You get fired when you cuss

Consider me partially unemployed. After what I consider to be one of my finest performances, in which I cussed out the biggest bitch in Brentwood in front of an entire restaurant, I was understandably relieved of my job. I expected this reaction, particularly after having been given the unenviable job of taking to-go orders.

You see, at my (former) place of employment, which is run by a group of shit-eating monkeys, the to-go person has the job of three people wrapped up into one bitchin' shift. To-go not only answers the phones, frantically scribbles the order and rings up the checks; he or she also boxes up the food, groups it by order and then takes payment from the long line of angry diners (most of whom, in Brentwood, are Armenian, Persian, or Jewish...or all three bred into one delightful trinity).

Tonight, this little hot potato had had his fill.

The line of to-go diners was around 15 to 20 people. Most of them glared, few of them tipped (*ALWAYS tip your to-go person, even when you're picking up food for one. They have better things to do than box up your fucking order, and your sweet little "Thank you very much!" doesn't pay their bills, you condescending cheap fuck*). By the time this one bitch approached me, she had the brass balls to sigh and say, "Ugh, finally. What was the hold up?" I smiled the kind of smile that big muscle guys smile when someone puny says to them, "I enjoyed fucking your wife last night." And although I did not strike this woman, I said in a sarcastic voice that surprised even me, "Oh I'm SO sorry, ma'am! I guess these 20 other people didn't know you were in a hurry! I sure would have sped things up if I'd known you didn't want to wait! Now when can I get for ya?" Without batting an eye, she said, "Well, I don't normally like the food here. I might get the marsala marinara, but I want to try it first." To which I replied, "And how do you propose to do that, hmmm? Let me just ask Miguel or Juan Carlos to whip up a sample batch of marsala marinara, because it's just like frozen yogurt and we love giving away free samples."

Apparently people usually speak to this woman in a similar manner because she didn't seem to grasp the deeper nuances of what I was saying. In fact, she replied, "So you can't just give me a bite from a dish that's already prepared?" Instead of continuing to trip the light sarcastic, I channeled my inner kindergarten teacher and said, "No ma'am, this is a fine-dining restaurant. People don't like it when we give away bites of their entrees. Besides, restaurants don't give samples. You need to hurry up and order because the people behind you are impatient and I'm about to do time for clubbing you with the cappuccino machine you daft bitch." To which she replied, "Fine, I'll order the marsala marinara, but if I don't like it, I want a refund." To which I said, "Well, ma'am, if you feel like driving all the way back home, digging in, and then driving all the way back here and waiting in line again, more power to you. I for one do not care."

So she ordered. Exactly two minutes and 28 seconds later, she cut the line and asked, "Excuse me, but where is my food?" Without even looking up from the cash register, I pointed my arm behind me in the vague direction of the kitchen and said, "Over there somewhere." She said, "Well go check on it!" Impolitely I replied, "No. It's not Hamburger Helper. It isn't ready yet." She said, "I'm kind of tired of your attitude. I'd like to see the manager."

This is the part of the story where I realized I didn't make enough money to justify such abuse. This is the part of the story where I decided to go down in a blaze of glory. This is the part of the story where I used the f word.

To which I replied, "If you want to see the manager so fucking bad, then go find her yourself." She said, "No, uh uh, waiters do NOT talk to me like that, NUH UH! I will have your job in SECONDS!" To which I replied, while giving her the bird, "Oh, sample this, bitch." Then I walked out. Five minutes later, my manager called me on my cell phone. "Don't bother coming into work again," she said. "No shit?" I replied.

And that is why I have a day off tomorrow.