Hank's Espresso

After Jen and I came to the conclusion that working for the mafia in the espresso trade was not a good idea, we ventured off to find another espresso establishment as we found we were excellent baristas.  There was a man, Hank, who had built an espresso stand on the Mukilteo Speedway right in front of the ferry line.  It was a great location.  Part of what he built included a back patio for customers to lounge on (which they never did).  When we took the job it was the beginning of Summer, so it was reasonable for our selfish 18 year old minds to request if we could wear our bikinis to work and sunbathe when it was slow.  At first, he wasn't a fan of the idea until I reminded him of the age old sales rule:  SEX SELLS!  Well, even though we were barely adults, we were given the green light to wear our bikinis to work.  I am proud to say that Jen and I were the pioneers to the Bikini Barista fad before it became a "thing".

While the boss/owner likes things to be a certain way, that doesn't mean they're always right.  For some God awful reason I have worked at a few establishments that believe that JAZZ is where it's at.  It's not.  Jazz blows.  Hank wanted us to play Jazz music through the indoor/outdoor speakers for passerby's to listen to.  "Okay, Hank.  No problem.  Will do."  The second he'd leave, the Pink Floyd came on.  And when Pink Floyd played...customers swarmed the place and I was guaranteed to be busy.  When I shared this magical knowledge with him, he didn't like it.  Simply because, I believe he wanted to be right.  So whenever he was around and the Jazz played, we were dead.  He just wouldn't listen!

Jen and I worked out a plan where we would run up the ferry line and take orders from cars and by the time they rolled down toward the stand, their drinks would be ready and we'd get a hefty tip.  Sometimes, we'd get overwhelmed and I'd have to run all the way down to the loading area and quickly get people their drinks before they boarded.  That was always stressful and very sweaty.

Bringing us to my last day at Hanks...
I had been sick with God knows what and was prescribed something that my body did not like.  I got up at 4AM to be at work by 5AM.  No problem, but my stomach was hurting.  Then it hurt REAL bad like my stomach was literally tearing if I tried to stand up straight.  I kept calling everyone on the call list and no one would answer their phone.  I called Hank and he told me I had to stay, but I told him I was holding my face in the garbage can spitting - getting ready to hurl.  Nope!  Can't leave.  Fuck that.  I called my parents in tears because I just wanted to go home and I didn't know what the hell was wrong with me and it was scaring me.  They came and got me and I locked up and left Hank a message that I was going home and sorry.  I couldn't even drive.

Within 20 minutes of me being home, I started puking my brains out.  Not only that, my body couldn't stop!  I puked until there was nothing left and only dry heaving spasms - for 8 HOURS STRAIGHT!!! And what was the reward I got?  "Let go."  Also, an amazing ab workout that resulted in a fantastic 6 pack.

Bumps 'n Grinds

No, my second job was not as an exotic dancer.  I was only 16!!  I worked for an espresso stand.  I was introduced to this place by my friend, Jen, who insisted that I try this out with her.  I met the owner and was a little apprehensive.  He was maybe in his sixties, heavy set, had white-thin-receting hair that was all slicked back, wore a brown leather jacket, and drove a very flashy Cadillac.  I figured once I met him, I was bound to take the job or he'd break my knees or I'd wake up with a horse's head in my bed.  The espresso stand was actually only 3/4 of a lil' building.  The open end backed up to the entry to an old run-down pub right by Boeing, leaving a space of about 4 feet between open air and the safety of freaky shelter.  Basically, not an enclosed establishment.  I remember Jen walking me to the back of the building and telling me not to freak out when she showed me some post Satan worshiping ceremony spot with the leftovers of a goat's head.  Awwwwwesome.  But I took the job anyway.  It was fun and it was a pretty decent money maker for me.  Since it was by Boeing, we'd get a very early morning rush and then the going-home-for-the-day rush.  Pretty decent tips, too.

Well, when it started to get cold, the "manager" (who was the mob boss's moron-son-in-law) put in a propane heater.  There was a big tank and the heater sat on top, which we would have to light.  One day the manager refilled the tank and attached the heating component...but not very tight.  I was the opener and it was November and freakin' cold outside.  I turned on the propane and lit the heater.  Instantly, a giant blaze shot straight up to the ceiling.  I grabbed the fire extinguisher, pulled the pin, and took aim.  The powder sprayed out, extinguishing the fire, and covering the entire 3/4 shelter with a fine yellow dust.  It was an awful mess that took me HOURS to clean up and all my strength to not tell the manager to suck it.

Then the propane tank got low and then finally empty when the temperatures dropped to 19 degrees.  I had to essentially work outside fully exposed to mother nature and her elements.  We'd been asking for the tank to be refilled for days into weeks.  We'd always dress with the understanding that we'd have heat and therefore wouldn't dress for such low temps.  My last day of work consisted of me showing up wearing a light coat and mittens with the hopes that I'd be somewhat comfortable.  However, you can't make a latte in mittens.  I'd been shivering and making people's drinks, one after another until I noticed that my hands were a light shade of violet and my wrists were beginning to turn the same color.  I couldn't feel anything.  I'd been calling my boss and the manager over and over, but no answer.  It was dangerously and literally COLD outside.  Even going into the abandoned pub made no difference.  Finally, my mom came to my work and told me I was done.  I locked up and got in her car to heat up and we went home.  Needless to say, my boss was pissed and told everyone he fired me.  Um, I think that was a big "I quit!" due to harsh working conditions.  He never did come to break my knees.

DQ part 2

I've already written about a story from when I worked at Dairy Queen, but I have to write these in order to the best of my ability.

I learned a few things about myself working there.
1.  I am not great at writing things on ice-cream cakes, but good enough to make people buy it.

2.  They do NOT serve ice-cream, but rather ice-milk.  This fact made me want to puke.  That is what "soft-serve" really is.

3.  To make a rocking bacon burger, (on my own mind you) I would take the circular bacon and deep fry it, making it crispy bacon rather than chewy bacon.  I don't want to work that hard when I need to eat on my lunch break.

4.  When I worked there, we had the BEST Blizzard flavor variety.  My favorite was Rocky Road.  The marshmallows were chocolate covered Lucky Charm style marshmallows.  Sometimes, when I wasn't being watched, I'd snack on those.

5.  I learned how to make the perfect ice-cream DQ signature loop at the top.

6.  I do NOT like ex-boyfriends showing up with their new girlfriends so she can see who the old girlfriend was.  It made me shaky and not make an ice-cream cone that I was proud of to give to a customer.  Shaky hands make for retarded looking ice-cream cones.

7.  I HATE dried up old ketchup.  It makes me gag.  Every time I had to go through the "restaurant" I'd go around cleaning up and cleaning up that shit.  And then outside in the play area for kids, there'd be dried up ketchup on the toys.  Gewwwwwwww.

That's what I've got for DQ.  I will continue my journey of all the many jobs I've had in my life and what I experienced in the process. :)

Jobs

I had several jobs up until the present moment of my life.  For one reason or another, I would stay as long as I could tolerate what it was that I was doing (being a teenager, nothing ever seems to fit) or climbing the ladder wasn't working out unless someone died for me to take their place.  In any case, I decided I would try to post every job I'd ever had and share some fond stories or not-so-fond stories so that I can reflect on HOW MANY jobs I've had in my 35 years (mind you, I started working at 16).  I believe I already started at one point my first job was with Dairy Queen.  I will go ahead and do a part 2 of DQ, because there are a couple other fun stories that I remember.  I'll do my best to keep it in chronological order.

Junior High Elections

I can't remember if this memory is from the 8th or 9th grade, but I suppose it doesn't matter.  However, it's one that I think is kinda cool.  Last night was election night for the 44th president and Barack Obama won!  Anyway, it brought back memories of when my best friend, Jen and I helped Jon Day run for office for the student body.  I'm pretty sure he ran for president.  Could've been Vice President.  In any case, he was a very shy kid.  He hardly spoke to people and when he did he was incredibly quiet.  At first, Jen and I weren't real sure how serious to take his running and people teased about how they'd vote for him as a joke.  Well, it pissed us off.  Jon was a small boy and he struggled at home (from what I understood).  Jen and I got to a point that we realized he needed to win...for him.  Not pity votes, but legitimate votes.  We worked with him after school and practiced speeches and made several posters to put up throughout the school.  We even got after him for being too quiet!  We'd get mad and break him down and rebuild his spirit.  We just couldn't accept failure!!!  We also demanded that he get a haircut and wear nice clothes for the big day.  When the big day came, Jen and I were über enthusiastic and introduced him with "HERE'S JONNY!"  He gave a LOUD and great speech!  When he was done, the whole student body erupted with applause (not exaggerating).  It was such a great moment and we were really proud of him.  We knew he was being taken seriously, which actually made us a little nervous that the competition might actually be competition.  However, in the end, Jon ended up winning.  He ran years to follow and won then, too!  Feel good memory. :)

Shit Story(s)

You read that right.  Shit stories.  That means more than one.  And...GO!
I used to work at Arnie's in Edmonds on the waterfront.  Fun job and I got to work with my cousin, Bre.  I originally got the job when I was 19 to work in the kitchen since I was finishing up my Culinary Arts degree, but they wanted me in a dress instead.  So, my job was mostly as a hostess.  Part of what I had to do was maintain the lobby, clean and stock the women's restroom, and then the obvious...seating patrons.  Well, Edmonds has a lot of old people living there.  A LOT.  And sometimes they have...accidents.  On several occasions I would go in and stock the bathroom and come out gagging.  But one time in particular stood out.  I went in to a literal shit storm.  I thought I was going to puke when I saw the "mess".  The manager told me to go ahead and clean it up and that it wasn't a big deal.  Really?  There was shit all over the toilet, behind the toilet, up the wall, up the stalls, the door, and all over the floor.  It looked like someone had put great effort into taking about 4 squares of toilet paper and smeared her shit around the bowl of the toilet and covered the seat.  Did this woman leave immediately?  Did she stay?  Was she in the dining room eating her dinner?  Good God, did she wash her hands?!!  I will never know.  But when my manager asked me to clean it, all I could do was laugh.  No thank you.  While she too, was wearing a dress, I was not about to get some strange old lady's poop on my dress.  Later in life, I wasn't even okay with Farrah pooping on me.  IT'S NEVER OKAY!!  So, my manager cleaned the shit and I kept my job and my dignity.

Another shit story and another job in good ol' Edmonds, WA.  I worked at Stevens Hospital.  Loved my job there.  Except one day that stood out in my mind was repeat of the above story.  I went into the restroom to check supplies which would be replaced by highly trained professional maintenance employees.  But I stumbled upon - not literally - another shit storm.  Shit EVERYWHERE.  Again, up the walls, all over the floor, covered the seat and handle, and I'm pretty certain it hit the ceiling.  At the hospital, I was not told to clean up the shit, but rather to put an "out of order" sign up and call maintenance.  I feel sorry for that person.  However, I came to the conclusion that they are pumping senior citizens with some sort of enima product for what I can only guess is for a colonoscopy-esque procedure.  Unfortunately, the warning label doesn't and yet should read:  "Do not leave your bathroom for any reason whatsoever....ever... until you are certain that you have lost 10 pounds instantly."

Well, that's it.  I'm tired so the effort I'm putting into this is pathetic.  Sorry.  Kinda.

5th Grade Drama

I remember all of my teachers from preschool all the way to the 6th grade.  After that, it gets a little foggy due to having to have 7 different teachers each year thereafter.  However, one teacher stood out in my mind and still does due to the type of interaction she and I had.  My original 5th grade teacher was Mr. Sager.  Loved him.  He had been my brother's 5th grade teacher as well, so naturally I was thrilled to get someone who was familiar with my family.  Well, Mr. Sager had a massive heart attack that put him out of commission the rest of the year after only getting him for about 3 months.  The substitute was Mrs. Millasich.  Yep, writing her name.  She seemed friendly at first due to the fact that she was "just the sub" and trying to win points with the students as all subs would do.  Unfortunately, her stay ended up being permanent and therefore running the curriculum the way she wanted.  But something about her was off.  I'm not saying I wasn't a total shit growing up, because I know at times I was.  However...not all the time.  She HATED me.  I, to this day, have no clue what I had done to become her target, but I remember thinking back that it was bullshit.  She'd accuse me of things I hadn't done but in fact, my friends had.  She'd yell at me in front of the class because she thought I was doing one thing when I was doing another.  And finally, she called me a liar.  Big effin' mistake.  I had put up with her bullshit for months and endured going to detention day after stupid day for God knows what.  In fact, the detention lady that everyone hated always had a sad look on her face whenever I'd walk in.  Because I'd be crying not knowing what the hell I was being put in a small room built out of cinder blocks for.  Also, it's important to note that I had NEVER been to detention ever, nor had I ever had poor relationships with any of my teachers.  This is where my mother came in.  She was a teacher back then and would tend to lean with the other teachers' assessments because they're all part of the same team.  Not this time.  This time my mom pulled out all her expertise and dumped it in the asshole woman's lap.  We conferenced with the principal who had known me since I started in Kindergarten and I'd always loved that man.  His daughter had become one of my good friends.  So...again, he knew me.  There was a teacher, student, parent, principal conference and basically a big 'ol "come to Jesus" about how she was treating me, to the point of past transcripts being pulled out and report cards to show to the Beast that I was a pretty good kid in school.  Lame story, but one that clearly stuck with me for a long time.  The rest of the school year, she left me alone and pretty much pretended like I didn't exist.  Fine with me!  I have quite a few better school stories after that...