We are taught to believe in organization from a very young age. Our parents try to teach us about putting our clothes away, our school engineer us to believe that society has structure. Religion instructs us that we will burn in hell if we don't wear nice suits to church and Wal-Mart always seems to have the lowest price guaranteed!
I think consumerism should be considered a religion. I really do! Think about the parallels here! You have a guy that sits in a room upstairs and watches everything you do via closed circuit television. You have employees that act like clergy, and claim to know the way to your shopping salvation. They even gather a collection through highly trained cashiers! Now to me, this sounds like a religion!
And do you ever notice that all religions have unofficial slogans? Christianity's is The greatest story ever told! Now... That slogan should tell you something... It's just that! A story! A fucking fairy tale to scare weak minded individuals into subversion. That's all! The motto for Consumerism could be: "Money is God, product salvation and department stores the devil!"
Yes folks department stores are Satan! "Why do you say that Andy?" You mean besides the fact that you can wander aimlessly in them for hours, like a lost soul looking for salvation? "Oh please Lord, please let me find that last item... I don't know what it is but I want it so! I just know it'll save my eternal soul!"
"But Andy! Where does the organization fit into all of this?" Well goddamn it, I don't know! Naturally I would assume the shelves, but I could be over analyzing it.
Another thing that has always stuck me as odd is the unnatural way that employees everywhere can't be seen either buying or consuming the companies products. Maybe it's that critical thinking that's interfering with my consumeristic nature, but, it would seem to me that you would want your employees to promote your produt! "take your uniform off while your eating John, and put a goddamn smile on yor face!"
That's something else I've never understood... The Good Mood Policy. Don't even pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about! For those of you smart enough not to have a job, let me explain it to you how this policy works. The ideal employee is apparently supposed to be in a good mood at all times while at work. You could have just witnessed a guy getting his head blowen off with a 12 gauge shot gun while walking to work, but as soon as you enter the door to your job... All negitivity is null and void... How fucking unnatural is that? Sorry, but I'm what some would call human, and I tend to have bad days as well as good ones. I just witnessed a horrific act and I may need a few moments to compose myself.
They say that a good team is like a well oiled machine. No, a vibrator is a well oiled machine! A bukakke is a team effort, a vibrator needs human guidence to produce an end result. Maybe I'm not supposed to understand the conentation here, but it would seem to me that employers don't think these mantras could be misconsqued as sexual harassment.
Write or wrong, it's still in poor taste.
Showing posts with label Sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sex. Show all posts
Monday, December 29, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Warning: Cooking has side effects!
It was quite early. As near as I could figure, it was around 7. The incessant buzz from the alarm I have had since grade 9 has been going off for about a half hour. I was late for work. The kitchen life is serious. Cooking is serious business! Actually cooking is one of the early warning signs of trepanation. Cooking leads to a lot of things you never thought you would do. Most of which are self destructive and eventually lead to insanity.
At the tender age of 18 I thought it would be an adventure. I thought I would do it for a few months and then find something better. That something better never came along, and through seven long years of hellish torture I have finally realized something about myself. I fucked up. I never did go back to school, and I never followed my dreams. Today was the day that this was all going to change.
I rolled out of bed bleary eyed and hungover, (cooking also leads to alcoholism), forcing myself to enter the world of consciousness. I was slightly surprised to see one of the servers I worked with lying next to me. The events of the previous night started to slowly trickle back into my mind. We had fucked, at least that much was obvious due to the used condom and clothes strewn about my bedroom floor.
I didn't wake her. Instead I made my way to the bathroom. My scrawny white ass chilly from the cool breeze blowing through my window, and making it's way down the hall. In the bathroom I pissed. Oh god did I piss. It was like watching a river flooding out of my bell end. I washed my hands, flushed the toilet and went back to my room. I was on the hunt for some rudimentary garments I could easily fling off to put my uniform on. After about 15 minutes of a whirlwind of confusion I finally was dressed. I was already late, and now it was merely a matter of degree.
I raced to work! Blowing every stop sign and red light on the way. Some would consider this reckless, however I tend to view it as just another side effect of the kitchen life. I knew Dave would be in at 9 so I didn't sweat my lateness much. I had bigger problems, I still had to cook! When I got to work at 7:20, I knew I was fucked. My general manager was letting people in the front door. Security must have called him to ask why the restaurant wasn't unarmed yet.
After everyone was in he kepted me outside to talk with me. The conversation went like this:
Steve: Why are you late?
A. Warren: I think I drank a bit to much last night and was abducted by aliens.
Steve: Do you think this is a game? We have a responsibility to our jobs, and those responsibilities include being here on time! You are one of the top people here, you better than most should know this already!
A. Warren: I know. It's just been busy lately and I haven't been getting much sleep. I thought the booze would help.
Steve: I know what you mean man, I've been where you are before. I know I don't seem like it, but I have. Then one day something snapped. I wanted something more. I wanted the girlfriend, the big cheques, the good life. That's when I realized I need to step up and become a manager. Eventually the other things fell into place. Personally I would like to see you as a manager rather than Shane.
A. Warren: Really? Why? I'm not the best at following rules, or even keeping staff in line!
Steve: I know that, but people respect you a lot more. They know your the nice guy that tries his best to help them out in any situation. Shane is very angry. Now I'm not mad that your late, I'm more upset with the fact that you don't even see your potential. Your capable of great things. Now go and get your morning shit done, and don't let David come in today if he comes late. Send him home.
For a split second I almost fell for it. All this pep talk was was a very sly way of saying quit fucking up. I really don't want you here, and you should do something with your life! That's what he really meant to say. One point I should bring up is the David he was talking about was a line opener, not my FOH counterpart. Now the fun began.
Steve had left me with an unsettling feeling that something bad was about to happen that day. I never got off that easy. As I reviewed the memos scribbled in the log something caught my eye. Something that I really didn't want. A reservation. It wasn't a small and easy 4 top either. No one is ever that lucky. Instead it was a reservation for 50. The cold undead childern cried. To make matters worse, it was for 3:30. This definetly meant overtime. The cold undead childern cried on.
Opening a kitchen isn't the worst thing in the world. That is if you have the right players on. As it was David pulled a no show which meant I had to set up the line, and the prep cook on hated me. Not a very promising start. I went into auto-piolet, (which I ususally did whenever I opened), and burned through my counts, prep chart and set up. This brought me to 9 am. This meant Dave would be here in a half hour.
My ever so loathing prep cook began snarling at me that she was short on products she needed to complete her prep chart. A glimmer of light through the ever darkening storm. This meant I had to go to Shoppers. I locked up the office and headed for my vehicle, list in hand. I needed at least 6 items, and I was sure there would be more when I got back, which meant another jaunt over to the Save-On across the street.
My head was pounding and the traffic was terrible. Everybody has no concept of safety at 9:10 in the morning. I narrowly managed to make it to Shoppers unscathed. My eyes were not yet adjusted to the sun, and I had 15 minutes to get these six items. (15 minutes was my own timeframe not the restaurants). I blindly raced through the isles half aware of what I was actually grabbing, yet somehow it worked out. I used the charge account and signed my name like so many times before, and headed out the door. I almost ran down an elderly couple with the cart. If they are reading, I'm truly sorry.
After this whole ordeal I went through the Tim Horton's drive through to get coffees for everyone. The surley prep cook on would bitch about her coffee, but I figured it would be a nice gesture to get her one anyway. Then it was back to work!
With my hangover in tact and all the items I had on my Shopper's run in my car and the Tim Horton's coffees spilling all over the interior of my car, I finally made it back in time to see Dave just pulling up ready to start the day. He looked as tired as me. Most likely due to the heavy lager we had been enjoying the night before. I pulled in beside him and hopped out of my transport to say a quick hello and ring the backdoor buzzer. My ever growing snide prep cook answered, pissed off as usual. I made her bring in the items herself, then gave her the coffee I bought her.
Dave and I stood outside smoking and talking until 10 am. It was our usual Sunday morning ritual. The subject of our conversation mostly had to due with how we could betterly gear our toons to get to 70 faster in World of Warcraft. We then headed inside. Both of us were not completely there, yet we both could function well enough to to do what we needed to do for the day.
Once we started getting tables around 11:30, I had already been chastisised by Jesse, (another fellow WoW player), for not being on last night and drinking my face off instead, the server I woke up next to called in sick, and we had no unthawed buger patties. (In retrospective of this last point, I should have pulled some and thawed them). Oh boy! Lunch had began. The two and a half hour flurry of bills sent my mind reeling. I was getting yelled at by everyone, and had no idea how much longer I could keep myself from passing out. Finally, it stopped. The world started becoming clearer, and I was starting not to feel as hungover as I had been the rest of the day.
Dave and I went for another cigerette out back. We both started laughing that we had just survived the day from hell that we had both self induced the night before. Then we did what most people do. We began the replay of events.
When I returned home hagared and ready to die I realized someone was in my bed. At first, (since I am not very logical), I thought it was my cats for once getting along. As I pulled the covers off of the figure I remembered that it was the server who called in. I'll never forget her sweet and somewhat loud words: "Come back to bed and turn off the light!"
At the tender age of 18 I thought it would be an adventure. I thought I would do it for a few months and then find something better. That something better never came along, and through seven long years of hellish torture I have finally realized something about myself. I fucked up. I never did go back to school, and I never followed my dreams. Today was the day that this was all going to change.
I rolled out of bed bleary eyed and hungover, (cooking also leads to alcoholism), forcing myself to enter the world of consciousness. I was slightly surprised to see one of the servers I worked with lying next to me. The events of the previous night started to slowly trickle back into my mind. We had fucked, at least that much was obvious due to the used condom and clothes strewn about my bedroom floor.
I didn't wake her. Instead I made my way to the bathroom. My scrawny white ass chilly from the cool breeze blowing through my window, and making it's way down the hall. In the bathroom I pissed. Oh god did I piss. It was like watching a river flooding out of my bell end. I washed my hands, flushed the toilet and went back to my room. I was on the hunt for some rudimentary garments I could easily fling off to put my uniform on. After about 15 minutes of a whirlwind of confusion I finally was dressed. I was already late, and now it was merely a matter of degree.
I raced to work! Blowing every stop sign and red light on the way. Some would consider this reckless, however I tend to view it as just another side effect of the kitchen life. I knew Dave would be in at 9 so I didn't sweat my lateness much. I had bigger problems, I still had to cook! When I got to work at 7:20, I knew I was fucked. My general manager was letting people in the front door. Security must have called him to ask why the restaurant wasn't unarmed yet.
After everyone was in he kepted me outside to talk with me. The conversation went like this:
Steve: Why are you late?
A. Warren: I think I drank a bit to much last night and was abducted by aliens.
Steve: Do you think this is a game? We have a responsibility to our jobs, and those responsibilities include being here on time! You are one of the top people here, you better than most should know this already!
A. Warren: I know. It's just been busy lately and I haven't been getting much sleep. I thought the booze would help.
Steve: I know what you mean man, I've been where you are before. I know I don't seem like it, but I have. Then one day something snapped. I wanted something more. I wanted the girlfriend, the big cheques, the good life. That's when I realized I need to step up and become a manager. Eventually the other things fell into place. Personally I would like to see you as a manager rather than Shane.
A. Warren: Really? Why? I'm not the best at following rules, or even keeping staff in line!
Steve: I know that, but people respect you a lot more. They know your the nice guy that tries his best to help them out in any situation. Shane is very angry. Now I'm not mad that your late, I'm more upset with the fact that you don't even see your potential. Your capable of great things. Now go and get your morning shit done, and don't let David come in today if he comes late. Send him home.
For a split second I almost fell for it. All this pep talk was was a very sly way of saying quit fucking up. I really don't want you here, and you should do something with your life! That's what he really meant to say. One point I should bring up is the David he was talking about was a line opener, not my FOH counterpart. Now the fun began.
Steve had left me with an unsettling feeling that something bad was about to happen that day. I never got off that easy. As I reviewed the memos scribbled in the log something caught my eye. Something that I really didn't want. A reservation. It wasn't a small and easy 4 top either. No one is ever that lucky. Instead it was a reservation for 50. The cold undead childern cried. To make matters worse, it was for 3:30. This definetly meant overtime. The cold undead childern cried on.
Opening a kitchen isn't the worst thing in the world. That is if you have the right players on. As it was David pulled a no show which meant I had to set up the line, and the prep cook on hated me. Not a very promising start. I went into auto-piolet, (which I ususally did whenever I opened), and burned through my counts, prep chart and set up. This brought me to 9 am. This meant Dave would be here in a half hour.
My ever so loathing prep cook began snarling at me that she was short on products she needed to complete her prep chart. A glimmer of light through the ever darkening storm. This meant I had to go to Shoppers. I locked up the office and headed for my vehicle, list in hand. I needed at least 6 items, and I was sure there would be more when I got back, which meant another jaunt over to the Save-On across the street.
My head was pounding and the traffic was terrible. Everybody has no concept of safety at 9:10 in the morning. I narrowly managed to make it to Shoppers unscathed. My eyes were not yet adjusted to the sun, and I had 15 minutes to get these six items. (15 minutes was my own timeframe not the restaurants). I blindly raced through the isles half aware of what I was actually grabbing, yet somehow it worked out. I used the charge account and signed my name like so many times before, and headed out the door. I almost ran down an elderly couple with the cart. If they are reading, I'm truly sorry.
After this whole ordeal I went through the Tim Horton's drive through to get coffees for everyone. The surley prep cook on would bitch about her coffee, but I figured it would be a nice gesture to get her one anyway. Then it was back to work!
With my hangover in tact and all the items I had on my Shopper's run in my car and the Tim Horton's coffees spilling all over the interior of my car, I finally made it back in time to see Dave just pulling up ready to start the day. He looked as tired as me. Most likely due to the heavy lager we had been enjoying the night before. I pulled in beside him and hopped out of my transport to say a quick hello and ring the backdoor buzzer. My ever growing snide prep cook answered, pissed off as usual. I made her bring in the items herself, then gave her the coffee I bought her.
Dave and I stood outside smoking and talking until 10 am. It was our usual Sunday morning ritual. The subject of our conversation mostly had to due with how we could betterly gear our toons to get to 70 faster in World of Warcraft. We then headed inside. Both of us were not completely there, yet we both could function well enough to to do what we needed to do for the day.
Once we started getting tables around 11:30, I had already been chastisised by Jesse, (another fellow WoW player), for not being on last night and drinking my face off instead, the server I woke up next to called in sick, and we had no unthawed buger patties. (In retrospective of this last point, I should have pulled some and thawed them). Oh boy! Lunch had began. The two and a half hour flurry of bills sent my mind reeling. I was getting yelled at by everyone, and had no idea how much longer I could keep myself from passing out. Finally, it stopped. The world started becoming clearer, and I was starting not to feel as hungover as I had been the rest of the day.
Dave and I went for another cigerette out back. We both started laughing that we had just survived the day from hell that we had both self induced the night before. Then we did what most people do. We began the replay of events.
When I returned home hagared and ready to die I realized someone was in my bed. At first, (since I am not very logical), I thought it was my cats for once getting along. As I pulled the covers off of the figure I remembered that it was the server who called in. I'll never forget her sweet and somewhat loud words: "Come back to bed and turn off the light!"
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