wild out” or “get wasted” or whatever the fuck you call it, and giving me shit while I try to feed your belligerent ass.  Mad about the prices?  Bitch at my fucking boss, he sets them.  Don’t like how long your food takes?  WE’RE OPEN 20 HOURS A FUCKING DAY YOU ASSDOWEL!  Get here fucking earlier.  Poor planning on your part does NOT constitute an emergency on mine.  Eat my ass, fuck off and die. I just make the goddamn food and entertain you fucking animals while I try to hold this goddamn kitchen together there’s only three of us and two drivers and there hasn’t been a dish fucking washed in four hours because they’ve been gone AND WE’RE TOO GODDAMN BUSY TO LOSE A PERSON FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES.  And by the way, in case you want to be all “you get tips wah wah wah.”  We split that jar across the kitchen.  And if we’re LUCKY AS FUCK, we might walk out with 20 bucks a piece split three ways.  On a ten hour shift  Yes we make more than waitstaff, because we’re goddamn cooks.  I’d like to see you come the fuck back here and turn a dough ball into a fucking large pizza and work two steak and cheeses and four or five orders of fried food in cycles while you answer phones, give people drinks, get ranches, box and cut, and all the other shit that has to be done, in addition to reminding half of your kitchen staff (1 person, maybe 1 and a driver) what a delivery you made half an hour ago needs.

Now, that said, some of our customers are fucking badass and they love us and they get it and they just wait for us to call for their shit, because they’re regulars and there’s a relationship there, and when it comes down to it we take care of our community.  About the time I stop carding you for your credit card and recite your order when you walk up to the counter (not as long as you think if you’re a regular customer) you can pretty well bet that if it comes down to taking care of you or giving a fuck about some bad-attitude we’ve never seen before, we will take care of you and be fucking happy about it.

But there are days I want to take the bat from under the counter and just go all kinds of Nny on these motherfuckers.  Which brings me to my next point:
WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BEING A FUCKTOAD TO THE PERSON WHO IS HANDLING YOUR FUCKING FOOD?  DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT I COULD DO TO YOU WITH NO MORE THAN FIVE SECONDS OF MY TIME AND ONE OF A NUMBER OF FUCKING BOTTLES?  WHY?  WHY WOULD YOU EVEN RISK THAT SHIT?  I won’t fuck with your food.  I’m a god damned professional.  I’ll make your food and it’ll be goddamn fantastic, so you’ll fucking leave.  But some of these people are fucking twisted, do you really, REALLY want to give people with access to your life needs reasons to want to fuck with you?

You ever see Waiting?  Not that it DOES happen.  BUT IT FUCKING COULD AND YOU WOULDN”T EVER FUCKING KNOW.

Look all I’m sayin’ is be kind to the people who feed you.  They fucking feed you.  So you don’t have to feed yourself.  Show some fucking respect.  If you eat at the right places, that shit can mean the difference between pretty good food and decent service and GOOD food and AWESOME service.  It’s a two way street bitches.

/end rant

About geist171

All my life I was told that I could be anything I wanted. I chose to be gracious for my blessings, generous with my fortunes, and in no particular hurry. I view my ADD as an alternative cognitive configuration rather than a disorder, and I never. shut. the fuck. up. I promise.
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