| Take Two |
[Oct. 26th, 2007|07:44 am] |
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Today is my sober date. (10-26-05) Last night I dreamt I was staying at a Motel Six in Lost Hills with my parents and sister. We were waiting for Richard Gere to come over for dinner. My mother was making a turkey and walnut salad in a balsamic dressing with cranberries. I was very agitated because I'd already had plans. Five minutes before RG was supposed to arrive all the toilets began to back up onto the floors. We began slipping and falling onto the fithy tiled floors. I called out to the front desk to request a room change but they said they couldn't because someone was headed toward their office with an ax. The connection was bad though and I kept yelling "Ox or ax? Did you say ox or ax?" |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 5th, 2007|10:32 am] |
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Last night I had a dream a mysterious David Lynch-style arm sized appendage fell off me rotting. It just floated down to the ground silently and lay there with a fly buzzing around it. I remember it was a good feeling.. sort of liberating. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 19th, 2007|08:49 pm] |
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A tourist kid tossed a sulfur "Fart Bag" into the restaurant today. |
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| oh man |
[Jul. 18th, 2007|09:45 pm] |
this is too funny! If you go to Citysearch, among the many, MANY bad reviews for Lolli's Castagnola (where I work) is THIS gem. You can of course picture the bitter-husband-assclown, stuck with the crying brat and trying to get loaded FAST. I told him he couldn't have any more crackers because the little booger was splattering them all over in a 4 ft radius near the bar (aside from it being illegal to even have a kid IN the bar).. but worse, he was beginning to drool right into his kids stroller... there was just something, er, "not right" with him. And who boasts about being "born and raised" in a particular city anyway? That is just sad. I don't even have words. I think it's like a notch above people who take pride in being left-handed, or being Irish, or from Texas .. Anyway the "..not only is he short and bald.." part made me laugh pretty hard. Apparently I was already guilty of physical imperfections before serving him. Enjoy.
AVOID
05/23/2007 Posted by robley111
**DO NOT** **DO NOT** give this place any business especially in the bar area when a so called bartender who's name begins with" R" is working. Not only is he short and bald but the attitude that he projects is unbelieveably RUDE!!! Visited a few days ago early afternoon for a beer with my son (second time in two days) first day I gave him benefit of the doubt however, second day he was very rude when I requested crackers for my 12 month old son. His response was "you were here yesterday and he made a mess" I understand that you are very short staffed (no pun intended) but you Mr. R. need to realize that you are working at the Wharf which is one of our main tourist attractions in the city. The reason why i say "our" is because i'm born and raised in this beautiful city of ours and to have a implant from god knows where you came makes me sick for you to even have a job in the industry. I will follow up with Todd and Maria ASAP! |
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| Hold All Tickets! |
[Jul. 5th, 2007|11:28 pm] |
SAN MATEO: BAY MEADOWS RACETRACK CLEARED FOR HORSE RACING IN 2008
07/05/07 11:05 PDT
Horse racing will continue at San Mateo's Bay Meadows racetrack at least through 2008, after a state horse racing board decision this week.
Members of the California Horse Racing Board approved a one-year waiver Tuesday for the track to continue racing next year, despite the board's new regulation that by 2008 all major thoroughbred racetracks in the state install polymer synthetic tracks, according to board spokesman Mike Marten.
The synthetic tracks are thought to provide safer conditions for the horses.
Bay Meadows officials, citing the new surface's estimated $8 million cost, announced in March that the racetrack, which opened in 1934, would likely have to close after the end of this year's racing season in November.
Tuesday's decision was approved unanimously by the board, after which Bay Meadows President Jack Liebau reassured board members that actions had already been taken to add some polymer substances to make the track softer, according to Marten. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 25th, 2007|08:33 am] |
Everything you need to know about Rod "Shooter'' Beck you learned from the bush leagues.
Like: Put your money back in your pocket, dude, Shooter's buying.
Some guys will buy a round for their buddies, or maybe for the house. Beck would buy rounds for Des Moines.
Beck, 38, was found dead Saturday, and one of the memories stirred by the tragic news was from the spring of '03 and Beck was toast as a pitcher, trying to revive his career after elbow surgery. The Cubs gave him a shot, assigning him to their Triple-A club in Des Moines, Iowa. Beck was angry, embarrassed and discouraged as he drove his motor home to his minor-league assignment.
"At least three times I almost turned that sucker (motor home) around and said (forget) it," Beck said later that year.
He drove the motor home because to check into a hotel would have been to concede that he actually was in the minors. He wouldn't even rent a space at an RV park. He parked his rig behind the center-field fence, a getaway car with the motor figuratively running.
But even a bummed-out Shooter was still Shooter. When his teammates were pooling their money for a postgame pizza, Beck invited everyone to his RV. From then on, Beck's bus was the postgame party, for players and fans, every night. Beck would light the little neon cocktail light in his window and haul out tubs of iced beer.
"Those guys (his teammates) talk about what I gave them," Beck said later that season. "What they don't realize is what they gave to me. They're making $1,500, trying to pay rent and afford a beer after the game, and their enthusiasm gave me a new vigor for the game. I started to enjoy it again."
The once-fearsome fireballer pitched his way back to the big leagues with the Padres that year and saved 20 games with a fastball that wouldn't break a pitcher of beer.
Beck was a favorite of writers, not just because he was a great quote and willing talker, but because he treated non-players as actual people. He was the writers' go-to guy, the man you could count on to explain even the toughest of losses. Except for one night, when Beck blew a huge save and, shaken and distraught, waved away the writers.
The next day before the game Beck called the writers to his locker and apologized. Superstar apologizing to writers: In baseball, this occurs as often as a quadruple play.
On the mound, at the peak of his game, Beck was pure badass. He didn't just walk into a game, he kicked down the door. It was great theater, but no act.
He said the only reason he decided to go to Des Moines in '03 was that his two daughters, then aged 10 and 9, had never really seen Daddy pitch
Kayla, then 10, watched Shooter's first performance in Des Moines, as he came out of the bullpen like a rodeo bull out of the chute, got the right arm rocking and mowed down the opposition.
"Cool!" Kayla said.
It would be a shame, though, if all we remember are Beck's theatrics.
In '93, with the division on the line, Beck pitched eight times in a nine-day stretch in late September and early October, getting a win and six saves.
----His most dramatic save came in '97, in September against the Dodgers at Candlestick---, a game the Giants would use as momentum to win their first division title since '89, launching the Bonds-Sabean era.
Beck came on to pitch the 10th, gave up three singles to load the bases and, with the fans booing him, fanned Todd Zeile, then got Eddie Murray to ground into a double play.
---"Beck stormed off the mound like a grizzly," wrote Tim Keown in The Chronicle, "the crowd roared down at Beck and Beck pumped his fist against his glove and roared right back at it."----
Beck enjoyed a beer and a cigarette. He had a glass boot, and after home games, he would fill the boot from the clubhouse beer tap, light up, and kick back. Not surprisingly, his weight was often a concern for the Giants. A yearly spring tradition was a story on Beck titled something like, "Beck's weighty issue."
He took occasional stabs at conditioning programs, most notably when he pitched for the Red Sox late in his career and got himself absolutely buff.
"I got down to 9.2 percent body fat and blew out my elbow," Beck said. "So I said, '(Screw) this, give me some grease and donuts.' "
Beck took an equally direct approach to his famed mullet. Once his hairline began to recede, he mowed off all his hair.
"I don't pussyfoot around," Beck said. "I'm either gonna have hair or I'm not."
But when Beck pitched for the Giants, the gut and the hair were part of the package, part of the show.
A year ago in a phone interview with writer Matt Johanson for a Giants' book titled, "Game of My Life," Beck said he had a part in an independent movie called "Work Week." He would play a Mafia hit man who did the killings that were too dirty for the other hit men.
"Actually, it's the same kind of thing," Beck said. "Here's the ball, here's the knife. What's the difference?"
Now Shooter is gone, and many questions remain. But you can be sure of this: Wherever he is, he's buying. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 21st, 2007|08:28 pm] |
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Perry passed away today. They unplugged him from the machines and he died a short while later in his sleep. |
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| "The Smokers" by Steve Martin |
[Feb. 20th, 2007|09:41 pm] |
He lit the cigarette and smoked it down to the filter in one breath. He silently thanked the cigarette company for being thoughtful enough about his health to include a filter to protect him. So he lit up another. This time he didn't exhale the squeaky-clean filtered smoke, but just let it nestle in his lungs, filing his body with that good menthol flavor. Some more smokers knocked on his door and they came in and all started smoking along with him.
"How wonderful it is that we're all smoking," he thought.
Everyone smoked and smoked and after they smoked they all talked about smoking and how nice it was that they were all smokers and then they smoked some more.
Smoke, smoke, smoke. They all sang "Smoke That Cigarette" and "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." Then the smokers smoked one more cigarette and left him alone in his easy chair, about to relax and enjoy a nice quiet smoke. And then his lips fell off. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 20th, 2007|08:41 pm] |
Made it up to my mom's yesterday and took her out to Chilli's. That's fancy up-town stuff for my mom, living in Reno. Picked her up at the emergency room, next to which there is a helicopter landing pad. I'll take Reno over Vegas any day but it's still a weird town. The hospitals are packed and there are smokes for sale in casino vending machines, there are people puffing in restaurants.. coughing over their food.. the god damn Quicky Jiff gas station place even goes so far as to hang a big casual sign the just says CIGS. Anyway, they buzz all over the valley scooping them up in helicopters and landing at the hospital. Totally insane. We finished dinner and went back to my mom's after my mom had a smoke, we walked across the street to meet her neighbors Jack and Laura who were smoking and for some reason standing in their driveway. The man was a pot bellied moustache guy with a booming voice that ran off in every direction and sounded like it was going to crash. He talked over his wife, who was this washed up German thing in a sweatshirt with a dog on the front. They held coffee cups of something and took great big puffs from freshly lit cigarettes. Jack chose his words poorly and I assumed he was drunk. He seemed to have temporariy mistaken our little talk-circle for a tailgate party and was rambling about some other woman down the block who had also "lost her husband". The guy kind of disgusted me as he really seemed filled with self-imprtance and flat out delusions of grandure, but I had to endure as they are they're giving my mom rides to the hospital.
We went back to my mom's and her dog Meg barked it's ass off at me. It paced back and forth kind of sideways and half crazed in the living room. I made no attempt to pet it. My mother went to sleep at eight while I stayed up a couple hours tapping on the computer waiting to get sleepy. Around ten I climbed into the country-motif bed she had with way too many pillows on it. I tried not to think about how she had bought it ten years earllier and probably expected me to have slept in it many times already. In the past, I'd always checked into hotels when I visited so that I could get drunk and stumble around leering at cocktail waitresses.
In the morning I heard Meg doing her bat-shit crazy growl-barks and got out from under the Kleenex style electric blanket and had some coffee. We decided to go to IHOP for breakfast and climbed in the black Cruiser I'd rented and headed down Virginia street. On the way over, I saw what looked like a giant puffy cookie waving to traffic driving by. I said "Hey, uh, look - it's giant cookie. He's waving to us." I honked and waved back. After going all the way down Virginia street I realized I'd missed IHOP and doubled back. That's when I realized it was actually a giant pancake and not a cookie that'd been waving to us. I corrected myself saying "Oh, uh, I guess he's a big pancake. Distracted me from seeing the restaurant" When we got closer I saw it had sort of a pink frilly skirt coming out the bottom of the pancake and corrected myself again "oh, uh, I guess it's a she.." We got inside and crazy motherfucker with giant Aqua Net hair charged us with menus goin "WELCOME! WELCOME! TODAY IS NATIONAL PANCAKE DAY - WELCOME!" I told her that's why we were there - we felt it was our duty to observe the holiday. She didn't seem to find a touch of irony in my comment and parked us. I had two chocolate chip pancakes and my mom had bacon and eggs.
After that we drove over to emergency. I dropped my mother off and went to the grocery store to pick up her groceries. I bought everything on the list she made out plus some yellow roses for her coffee table. I went back and put them on the coffee table and tucked the money she had given me under the vase. I put the donuts and lunchmeat and other stuff away. Megan was apparentl hurling her body against the bedroom door in protest so I went and opened it and ran out of their before she could attack me.
When I got back to emergency, I went in to meet my mother where Perry was. I'm joking around typing a quick recap of the visit, but I can't tell you how truly sad and bitter it was to see him like this. To walk up a hallway, into an elevator, around a corner and up to a curtain, and see the very face of death behind that curtain is stunning. It is a humbling experience, that in a certain way, makes one marvel at the sheer smallness of man. To see him crumpled in fear, mouth open, eyes fixed on nothing, writhing frantically to break free was pituful and horrifying. I felt I had no right to see him like this. The doctors had him hooked up to a million machines and a long tube taped in his mouth by several chunks of white tape. Nurses glided in and out and checked numbers and administered shots. He was awake, but not in the room with us. A nurse stroked his forehead telling him that it would be alright, to stay calm. Standing there the full force of what my mother had been facing the past ten days rained down on me and made me feel like shit. I couldn't do anything. i couldn't say anthing. There was absolutely no way to spin it. About all I could do was try and be myself and not succumb to the almighty power of the icky smelling hospital and their god-like overpaid mechanics. What a load of shit for a man to be a good guy and bust his ass all his life and wind up in a fix like this. It made no sense.
When my mother walked away I went over near the bed. Perry's eyes, covered with a blue milky substance focused on something far far away while his stomach moved up and down. I felt like it might be my one opportunity so I said "Hey, Perry -- I'll take care of my mother from here - you don't have to worry about her. I'm here. It's alright. Hey listen - you're a good guy." I looked at the face I had no right to look at.. nothing. . and my mother came back. After another hour or so we decided to call it a day. The "team" of doctors had no new information for my mother and I so we just went home. At my mom's place I gave Megan a few crackers while she put the flowers in some water. then I hit the road. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 19th, 2007|09:40 am] |
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Off to visit my mom for a couple days. She's at the hospital until about 2. They're taking taking the tube out of Perry's throat today in an effort to try and bring him out of his coma. I'm afraid my mother has a false sense of hope because she sounded too "up" yesterday. But who am I to say that. Also, I'm suspicious that doctors may be trying to milk the situation, keeping him on life support just to make $$$, or worse, that she'll be stuck in an agonizing limbo, taking care of him for the next 6 months. Was also feeling a little guilty that I can only make it up there for a couple days right now. I feel like I should be up there for a week, but I cant' afford it. It was getting to me that my mother has no one else and that I'm looking at the this open-ended scenario of feeling responsible for her her happiness in a way that I can't entirely get my arms around. I was afraid of this when she moved to Reno. Bingo cards don't make great company. Will probably head out there again next week on my day off. Back tomorrow night. |
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| Fortunately I run my life like a business now.. |
[Feb. 15th, 2007|08:24 pm] |
I compartmentalize and close at the end of the evening.
Trying to find an angel to look at this -- oops, that was a typo, but I like it. I mean, trying to find an angle to look at this, to give it some meaning. But I can't seem to. My mother called yesterday and said she hadn't had time to look into a hotel room for my March visit to Reno because her husband Perry is in the hospital. When I asked how he was doing, she said "oh..not so good honey". My mother is the queen of the under-statement. Perry is hooked up to life support and doesn't even recognize her. Emphysema. The doctors talked about possibly sending him home with a big machine and bags of "food". Of course they'd have to cut a hole in his neck so he could breath too. And again, he would have no idea where he was or who the fuck he was living with.
Some people ask so little of life. My mother married Perry about ten years ago when he was 62 and she was 56. Perry had had no family since he'd been a young boy. My mother grew up as an orphan. They both seemed so surprised to have found eachother. Perry was this very skinny guy, stark white hair, Members Only jacket ... my mother, the basic Edith Bunker.. liking her smokes, Bingo, and the nickel slots, probably in that order. They moved into one of those faux new quickly-built homes in a gated Reno community.. bought a Cocker Spaniel.. (that dog is terrified of everything btw - won't even let me pet it) Perry's pension was enough for them to squeek by on and he bought my mom a cute little Cooper which she'd only drive in the daytime - she claims she can't "see" at night. But I remember sitting behind them at a traffic light immediatly after their wedding. They jumped around like two teenagers and waved while we all - all three cars of us, waited for the light, on a timer to change. it was this wide open area of turned dirt and no crops growing. Unused farmland. I remember thinking how beautiful and sad their denial was about having found eachother so late in life.
In the ensuing ten years I fell into a bottle and visited them only sporadically. I'd call on the major holidays, maybe get a card in the mail.. but my judgement was badly impaired and 2-3-and-4 years would go by without my visiting. It was always easier and more convenient for me to compare myself to my sister who hadn't spoken to her in a decade. Then I got sober last year. I started to surface again.. started to make an effort. More and more I tried to demonstrate to both of them, but particularly to Perry, that I'd be there for my mother..
Now he's lying in a hospital waiting to check out. My poor mother has to take him off life support and wait for him to go, go back to an empty house. And I never really got to put him at ease that my mother would be all right. I feel guilty about that. The truth is I don't really know if she will be all right. Too little, too late from yours truly.
And how he hell am I going to hit it off with that dog? It doesn't even like me. |
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| lajflasjf |
[Jan. 31st, 2007|09:02 pm] |
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Okay, so 1/12th the year is done and I've barely put a dent in my annual list of five goals. Thinking I need to free up some time, go back to working just five days a week. Which probably means finally nixing the bookstore after five years. It has me feeling a little conflicted. But I've got to make the maximum amount a scrilla for my time at work and the bar just pays more. Damn. This is really tedious shit. Hey - has anyone else felt kind of "left hanging" since we turned off that second installment in the wonderful "Porky's" franchise? I find myself wondering what happened to those endearing 30-year old kids after they left the cemetary. I wonder if the short guy found his pants, or if he just kept running around with his saggy naked ass out for the whole movie. Did some people not have access to underwear in the fifties? |
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| The Zen of Rob's Kitchen |
[Jan. 18th, 2007|10:48 pm] |
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Tonight I busted out the Ajax and scoured my kitchen sink back to its original glistening white glory of several months ago. After that I hit the blue and peach tile with a bottle Tilex. The new brushed-steel Cuisinart programable is now loaded up with Dark French Roast and a fresh box of Trader Joe's Muesli cereal is waiting on top of the fridge for me. Am I the only one who gets totally into squaring things up like this? Am I a square? Do I care anymore? |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 10th, 2007|08:13 am] |
One out of every three Americans is suffering from some form of mental
illness. Think of two of your best friends. If they are OK, then it
must be you. - George Carlin |
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| I dood it |
[Dec. 6th, 2006|09:55 pm] |
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Well my first attempt at NaNoWrimo, or NoNoWino as I call it was a smashing, if not exhausting success. I finished my first attempt at a rough draft of a 50,000 word story around 10 am on the last day of the month. I even took a fancy picture of myself looking smart http://www.myspace.com/robley the following day. Now I'm just enjoying being able to rest at the end of each day and do basic things like get 6 or 7 hours of sleep each night. At the start of November they increased my workload to 6 days (between the 2 jobs) that, coupled with the daily commute has left me completely drained and falling asleep at night without even moving the covers. Anyway, I've completed the five goals I set for myself for 2006 and now I"m narrowing down fifteen or so for the coming year. I found I kind of prefer to be "on" nowadays. You know, "if-you-want-something-done-ask-someone-who's-busy" sort of thing. I've noticed that when I'm involved in a lot of different projects or just am generaly busy, not only do I feel better about myself as a person, but what little down-time I do have has an almost euphoric quality to it. Just standing in line at Mervyn's fucking rocks. So I'm going to re-fuel on bear claw donuts and What Not To Wear marathons for a few days, then get right back to it all. |
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| Money can't buy you love but lack of it can sure as hell guarantee you misery |
[Nov. 6th, 2006|11:33 am] |
My brother in-law, Bob, is lying in a hospital bed dying. He can't walk more than a few steps and he needs help doing basic things like going to the bathroom. All his internal organs are failing. He's had jobs spraying pesticides, smoked all his life. There's a history of drug addiction. He's on 25 different meds. My Pop is trying to convince him to label the bottles 1-2-3-4-5 so someone else can administer them once he no longer can. He's resistant. He thinks he is going to beat this and get out, maybe last another six months. He's trying to get at his insurance policy to take a portion of it out for the family to use as "fun money". He mostly just lays in his bed all day watching Cops on the hospital television. He and my sister disappear into the bathroom for long periods of time. My father thinks it is to smoke cigarettes. I wonder if it is to take something else. His birthday was yesterday and his sons bought him a dvd player and a remote and they hooked it up to the television in his room. My sister, who's weight fluctuates wildly and who suffers from severe narcolepsy and chronic depression and spinal problems lays in the bed with him. She has strange and violent night fits and flails her arms around violently, knocking his glasses off and moaning and shaking as though possessed. He doesn't wake up. He just pats her on the shoulder, he's used to it. They're trying to get him out of the hospital to celebrate his 52nd birthday. They want to take him to Red Lobster to get Surf n Turf.
Could you imagine being at the end of your life and wanting Surf n Turf? I couldn't either. It's strange that two people can display such apathy toward life, all their life. It's all the more pathetic and horrifying watching them grapple with the end of one. |
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| what the?! |
[Nov. 4th, 2006|08:07 pm] |
I have to start looking for another job. Christ. What a load of steaming catshit. It always arrives, on way or another at every place I've worked. You know when you've got a good run going of comfortable work, a nice rhythm of punching the clock and paying the bills off that it will end. Something will happen or some cocksucker will come along to put an end to it.
I've been bartending for a year now at Castagnola's on the wharf. When I got there, there were obvious things about it that could be improved upon: an old couple that ran the place that was never around, no bar manager, no consistency in the approach to guest service.. but it was all do-able. The place had a dowdy dumb homey feel and you could come in, do your job, and get away clean. There was a basic respect.
Enter Captain Asshat. He was brought in as the new kitchen manager about six months ago. I saw him first as I was passing in the hallway on the way to retrieve a basket of bread. He had on these clunky, contemporary black glasses and was disputing something on a piece of paper with someone "above" him. I said to myself -- without breaking stride -- "This guy is going to be a complete fucking cancer." I just knew immediately. I told people around me "Watch-out for that guy - I think they're grooming him to be a manager. He looks like a total backstabber." People dismissed me. Said I was being paranoid. One by one, everyone made his shit list and came to despise him. Carlos is 47. He has no chin, little cowardly bug eyes..he uses terms like "Cheif" and his a sick mushy handshake.. oh, and he just reluctantly married his wife for the second time and gave what I consider to be one of the most appalling chilling toast/speeches I have ever heard. He compared his wife to, what was it - oh yeah, a fence post. He said something like "Debbie's always been there for me.. always .. I was a fool to.. blah blah blah.. but I just found myself always coming back to the post. blah blah." Yeah. Total goddamn psychopathic murder in the making. The more I think about it though, his anoalogy is about right. You'd have to be the equivelent of a fucking fence post to live with this guy. He does bizarre things, like telling the sweetest little Chinese lady, Helen, to "go home and take a shower" between her double. She's at the top of his shit list. Probably because she's worked there a whopping 28 years. I mean, she's literally one of the nicest people I've ever met. When my car wouldn't she let me use her AAA towing service and waited THREE hourse outside with me until they came. An ubelievable person.
So I decided, despite everyone's across the board ultimate condemnation of this guy as a %100 grade A asshole to judge him for myself, to attempt to be fair .. all the while KNOWING the other shoe would eventually drop, that I'd eventually wind up making his shit list along with everybody else.
And that day was today.
I'd been wondering why we hired a new guy to work behind the bar when they were cutting everyone's shifts and laying people off. Some guy named "David" was on the schedule working my Saturday shift and after much back and forth I was told that he was not taking my shift that "I was just training him" that day. In short, it was a mistake and misunderstading.. everything's fine.
So I get in there this morning, there's a beefy young frat boy type rooting through the wines.. I introduced myself, made a few jokes about him being a cat-burgler (it's interesting how the subconscious picks up on things way ahead of time).. and before long I'm showing him the ropes. Trying to be respectful, I pointed things out and reassured him I only was imparting information and helping to get him acclamated.. I wouldn't embaress him.. let me know what I can do.. this is how things really work.. this guy is that way that one is this way.. we can't buy people drinks but we can make em a little too big for the "regulars".. don't want to get fired over a free drink.. In short, I was leveling with him. Talking to him straight.
But I noticed something was funny with him. And not in a good, ha ha way. He was cocky. Like dumb bartending is so cool frat boy I know everything way. He had a swagger and didn't like to take instruction. This is his FIRST day. I'm a pretty easy going guy. I don't dress shit up and I don't go hard on a guy. But he was ignoring me, going into my cash drawyer when I'd said not too.. mocking the supervisor who is this tragic little 4'10" guy as he's trying to explain something.. basically just being a know it all. You know, you KNOW these people exist in the world, the ones that are missing a basic moral chromosone, but you expect to run into them coming out of a liquor store at midnight, not at work for some reason. And then he said something that totally tipped his hand. I was letting him know how things can be a problem. How management doesn't listen to the bartenders input, say, that we didn't have enough pint glasses for instance. "I can change that. I can take care of that." Well that just had a horrible ring to it. Right off the bat I had this guy pegged for one of Carlos' little friends being groomed for the position of bar manager. I said, "Hey, is there something you're not telling me? Are you being plugged in here to make changes and run the bar?" "Oh no no no NO!" Suddenly there is no eye contact...
So the days moving and I'm getting a worse and worse vibe from the guy. I let the barback divide the tips, telling him to divide it "how it seems fair". NO other bartenders do this -- they just kick the a lousy %15. He sheepishly splits it %60 for me, %40 for him. I say "perfect" because he did nearly half the work. Screw that his job title is an inferior one - he DID half the work! We cut a small pile for the new guy EVEN THOUGH it is traditional to not cut a guy in while you're trainiing him. He gets all weird about his tips. Seems insulted. Then he dissapears for a while. I count my drawyer do my drawyer... I'm changing my shirt .. and then... "Robley, can we speak to you please." Very dead expression on Carlos' chinless mug. He's got the obligatory other manager as a "witness" (the poor 4'10" guy) and gives the unbelievably lame "could you close the door please" instruction and then he's sitting on the corner of the desk. I mean this is lame and I don't know WHAT they've got me for but I know it's going to being comlete and unequivicable horseshit. "Robley.. (looking down, shaking his head) I witnessed something today - and unfortunately, we need to discuss it." I'm looking at the moniter over the bar in their office and trying to think: Did I buy anyone a drink today? Hmmm .. no. Did I swipe a can of Red Bull? MMmmm.. no. Did I take my pants off during my shift?? Again, no. After a dramatic pause Carlos says "I had a guest come up to me and tell me what you did - out front there... (he waits for me to fall to the floor, for my confession) I have no idea what he's fucking referencing. "You tore a page from their brochere, to take their order. I asked them how their experience was, and they were very dissapointed, Robley. "Oh yeah, well the guy offered it - he was being kind of playful about it Carlos." "I don't CARE!" "How do you think that made me look, havng to answer that??" "Uh..." 'I WATCHED YOU ROBLEY!" You brought beers out front -- without a TRAY! They spilled -- along the FLOOR. When you set them down, what do you think happened? More spilled onto their table! Have you ever heard of using a TRAY?" I let that turd float in the air for awhile. It was so stupid, and so Romper Room that I just had to let it sit there for all to observe. "What are you talking about Carlos? The guest left totally happy, they even tipped me.." "See -- SEE, THIS is what I'm talking about! Your attitude. We've been analyzing you. You look like you haven't shaved today. Have you shaved today? And your sales aren't very good at all. What'd you sell today - $200. dollars?!" He's starting to actually mock me and enjoy the verbal assault. "That's funny, other managers have told me the direct opposite. I can't help it if it was slow today." "What is this - why are you suddenly taking pot-shots at me? Did you sudeenly decide you don't like me? Have I done something to personally offend you? If you want to implement policies like usage of trays why not have a meeting and communicate that?" "This is not a DISCUSSON, Robley! David says there is no consistency in our drink presentations - is this true" "It must be. I made that comment to him about an hour ago." Blank expression. About this time I'm realizing that half the reason managers have some other stooge n the room with them for these things is for their own protection. "And your bar towel, the way you wear it's..just.. sloppy. It just hangs there by your side! You need to start folding it, wearing it the way David does."
Long silence. I fucking knew it.
"What's going on Carlos? Is David your friend? Did you hire him to be groomed as the bar manager? It seems very stange that your taking advice and from and comparing me to a guy on his first day." "WHAT BUSINESS IS THAT OF YOURS!!!" "I just think it's odd that you're taking all this new guys advice." "David's work record is impeccable! He cares about this place! Your job performance is absolutely terrible Robley, TERRIBLE!"
Now this goes in direct contradiction to everything I've heard from every other manager there. I was livid. I get down to the bar and Lumpy Rutherford is frantically cutting limes, avoiding my gaze. The pecker head's a god damn spy. Running upstairs to tell Carlos everything he sees. What a load of shit. I'm pissed. I leveled with this guy about everything, he could have me strung up by the balls now. "So.. how are those limes comin' David?" He looks at me all scary like, like he knows he could just plunge that knife into my neck and get away with it - cause he's daddy's little boy. "Are you sure there's not something you're not tellng me David? It seems damn strange that you are treating ME like the new guy and I just got called up there and reemed after a perfect year here the DAY YOU STARTED." He gives me some bullshit about his knowing how to "get things done around here" again.. basically confirming my suspisions and blowing me off. I turn to grab my jacket and all his limes and straws and shit fall on the floor. Fucking great. I wanted to bolt because my blood is boiling and now I've got to lay 24-pick-up-sticks. I pick them all up. I manage to get out an offer to cut replacement limes. "No, it's not necessary" I go and get some more straws. Shove em in the servng tray where he is working. I start putting on my bag and shit and tell the other guys "Whatchout for that guy! SERIOUSLY watch OUT." And I'm about to leave. Then the clincher, the proverbial cherry on the sundae: "Robley!" This new guy, this guy who has been here ONE DAY steps up real close. "Don't you think you better clean up this mess before you go? I'm just telling you, man-to-man. (that's the part that reallly got me) You just grabbed your jacket and knocked all my work on the floor and now you're going to leave without properly putting everything back." I was beyond insensed. I walked over to where he was workng. "What are you talking about David? I got you straws. We're out of the other size. I offered to cut you limes - you said not too." I just got torn a new asshole in there under really odd circumstances. What else do you WANT?" He gestures toward a box on the lower shelf. "the smaller straws -- they're in THERE. Could you take them out and put them in the fruit caddy please?" I stepped up reall close to him. Don't YOU find it strange.. that a guy on his first day is SO CONFIDENT and full of himself, that he is barking orders at the guys he just started working?" He said somethnig along the lines "I'm totally straight and up front about everything -- you guys just need to learn to work with me.." I picked the god damn straws and arranged them to his liking and got my shit and left.
I can't work with pussies like this. It's revolting. This candy-ass is obviously my bosses' right hand and suddenly today I have two people who totally hate me and claim I do a horrible job. You know your good luck will only last so long. That eventually, some moron is just waiting to enter your life and foul everthing up.
They may try and manufacture some reason to fire me outright. Or they may just slowly screw with me, cut my hours -- give em all to Baby Huey. But either way my days are numbered there. If I still have a job ther Monday I'm going down and enrolling in the union - just to make it hard on them. Then I'll start getting my resume together. I need work closer to home anyway...
On the way back to my apartment, I was so consumed with rage at this sudden obstruction in my life plan that I stopped by Safeway. I cut through the booze isle, said "fuck you" to tweleve pack of Bud that was looking right at me, and loaded up my orange basket with two fritters, a chocolate old fashion, two kinds of ice cream and pack of Reese's peanut butter cups.
So if you'll excuse me... I've got some snacking to do. |
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