Tag Archives: fun

False sense of entitlement: Case study #1

Three out of four days I work here I’m miserable and I’m ready to walk off the job. It’s not the job (wait, yes it is) but it’s also the people.

 

These people think they live on another planet, and they’re just visiting. These people have such a ridiculous sense of entitlement. I want to kick them in the balls/box and throw them down an elevator shaft.

Example:
I deliver an order to a guy (a bacon cheeseburger blah.) He opens the door. He’s wearing a red and black velvet houndstooth jacket, purple deep v t-shirt, white jeans and purple high top sneakers, topped off with a Hall and Oates style faux hawk /mullet. The combination of colors, style and grooming choices are horrendous. Bad hair, bad fashion, and bad music can literally cripple me at times.

I rush in, ‘Where would you like this sir?’
‘You don’t have to call me sir. I’m younger then you are. Wait, sorry man. Are we ok?’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ I put the tray down on the table.
‘So I got a big room. Spacious. Is this normally a room they give to a cripple or handicap? Ha ha ha.’
I grin. I wanted to say ‘if the shoe fits.’ But I knew better.
‘Sorry man I’m from New York I’m not really about PC you know, politically correct.’
Fucking dork.
‘Yeah haha,’ I force a laugh. Which by the way is one of the most painful things you can do to yourself, forcing a laugh is like forcing tears. It’s bullshit and ultimately doesn’t do anybody any good.
The New York I’m from, or the Los Angeles I’ve experienced this guy would have his ass beaten within an inch of his life.

-BY THE WAY (RANT TIME)

Being from New York meant something years ago. First of all ”I’m sorry I’m from New York.” Real New Yorker’s would never apologize for where they’re from! Period! And that’s a good thing! Old New York, FUCK YEAH!
It was ruff tough and violent. I left in the 90’s. It had a Great low brow artistic edge, Haring and Basquiat reigning supreme. Hip-hop like you still haven’t heard in ages. More political hip hop shit, not this hip hop hair band – youtube shallow ass shit. Alphabet city was the dope capital of the east side. The bucket lowers, you get the dope, crack viles littered the gutters I was smokin’ and kicking them all the way down the fucking sewer. You didn’t even need to say you were from New York. People fucking knew they felt it coming off of you.

 

Back to the current assholery-

 So I put the order down on the table.
‘Where you from man.’
‘A lot of different places,’ I answer darkly. He grabs the bill and backs away slowly,
‘Hey man, I’m really sorry if I offended you in any way.
The tip is included right?’
‘You didn’t offend me in any way and yes the tip is included. Says it right on the bill.’
‘Okay, I just want to make sure you’re getting taken care of.’
‘Oh yeah, I’m getting taken care of. That 20% there on that cheeseburger is about nine dollars, it goes into a pool, and gets split between six of us.’
We stood looking at each other for a moment he looked very scared he walked over to the desk and grabbed his wallet pulled out a $20 bill gave it to me and said ‘Hey man once again I’m sorry if I offended you in any way, here bro.’ I walked out and said nothing. I didn’t have too, I punked his ass without saying a word. That’s New York. That’s L.A. That’s being real.

 

AWARD SEASON PT. 2

TBT ONE OF MY MANY SHITTY JOBS…

Rated R: For retardation, redundancy, rudeness, & rhetoric.

Let’s start off with the ‘glam squad,’ and the assistants to the ‘stars.’  These are people whose self-importance reigns supreme. They possess entitlement that depends on the proximity of the celebrity they’re sucking the ass of.

J-Lo’s people first; extremely dismissive, totally cheap.  They’ve been ordering all day and night and never tip, and are surly, contemptuous and angry. But most of Hollywood is just wolves in hipster clothing anyway.

Knock knock, ‘room service’

I get in the suite and they’re ordering me around all servant style.

First an agro pierced Chubby girl: ‘Um, yeah, hi or whatever, just quickly push the cart over there.’ She’s wearing skintight jeans and a sweater that shows every roll.

Me: ‘Ok’ I say, handing her the bill. Pushing the cart as slowly as possible.

Agro: ‘Ok so we’re gonna need all this other shit out of here, like yesterday!’ She says this while sweeping her hand on the air then points to a HUGE conference table that’s loaded with dirty plates, glasses, Perrier bottles, Fiji Bottles, et al. More than will fit on two or three carts. There are small flies and gnats en masse around the buffet. I have no cart or any way to remove all of it. (By the way delivering & clearing the room is usually a no-no, but this hotel is so incredibly fucking cheap they expect you to do all of that, two guys for eight floors.)

‘I’ll have to go get some carts for this.’

She says, ‘Oh my god! Can we call somebody and get those up here immediately!? We need this all CLEARED OUT!’

Now I’m fucking annoyed, ‘Nope. I have to go down and get them, give me 10 or 20 minutes and I’ll be right back.’

‘Oh my god! Okay, whatever!’

I left. I never returned to that room again. 

Let somebody else do it.

-At three o’clock we get a rush order for champagne and hors-d’oeuvres. A fancy word for quesadillas, deep-fried rock shrimp, chicken wings, and other less than big word worthy greasy goodness…and cheap champagne (Sharfenberger? Wtf is that?) I Rush the order up to the room, woman answers in what looks like a Met ball gown. The room is filled with people dressed to the nines, ‘Wow you all going to the Academy Awards?’

A couple of people laugh, and I here scoffing.

‘No love,’ she says. Gross. Please don’t call me love. Ever. 

‘Oh.’ I say.

‘We’re having a little Oscar gathering. Um, it’s a little more than just a party.’

‘Oh.’ I say. I hand her the bill. It’s 450.00 for a spread of garbage that you could have bought at a low-end grocery store and made yourself for about $114.00. She doesn’t tip. Of course, she doesn’t. None of these people do.

I’m drained from the sycophantic non-stop star fucking and the very idea that awards should be given for art. Especially ‘based on’ bullshit movies that are revisionist history. (I.e. American Sniper fuck that movie).

The orders keep coming, I continue my night and become a completely disinterested, disenfranchised, disassociated shell of a man. I think of moving to a third world country, and helping lepers or hair lipped children. Somewhere else, something else, somewhere, anywhere, but here. 

 

NIGHT SHIFTINESS

I’m not a morning person, or an afternoon person. Actually I’m not an any time of the day, or night person. I’m curmudgeonly and I’m jaded. I grew up in L.A. Whaddya want from me? It takes roughly 2 to 3 hours to muster a mild amount of patience and tolerance for me to even leave the house. I can get up and go if there’s a fire, a flood, or an earthquake, and even then it’s with some misgivings.

This is a qualifier for why I prefer to work swing or graveyard shifts. In most cases, these shifts attract a bizarre, creepy, and just plain odd individuals. I fit into all three of those categories. Let’s talk about the staff. The names have been changed, to protect me from these fucking lunatics.

Gerardo is the dedicated overnight man. He’s been doing room service for over 19 years. A pint-sized Filipino, with a mild speech impediment. He comes in at 11:30 every night and says the same thing, ‘Wush up, wush up, wush up?’ (What’s up). He never listens to or doesn’t care what the reply is. His next line is, ‘Ah, wuz bishee?’ (was it busy)? Again, he doesn’t care about the answer. Occasionally he will answer, ‘Oh is shat sho?’ (Oh, is that so) Gerardo’s sole purpose on an evening-to-evening basis is to get out of doing any sort of side work. I understand that it sucks, but it has to be done. But he is notorious for this, as even other employees have experienced.

There’s always side work, polishing silverware, restocking condiments and sodas, cutting butter, lemons, and limes pre-setting trays for deliveries, there is always things to fucking  do. But the truth is Gerardo has been here way too long and tries to delegate these jobs to me.

He says passive /aggressive things like, ‘Um can you focush on the silverwaresh?’ (Polish silverware, this seems to be something that he never wants to do.) ‘Run de florsh’ (go check the floors to see if there are any dirty trays, or morning breakfast orders hung on the door). I usually say the same thing every time he asks, ‘Your not my boss, I already did that’ or, ‘Gerardo you’re going to have to do some side work, there’s no way out of it.’

I mean, I come in at 5:30 and have been working my ass off. He just got there and he doesn’t want to do anything. I put him in check quickly, and if that doesn’t work, I just don’t do the side work and tell the supervisor he ain’t doing shit. They already know this though, and they do NOTHING.

One night I was coming off the elevator and heard him talking LONG shit about me to the chef, Julio. Something about ‘not doing my shares’. He doesn’t really wants shtoo be here, he wants shtoo write, we needs peoples thats are dedicated.’ I stood behind him and started laughing uncontrollably. Laughing like DeNiro playing Max Cady in Cape Fear. Julio walked away. Gerardo turned and looked at me with horror in his eyes. He walked away punching into the air. I didn’t care. I said to him, ‘So check this out Gerardo, you got something to say, say it to me, or talk to management Julio ain’t gonna help you.’ He immediately lied, ‘Oh no, we jush talking about 86’d itemsh, foods we ran out ofsh.’ I put him in check continually, but he forgets. Sometimes when it gets really busy, he walks in circles and tosses his hands in the air like a malfunctioning robot. He also freaks out if there are more than two orders. Some nights I’ve done 30 orders before even gets there, so I realize the silliness of this fear immediately. He also repeats himself constantly and loves top forty music. I listen to him drone on about “Taylor Shwifts, Maroons Fives and Iggyes Azaleas.’ By the time I leave at two AM, I seriously feel like I’ve been on a 72-hour hold in a psyche  ward. It’s a wonder I stay sober or sane.

Now let me tell you about Julio, the night Chef. A rotund 68-year-old Columbian man with a deep voice, an accent, a shady past and a limp. Julio comes in and depending on his mood will 86 (cancel) anything on the menu that he doesn’t feel like making. This he tells us after the guest has already called in the order. We have to call them back and say we are out of said item. Then he changes his mind and decides to make it. So you call the guest back again and say, ‘oh my mistake turns out we have it.’ This happens 2 or 3 nights a week and it’s so fucking maddening you want to throw hot grease on him or spray oven cleaner in his eyes! I swear to god it’s like working with your God Damn grandparents!

One night while I was waiting for Julio to prepare an order, he told me he was the private Chef for Pablo Escobar. He said that Pablo was an incredibly generous man, with a big heart, who really tried to help people. (I’m sure there are many folks that said the same thing about Hitler). He said cooking for the children’s birthday parties was always a fun time. Even though the kids were fat little-spoiled assholes. Once while preparing a dinner for the family, little Manuela Escobar was screaming and crying because the pony she got for Christmas had no wings, ‘she wanted a pony with wings,’ Julio pleaded. I laughed. Then Julio turned dark. ‘Months later at her birthday party, a man walked in with a pony that had wings.’ He went on to say that Pablo had the wings taken off an eagle and surgically implanted on the horse. To which Julio replied, ‘But you know, nature doesn’t play that game and three days later the pony died.’ I stood there aghast. he looked at me and grinned. “Oh, here, your chicken quesadilla for room 219 is ready.’

Bethany’s Break Room Rant

All writing kept intact and original to preserve the downright ignorance of the piece.

Bill and my sister Irene were French kissing and touching all up on each other in the God Damn company break room, it was disgusting. I mean between the sights, and the sounds (a lot of heavy breathing, both are fat and got deviated septums) and the smell the break room has anyway (it’s like the rotting vapors of 40 different frozen entrees in there.) I mean they’re both obeast and ugly as sin, so that’s like a double violation too, like a bad day at Hometown Buffett for all your 6th senses. I’m trying to just sit down and eat my Panda Express and maybe smoke a Pall Mall and these two are sitting there rubbing each other’s crotches and chests and licking out each other’s mouth holes, like a child licks Duncan Hines’s chocolate frosting out of a God Damn mixing bowl!

I was like ‘HEY! Excuse me!” They slowly stop and then Irene was like, “Bethany they ain’t no excuse for you, you sorry assed schoolmarm!” And she went back to liking on Bill’s neck and chin area like it’s a God Damn whore house or a speakeasy. She was always the strumpet of the bloodline, she got her titties done and like Daddy says she got no business putting a second story on an unsteady foundation, so anyways this cow ain’t got no shame, she was the town whore since she first started bleedin’ and the bitch still using abortion as a form of birth control, and says stupid shit like “ya’ll shouldn’t hate,” whenever the family tryin’ question her on it.

So but anyways, I was like, “Irene I’ll take your sorry fat rear end to human resources and this time they’ll fire your elephantine ass on account of being caught a public display of affection when Steve was fingering out that sorry, syphilitic, sloppy, slit in the stairwell!” They both stopped and stared at me, Bill’s jaw-dropping. Now my sister Is older and way bigger and fatter than me, bitch weighs 290 but I’ll kick that whore’s ass 5 ways til Tuesday and back again. And plus I’ll do it right here in this God Damn break room.

Because just two weeks ago that skank tried to throw hot Nescafé on me and I picked up a Walmart plastic folding break room chair and hit that cow right on her flabby back. Then they both got up. I said “that’s right slut lemme’ see that walk of shame, and Bill you a hot mess too, a real piece of hideous horny hillbilly trash! You sound like a God Damn Choctaw hog with that breathing issue, You married with 3 kids, and you’re in here doing this with this swine? I’m a call your wife Beth-Anne and tell her about your scuzzy ass if I ever see you doing this shit again.

I mean Beth-Anne is butt ugly but Irene here ain’t no Connie Sellecca either and this skanky trollop got crabs too, don’t ya’ Irene? And who knows what else. Cuz the bitch has banged everyone in here from the custodians to the CEO! Then she’s all, “Bethany I’m warning you, SHUT UP! Or…” I was like, “…or what? You gonna send a swarm crabs after me?” she turned and walked toward the snack cabinet, she had a mini skirt on and her backside looked like two ice cream cones supporting a russet potato. She opened up the cabinet while saying, “poor Bethany, still can’t get a man, pussy been on lockdown since uncle Willy violated it at the family reunion in ’98.

Get over it already girl we all got our crosses to bare and yours ain’t no big deal.” Now you would think this little TMI moment would truly send me into a tizzy. But it don’t, she’s the only one got her little puddy diddled by Silly Willy, and that bitch thinks that he did that shit to me too. So but then I’m like, “Bitch Silly Willy was only up in your claptrap with them ham-hock hands, he ain’t done shit on my real estate. Now you want me to really start outing your bizness? Like, let’s have a mother fucking intervention on them winter skid marks on those god damn Victoria’s or I should say Irene’s Secret shit and blood stained drawers?”

Bill looked like he was holding a dry heave and then to really push it I say “oh you ain’t heard Bill? It looks like a cherry chocolate festival in there.” Bill gagged and walked to the sink and Just then Irene quickly turned came at me with a 2 Liter bottle of Dr. Pepper. She was like “NyAAAHHHHH.” And I sidestepped her and Dr. Pepper like exploded on that bitch and Bill went running over there screaming, “I’LL HELP! I’LL HELP!” and then Irene just stood there screamin’ sound like that bitch caught the Holy ghost! I just sat down and started eating my food and I lit a cigarette and ate and smoked cuz all this bullshit ate into my lunch time so I had to do both. I leisurely got up and walked by with my middle finger in her grill ‘cuz she a bitch and a whore. But deep down I love her, she my kin.

“Fuck You Huero!” A rant from Marisella Morales (aKa) sHyGrRl

*Excuse the vernacular, spelling errors and outright butchering of the English language. Trying to keep it hood.

Thass right you pinche fuck head. It’s Friday nite aye and we jus burly started to party cuz liL SpOoKy brought over a kegger and mi abolita made menudo and carne asada and my cousin RaScAl jus burly got out of Wayside cuz he was in there for some bullshit violations of probation like he was hangin’ out with another homeboy and some bullshit about not supposed to disasscociate with known gang members so like anyways we were getting’ down listening to narcos corridos music and like Sylvia (aKa LoNeLy) my homegirl from v13 came over and like she’s cool but that chica’s always judges me like how I’m a mother, how I keep house and there’s roaches and everything is greasy and filthy and especially when she says like, ‘don’t give meha flaming hot cheetos and diet coke, cuz meha looks like she’s sweating and red and her belly looks all distended out and shit and every time she sips at that cola she like makes a face like it’s fukin lickwid plummer aye least just give her regular like seven up or mounten dew’s and I’m like ‘LoNeLy mind your own bizzness bich’ and sometimes we argue and that’s when fukin pinche huero was all ‘um hello uh can you keep it down pleas?’ like all smart assy And I was like ‘mind your own bizness, this got nothing to do with your huero ass’ and then he’s like ‘it’s 12:30 and it’s got everything to do with me because your outside my window, I’ll call the cops’ and this huero had balls aye, cuz like we got homies all over the block, I was like ‘shit whatever, call the huda then liL SpOoKy was all ‘I’ll blast that foo aye fuck that lil’ blanco bitch’ and I was like ‘you ain’t blasting no one’ and my abolita came in from the back room and was like what are you locas doing? why is the huero yelling? what is happening? And I’m like ‘gramma go back to your little room, we got this go watch your programs’ we converted a walk in closet to a bedroom for her she has a little tv and we cut into the cable cuz my homeboy 5nIpEr works for Time Werner but gramma pitches in for rent with her social security and also I get WIC and that’s my monthly card for womans infants an childrens like milk and cheese and diapers and eggs and shit so like my tio biG pAnThEr lives here occasionally but he gets all perverted when he drinks and does speed and so my tia LiL’ dReAmEr who used to be with him but she went all machona tortillera when she went to the pen in chowchilla she loves to eat pussy she came at me and was like ‘sHyGiRl lemme taste that sweet lil pinoche’ like at her own daughter’s quincinera and I was drunk and horny and tempted but the bible says that shit is wrong so… then like last week she warned me and said that pAnThEr weird sexual extendencies but only just when he drinks and does tweak – but then I decided I still I don’t want him around my dotter… because another tio of mine bIg JoKeR is a sick fucker who touch my lil cussin Carla and she said he showed her his serpiente and she should touch it til it recoils back to its cave and shit and then he said she made it bled white on her hand, so she should pt it in her mouth to get the rest of the blood out of it and make it better, so he had to fkn go so but that sick motherfucker disappeared after I toll liL SpOoKy, I think liL SpOoKy he put his ass somewheres – but bIg JoKeR was abuse by has papi mR. sMiLeY like bIg JoKeR had to suck his papi mR. sMiLeY dick and got buttfucked by sMiLeY so, like they said shit rolls down hill so we nips that shit in the butt like quik fast I think he brought jOkErZ ass to TJ and blasted that sick ninos toucher and put his ass somewhere anyhwowz so then we jus kep partying and listnin to my favrit narco corridore jamz (rip Ariel Comacho mi corazon) Then like huero was slamming windows and shit like a lil’ bitch and then at like two in the morning pUpPeT and 5iLeNt show up they just came from the clubz and pUpPeT has blood all over his boots and jeans and he’s like ‘I just kikd this mother fuckerz head in like bad, he tried to talk shit when we were leving’ and there like gacked out smoking speed and I was like ‘you fuckerz cant do that here because last time the speed was all hot an likwid and spilled out the pipe onto meja’s feet an burnt it and I don’t want that shit and I was by the stove cooking and then 5iLeNt was like, ‘Shud up sHyGiRl bitch you still got that infection cuz my verga burns like fuck after putting it in your culo’ and I was fkn mad so I grabbed a hot pot of menudo and threw it on his back and he let out a bitch scream like you here in the movies and shit and I was like don’t ever put my shit on the streets pinche motherfucker lil’ dick bitch! Jus then the door knocked and was like police and these fools all bugged the fuck out and pUpPet 5iLeNt an rascal are all on probation so it was fkd up cuz it was like three am and the cops saw the kids awake and on the floor craw ling round the kegger and the ese’s are all bug eyed and jacked up and I toll them kick back aye and they started all this shit and the funny part too was that they tased 5iLeNt because he was like trying to fan his back with a dish rag and huda thought he was coming at them so like they zap that foo! And my abulita like ducked her head out and waved it all off and went back to her program. And those fools all got taken in and sent up for violations and now I gotta find more people to move in and pay the rent or something.