28 July 2013

I've Never Had So Many Noses in my Crotch in One Day.

So pizza delivery has been fun.  I've been doing it several times a week now, and I've come to notice several things.

1. There are many types of house number styles, but the only ones that really bother me are the ones that are words instead of numbers.  Ain't nobody got time for reading as I drive by trying to find your house.

2. I'm glad it's summer and that school zones aren't in effect.  However, it's summer so that means construction zones are in effect, so now I've become creative at driving places.

3. Some people have cool names.  Like this dude:




Made me think of Vogons from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.  Fortunately, I wasn't subjected to a reading of bad poetry when I delivered this.  For anyone who doesn't know what a Vogon is, go read the books now.  Let this be your excuse to read them, as they are awesome.

4. Speed limit signs should be 3 feet square and bright pink.  Even so, I know some would still contrive to 'not see' them, and thus drive 10 or 15 kph under the limit, much to my chagrin. Or even those that drive over the limit (too much), though arguably that's not as dangerously rage-inducing as someone going too slow.

I actually had a discussion one night with a customer at the liquor store about this.  Can't remember if I've mentioned it here before, so bear with me if I have, and skip down to the ~~ symbols.  There's a certain main road in my city where the speed limit is at first 50 kph, and then increases to 60.  A lot of people miss the increase and continue on at 50.  This gentleman came in one night and said that since there's a school zone on this road (there isn't), he always goes 40 kph because everyone else is driving so fast. 

First off, the speed limit in a school zone is 30, not 40.  Second, I did politely tell him that there is no school zone on that road, and I drive it every day so I should know.  I also said that a block away from where he said the school zone was, the limit increases to 60, so if he's doing 40, it's no wonder people are 'driving badly and erratically' around him.  They're so pissed off that he's doing nearly half the limit, they speed off angrily.  He took the news well enough, I think, since I wasn't a massive bitch about it.  I hope he started to go at least 50.

~~

5. Dogs like the smell of pizza.  Apparently they also like the smell of my crotch.  I assure you, I do bathe quite regularly.  This isn't a case of anything unhygienic or disease-related, it's just a dog's friendly way of finding out my recent life and health history.  I read an article about dogs sniffing butts once (don't ask) and it says that's how they tell each other's history, so it makes sense that's what they do with me.  I object, though, because it's rather awkward to stand at a door, pizza in one hand, carrying probably my debit machine, possibly a bag with some pop in it, maybe trying to make change, smile and hand everything over, all whilst being one layer of clothing away from receiving oral sex.  I'm not used to having people watch when that happens, I'm not that much of an exhibitionist.

It's happened quite a lot lately, and it usually causes some degree of embarrassment on the part of the owner, too.  I love dogs, though, and even if they don't attempt cunnilingus, they are usually happy to see me because I've got the tasty smelling boxes of food. I've found that when a dog greets me at the door, on most occasions if I'm happy to see the dog and let it sniff my hand and pet it, people tend to tip me really well.  It creates a bond, perhaps, or maybe they think that if their dog likes me, I can't be all bad.

This weekend was super busy, hence the extra crotch contact, but with the exception of a 3-hour period on Friday night where it was utter insanity, most everything went smoothly.  I have downloaded a new navigation app, though, because Google Maps has a diabolical sense of humour sometimes.  It tells me that a lot of roads don't exist, or gives inaccurate locations of the house numbers.  Once, it was so far off that I ended up out in a farm somewhere, instead of inside the city at an apartment building.  Roads that have been around for 2 years don't show up.  So yeah, we'll see what happens.

15 July 2013

I'm at work, but that doesn't mean I'm awake.

You know it's not a good day when you feel like punching an old lady in the face, in front of your mother, and it's not even noon.

There are certain type of people who think that if a conversation is going on within their earshot, even if it could in no conceivable way involve them at the moment, that they are a part of that conversation and shall interject their opinions whether you like it or not.

Fuck those people.

08 July 2013

Freudian Slip.

I didn't mention it last time, but I quit the restaurant job.  I won't spend too much time going over that here, but let's just say that I wasn't on the 'favourites' list there, so it ended up being miserable for me.  That and remember when I talked about no longer being introverted and being more extroverted now?  That was a lie!  I just want to hide in a corner for a while, have no one bother me, and leave me to my bowls of pudding and LOST rewatches.

I quit the restaurant before my vacation, and then went away on the tenuous hopes that I would have a new job when I got back.  Good news: I did, and I get to be on my own a lot.  Bad news: It's another job that depends even more on tips than being a server.

16 June 2013

I Might Have to Change My Name.

I am gay.  Doubly gay, in fact.  BAM!  Consider me out of the closet!  That wasn't hard at all!  I am now The Fat Gay Ho.

I just went on a well-deserved vacation for eight days.  Seriously, if I hadn't had that time off, I probably would've started stabbing people with sharpened pencils or broken bottles.  I'm not sure how I would've handled this weekend if it hadn't been my first three days back after that much needed rest.  It probably would've involved shanking.

Friday, my first day back, was fine.  Besides forgetting some people's points accounts, figuring out all the new items we had, and what was on sale that week, everything went smoothly despite how busy it was.  Saturday is when things got all gay.  Gayer than this picture:


That's pretty gay.


29 May 2013

28 May 2013

New Guy and the Pizza Girl

After a baby is born, some cultures will not name the child until a certain amount of time has passed.  From what I've read, it seems that most of these waiting periods are specified in local religions, but naming a child has significance in non-religious circles, too.  For example, the Free Folk who live North of the Wall (in GRR Martin's Song of Ice and Fire) will not name their babies for two years after the child is born.  Infants rarely survive that long, especially among the poorer folk, and it's considered bad luck.  Makes you get all attached to the wee beast, which makes it harder when it dies.

I take on a similar sort of sentiment when it comes to new hires at my jobs.  In the hospitality and retail industries, staff turnover can be quite high.  People will take the first job they're offered, and then quit when they get the one they want, or simply quit because they don't end up liking the work.  It's hard to get attached to them, because sometimes you can get along with someone quite well right from the off.  That's probably my favourite thing about my restaurant job right now, I get along well with most of the staff and a lot of us have become friends.  Same thing at the liquor store, even though the staff is smaller, I think that in general, we're all friends, which is pretty awesome.

20 May 2013

The Cashier is Always Right.

I met some wonderful people this weekend and I want to tell you about them.  Even with my jobs, people still amaze me sometimes, in both good and bad ways.  You'd think I'd be super jaded by now, and I won't deny that, but sometimes there are still people who have the capacity to make me go 'Wat.'



 Our first guest today I shall call Squeaker.

13 May 2013

Yes, I Can Smile, but You're Not Nathan Fillion.


My jobs are driving me to drink.  I’ve been thinking about including a drink review section to this blog, since I have so many ideas and new and interesting things I want to talk about and share with people, so you may start seeing that as a feature.

Tonight I was drinking Sambuca and gin.  Not together, because that would taste like Satan’s candied asshole.  I keep my Sambuca in the freezer because I like sipping it straight, but nice and icy cold.  I love black licorice.  I can’t have black licorice, because it’s full of wheat flour, which is my kryptonite, or my palladium poisoning, however nerdy you want to get.

24 April 2013

If You're Going to be a Perverted Twat, at Least Tip Your Server.

To start this entry off, I'd like to state that I want to keep my specific job locations anonymous.  The things I say on here could, potentially, reflect on my places of employment in a manner that could offend certain customers.  So, if you do happen to know exactly where I work, please keep that and all specifically identifying details in private.  Thanks!  The reasons for me stating this should become apparent, but I intend to discuss some issues that are rather sensitive.  With that said, Lay on, McDuff.

Monday night I was bartending, and since the lounge server didn't come in, I was taking care of all the tables, too.  Totally doable, as Monday nights aren't too busy and because I can multi-task like a mofo.  Efficient is my middle name.  The Fat 'Efficient' Ho... Hah.

18 April 2013

Golden Showers and Old Jobs From a Different Perspective

This is Rex.


He's huge, probably taller than I am, if he were to stand on his back legs.  The only reason he was sitting still in this picture is because of the treat I was holding out.  My boss is constantly telling me I have to use my 'Angry Voice' when talking to the dogs, because I'm too soft on them and will just let them jump and take the cookies too soon.  I'm practising with Rex, only he gets a little impatient sometimes and then you've got a 200-lb dog lunging at you.  Most times I just drop the cookie into his mouth and back up a step.

12 April 2013

The Art of Conversation.

I was not a well-adjusted child.  I was very introverted and shy, and I felt like I never knew what to say to 'sound normal.'  This might come from being home-schooled until I went into grade 4, because it was just me and my sister at home, with our mum sitting us at the kitchen table to go through our workbooks.  Hell, I was so awkward even the other kids at church hated me and made fun of me.  I never had a brain-to-mouth filter and would just say stuff without thinking how rude it made me sound... Actually, I'm still working on that.  Cunt.

When I was a teenager, even in my early 20s, there was no way I could've done the job I do now.  I took a personality test in high school and I came out with type INFP , which I was told was the rarest of all types, existing in some 4% of the world's population.  I haven't taken a recent personality test, even though there is a link on that page I gave, but I imagine it would be quite different.

01 April 2013

Twitterpated.

Before I got into the liquor industry, I never really understood why some people will use any excuse, no matter how thin and flimsy, to drink and get drunk.  Friday night?  Get drunk!  Saturday?  Drink all day!  Birthday?  DOUBLE DRUNK!  Those are passingly normal reasons for drinking, but from there on out it gets sketchier.

Thursday?  It's almost Friday, so it counts as Dirty Thursday.  Christmas?  Yep, totally a drinking holiday.  St. Patrick's Day?  Naturally.  The Irish are always drunk anyways.  Ash Wednesday?  Fer sher.  Easter?  Why the fuck not?  Maybe the Easter bunny will deliver you some of those little liqueur chocolates.  I don't really have a problem with any of this, I don't judge anyone.  I see a lot of regulars, some of them every day, some every two days, some less frequently.  Okay, I lied.  I judge some people.  If you're counting out nickels to get one of the smallest bottles of beer we sell - which is only 89¢, by the way - I'm going to feel something.

18 March 2013

Never Be Ashamed to Buy Your Own Lube.

Saturday night at work was the busiest night I've worked since before Christmas.  There was a great combination of circumstances that lead to this, but mostly I think it was just that time to get fucking wasted.

January is usually pretty slow, everyone's bogged down with bills or has drank their fill through the holiday season and hasn't quite yet forsaken their resolutions to not drink ever again.  Considering that most people's resolutions, particularly those to never drink ever again, usually come across like a 16-year-old's protestations of future sobriety an hour after downing their first micky of white rum and then puking in five different places that night, I don't really have any respect for them.  Empty threats, things that will be said and never done.  I totally respect people when they do decide to stop drinking, forever or for a certain time period, but the vow usually has a different level of sincerity when it's spat out between mouthfuls of vomit and tears as you cry into the shrub by the front door.

04 March 2013

I'm Never Shopping Here Again!!



I’ve been threatened at work more times than I can remember.  Some customer will come in and find that something isn’t the way they want it and throw those utterly horrifying words at me:

“I’m never shopping here again!”

The funny thing is that that phrase is never mentioned when it’s deserved.  Well, actually, I’m not sure.  I’ve never been around for or created one of those situations, so I’m not sure if they’ve ever been said appropriately or not.

16 February 2013

The Most Action I've Had in Months.

At my liquor store, we love dogs.  We have a can of cookies under the counter that a lot of the dogs know about and will head straight for when they come in.  We might as well be called The Cookie Store.  Most of them are wonderful dogs, and I place the same rules upon them as I do upon people: If you're going to be in the store, don't knock over the bottles and don't pee on anything.

This is Buck:



He's adorable.

04 February 2013

Noods.

At my bartending job, I occasionally have some tables to take care of as well.  I always thought I'd hate being a server, but it's not actually so bad.  It probably has a lot to do with where I work, which is a casino.  There are no under-age people allowed, so I don't have to deal with children, or families, the prospect of which is a big part of why I never wanted to do it.

Food and beverage service is incredibly fast-paced.  And I mean, if I can save myself 2 seconds on a task, I will do it, because those 2 seconds can be the difference between floating the rush and managing to keep up easily, and drowning in the flood of people who need food and tables that need wiping.

28 January 2013

You Either 'Get it', or You Don't.

I love my regular customers.  Well, some of them.  What makes you an awesome regular that I'll like, as opposed to a regular that makes me instantly clamp down on any 'nice girl' instincts I may have and turn into Polar Ice Bitch of the North?  Examine, if you will, these examples from the liquor store.

Exhibit A: Willie. Whenever he walks in the door, I automatically do this:



22 January 2013

In Your Endo.


My first job was an A&W.  That’s a lie, sorry.  My actual first job was at a clothing store, but I was only there for the summer, and I was only 13, so it barely counts.  My first real job was A&W, and I was a couple months from turning 16.  I was also, shall we say, shy and innocent.  I had, ehm, a sheltered childhood that did not allow much TV or music to sway me towards a ‘secular’ lifestyle.   Without going into too much detail, let’s just say I wouldn’t have recognized a dirty joke if it came up and turkey-slapped me.

08 January 2013

Thankfully, they stopped manufacturing Twinkies.

I am a fat ho.  Indeed.  I am possessed of the qualities necessary both for ho-ery and for being considered of an above average body mass index.  Or, at least the little blond, talking Twinkie that came in my liquor store would have you believe.

One of my biggest flaws is that I tend to assume that people will have 'common sense', an ideal that can only be described as a misnomer.  If I planned on engaging in some sort of Government-controlled, or dangerous activity, such as learning to fire a gun of some kind, I would be sure to do a little research first and find out the laws surrounding such a practice.  Am I allowed to carry a gun in my pocket, for example, or do I need to wear a certain type of thigh holster advertising my penchant for shooting small projectiles at people using tiny explosions?