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.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
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. :)
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.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
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. :)
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
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...
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Drunk
When I was growing up, I was raised with parents that shared their alcoholic beverages with us whenever we'd ask. Only a sip, mind you. Mom and dad had these tiny thimble size glassware that they would pour a little Bailey's in for special occasions. Just the right size for children. My mom's side of the family is very German, and in Germany they make kid's beer that is the color green and taste like fruit loops...so no griping about my upbringing. That's hard core shit back there.
Anyway, when my parents would have company or we'd go to my grandparents' house, I'd ask for a sip of whatever people where drinking. Bourbon and water (what?), Manhattan, Fuzzy Navel (yum), and every football game or when dad was working outside - beer. Usually, Coors.
What I had found was this type of upbringing made it so the whole fascination of "partying" was not interesting to me. My friends who grew up tethered as far away from alcohol as possible, were the ones who drank the most. I was usually the designated driver. Getting drunk didn't really interest me because, big freakin' deal...it's booze. Who cares?
However...I did decide one night with my girlfriends to try out getting some alcohol in my system that was more than a sip or a thimble full. Ah, the joys of peer pressure. Well, Becky had a large assortment of mini bottles of various vodkas collected over time. She didn't drink that often either, so essentially it was our night to be drunkies. I'd shoot back half a "bottle," chase it with orange juice and then hand the rest of the bottle over to Beck and she'd follow suit. They were all different tastes. The final one was freaking horrible. Who's idea was it to make Pepper Vodka?!! Eww. Anyway, buzzed and then sloppy, our sober friends took us out for the night. The rest of this story has already been written in my other blog. But I'll sum up what happened:
Beck and I sat with these two guys from Canada at a Denny's (of course, because we were drunk and that's where drunk people go) while our friends watched from a distance laughing at us and our shenanigans. Becky would flirt with them, getting their undivided attention while I grabbed a burger from one of their plates and took a massive bite. Then when I grabbed their attention, Becky ate a massive amount of fries. By the time we were done with chatting it up with them, half their meal was gone. We had the best time and never got sick. And no hang over!
Anyway, I'm not positive if it was this same night or not, but my friends Amy and Suzie hopped out the window of Suzie's room out into the woods and came back 30 minutes later with a road barrier with a flashing light. We were a group of bad girls doing stupid things that would make us laugh our asses off. Fun times!
Anyway, when my parents would have company or we'd go to my grandparents' house, I'd ask for a sip of whatever people where drinking. Bourbon and water (what?), Manhattan, Fuzzy Navel (yum), and every football game or when dad was working outside - beer. Usually, Coors.
What I had found was this type of upbringing made it so the whole fascination of "partying" was not interesting to me. My friends who grew up tethered as far away from alcohol as possible, were the ones who drank the most. I was usually the designated driver. Getting drunk didn't really interest me because, big freakin' deal...it's booze. Who cares?
However...I did decide one night with my girlfriends to try out getting some alcohol in my system that was more than a sip or a thimble full. Ah, the joys of peer pressure. Well, Becky had a large assortment of mini bottles of various vodkas collected over time. She didn't drink that often either, so essentially it was our night to be drunkies. I'd shoot back half a "bottle," chase it with orange juice and then hand the rest of the bottle over to Beck and she'd follow suit. They were all different tastes. The final one was freaking horrible. Who's idea was it to make Pepper Vodka?!! Eww. Anyway, buzzed and then sloppy, our sober friends took us out for the night. The rest of this story has already been written in my other blog. But I'll sum up what happened:
Beck and I sat with these two guys from Canada at a Denny's (of course, because we were drunk and that's where drunk people go) while our friends watched from a distance laughing at us and our shenanigans. Becky would flirt with them, getting their undivided attention while I grabbed a burger from one of their plates and took a massive bite. Then when I grabbed their attention, Becky ate a massive amount of fries. By the time we were done with chatting it up with them, half their meal was gone. We had the best time and never got sick. And no hang over!
Anyway, I'm not positive if it was this same night or not, but my friends Amy and Suzie hopped out the window of Suzie's room out into the woods and came back 30 minutes later with a road barrier with a flashing light. We were a group of bad girls doing stupid things that would make us laugh our asses off. Fun times!
Friday, August 10, 2012
Bearded Creep
This is not my story, nor a memory of mine except for the story being told to me and me sharing it with others many times because it's so damn funny.
I'll do my best to tell this story as accurately as possible...
My dad was working up north in Alaska for an extended period of time. A little longer than usual and we weren't sure when he was coming home. My brother had arrived at the bus stop and began to walk home when he noticed some creepy man waiting at the bus stop. Steve tried to ignore him while he walked away and headed home. But the creepy man followed behind him. He was wearing a beanie hat and had a longish black beard and a big coat. Steve didn't like the fact that it seemed like this man was following him. Soon he found that he truly was. Steve picked up the pace. So did the man. Steve started to run. So did the man!!! Steve bolted for the house in a panic and the man stood at the door of our house laughing hysterically.
The bearded man was our dad. He had gone to the bus stop to walk his son home and found that once Steve didn't recognize him, it would be fun to torture him instead by scaring the shit out of him.
Hilarious, dad.
I'll do my best to tell this story as accurately as possible...
My dad was working up north in Alaska for an extended period of time. A little longer than usual and we weren't sure when he was coming home. My brother had arrived at the bus stop and began to walk home when he noticed some creepy man waiting at the bus stop. Steve tried to ignore him while he walked away and headed home. But the creepy man followed behind him. He was wearing a beanie hat and had a longish black beard and a big coat. Steve didn't like the fact that it seemed like this man was following him. Soon he found that he truly was. Steve picked up the pace. So did the man. Steve started to run. So did the man!!! Steve bolted for the house in a panic and the man stood at the door of our house laughing hysterically.
The bearded man was our dad. He had gone to the bus stop to walk his son home and found that once Steve didn't recognize him, it would be fun to torture him instead by scaring the shit out of him.
Hilarious, dad.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Culinary Artsist
I had a conversation about "what I wanted to be when I grew up" with Farrah. I told her I wanted to be a Flight Attendant. Good thing that didn't work out since I'm afraid of flying now. Farrah wants to be a chef (I never told her that was what I went to school for) and a singer. She said, "But mom, what if I don't get to be a chef or a singer?!!" No worries, I told her. I explained that I went to school to be a chef and "look at me now!" This didn't make her feel much better but she did say, "I want to go to the chef school you went to!" No. And I proceeded to tell her a story...
My Chef instructor was, well, a douche bag. Mind you, I revised my story to tell to a five year old. Continuing...
Picture Chef Ramsey, but 6' 6" tall with grey hair and a grey goatee and a tall Chef's hat making him a straight 7' tall. And me? I was 18 years old and 5' 4" in a man's (if you can believe it) industry.
Anyway, the importance of two stories here is my first time swearing at an "adult" or someone older than me. And once when I stuck up for myself. They were VERY important moments in my life that helped mold me into a person that can, when needed, stick up for themselves when necessary.
One day, I was responsible for the "Sauce Station" with the rest of my crew. There were 4 of us (The 'A Team'). We named ourselves...because we'd get As. So, I was working my station and Chef came up and saw that I didn't have the right size pot to boil water. I'd gone through several and it was the only one I could find. He started shouting at me, telling me how dumb I was, swearing, screaming, and finally throwing the pot across the room. My face was red. But not red with embarrassment. I was shaking mad. He finally said, "I think you and I need to step outside." "I agree."
We stepped out in the hall and he asked me if there was something that I wanted to say to him. The whole time I was standing out there I didn't realize I was punching my fist into my palm. Hard. Finally, I said, "You're such a...you're such a... YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!" I couldn't believe what I'd said. Surely this guy was going to go find a pot and break my skull open with it! Instead, he laughed. I think he was testing if I could take his shit. I could. To a point. I was still a pretty sensitive girl.
My final run in with him was my final year. I had dealt with his verbal abuse and constant outbursts for almost 2 years and survived. Mind you, they weren't all towards me. They were towards everyone. I'd even tell him when he was watching over my shoulder to go away because I couldn't work with someone hovering. He asked how he was supposed to know I was doing it right, and I told him he'd find out when my product was finished and perfect. It worked and he'd walk away.
But there was a time that it went too far. We had been preparing for a holiday banquet and so the whole class of 30 students had been busy for weeks. Well, Chef came up to me one day and told me he had failed me in a rotation. A rotation is 2 weeks long and the same price as a typical quarter class. It was because I had spaced turning in paperwork. I had spaced it to prepare for the stupid banquet. But an "F" for me was like someone shot my dog...and my whole family. I'd received all As until this moment. And I didn't have an extra $450 to take the class again THE NEXT YEAR!!!
I panicked and started to cry. That's what I do. It was uncontrollable crying and I was sure I was heading home for the day and screw whatever I was responsible for for the day in the kitchen. I went out and called my dad on the school pay phone (no cell phones yet), so people could see me crying. Embarrassing because not only was I crying (more like sobbing, difficulty breathing and with hiccups), but I was dressed in my whites (chef clothes with my stupid hat). I spoke to my dad about what had happened and he asked if I wanted him to come over to my school and deal with it. I KNEW if dad came there, he WOULD take care of it and I'd come out smelling like roses, but I actually refused his assistance. I wanted and needed to do this on my own. I was 19 now, and it was time for me to start behaving like someone who was getting ready to graduate and enter the real world.
I took a couple deep breathes and my friends from class had asked me if I was okay and if I needed a ride home and all that crap. Nope. I just needed a moment alone with Chef. I pulled myself together, checked the mirror to make sure I didn't have a bright red nose and glossy eyes or any aftershocks that I'd always get after a hard cry. No, I was in perfect condition to confront this situation head on. I walked into his office and asked to have a private word with him with a smug look on my face. He said okay and I closed the door which wasn't what he'd expected, but I wasn't planning on being an asshole in front of any passer-byers. I've never forgotten what I said:
"Let's get something straight. YOU work for ME. Not the other way around. I pay YOUR salary! This is NOT the god damn military and you can treat me with some fucking respect because I've always treated you with it. Also, this is a community college, not a university. You have 30 students, not 300. So, you can get off your ass the moment you notice that I've fucked up and tell me because you KNOW I will take care of it, instead of waiting 3 weeks after the fact when there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. You need to do something to help make this right!" At this time, his face was now red and he was shaking in anger. I knew I had him by the balls whether I had to do the rotation over again or not. The fact was, I had just said to him what every student had always said under their breath or amongst each other at lunch. I made a mental note that there was a bottle of blood pressure medicine on his desk and as I walked out and closed the door behind me, I hoped I didn't just give the man a heart attack.
Well, I packed up my stuff and made an excellent exit, headed home and prayed I hadn't just made it so my year and a half spent working my ass off just got it kicked out of the program. I showed up the next day and all seemed normal until we were all sent off to our stations and he pulled me aside. He told me I could double up on my rotation in one rotation, but the highest grade he was allowed to give me was a C. I doubled up on my rotation and aced them both, but one had to be a C. Fine with me because I didn't have to pay the extra $450.
Fast forward 10 years...
I had contacted the college to ask them about my certificate of completion or diploma because I'd never received one. It just wasn't that type of school. I wanted something to frame and hang in my kitchen. Why? Because I'd earned the damn thing. The lady on the phone said, "Oh, we don't have anything to give you because we show there was one rotation that still needed to be completed." WHAT? And which rotation wasn't completed? The one I bitched about and received a C that was never recorded.
Touche Chef B. Touche.
P.S. Leaving out his full name because people would know who he is because it's an usual name. Also, he'd known he won. He can never know.
My Chef instructor was, well, a douche bag. Mind you, I revised my story to tell to a five year old. Continuing...
Picture Chef Ramsey, but 6' 6" tall with grey hair and a grey goatee and a tall Chef's hat making him a straight 7' tall. And me? I was 18 years old and 5' 4" in a man's (if you can believe it) industry.
Anyway, the importance of two stories here is my first time swearing at an "adult" or someone older than me. And once when I stuck up for myself. They were VERY important moments in my life that helped mold me into a person that can, when needed, stick up for themselves when necessary.
One day, I was responsible for the "Sauce Station" with the rest of my crew. There were 4 of us (The 'A Team'). We named ourselves...because we'd get As. So, I was working my station and Chef came up and saw that I didn't have the right size pot to boil water. I'd gone through several and it was the only one I could find. He started shouting at me, telling me how dumb I was, swearing, screaming, and finally throwing the pot across the room. My face was red. But not red with embarrassment. I was shaking mad. He finally said, "I think you and I need to step outside." "I agree."
We stepped out in the hall and he asked me if there was something that I wanted to say to him. The whole time I was standing out there I didn't realize I was punching my fist into my palm. Hard. Finally, I said, "You're such a...you're such a... YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!" I couldn't believe what I'd said. Surely this guy was going to go find a pot and break my skull open with it! Instead, he laughed. I think he was testing if I could take his shit. I could. To a point. I was still a pretty sensitive girl.
My final run in with him was my final year. I had dealt with his verbal abuse and constant outbursts for almost 2 years and survived. Mind you, they weren't all towards me. They were towards everyone. I'd even tell him when he was watching over my shoulder to go away because I couldn't work with someone hovering. He asked how he was supposed to know I was doing it right, and I told him he'd find out when my product was finished and perfect. It worked and he'd walk away.
But there was a time that it went too far. We had been preparing for a holiday banquet and so the whole class of 30 students had been busy for weeks. Well, Chef came up to me one day and told me he had failed me in a rotation. A rotation is 2 weeks long and the same price as a typical quarter class. It was because I had spaced turning in paperwork. I had spaced it to prepare for the stupid banquet. But an "F" for me was like someone shot my dog...and my whole family. I'd received all As until this moment. And I didn't have an extra $450 to take the class again THE NEXT YEAR!!!
I panicked and started to cry. That's what I do. It was uncontrollable crying and I was sure I was heading home for the day and screw whatever I was responsible for for the day in the kitchen. I went out and called my dad on the school pay phone (no cell phones yet), so people could see me crying. Embarrassing because not only was I crying (more like sobbing, difficulty breathing and with hiccups), but I was dressed in my whites (chef clothes with my stupid hat). I spoke to my dad about what had happened and he asked if I wanted him to come over to my school and deal with it. I KNEW if dad came there, he WOULD take care of it and I'd come out smelling like roses, but I actually refused his assistance. I wanted and needed to do this on my own. I was 19 now, and it was time for me to start behaving like someone who was getting ready to graduate and enter the real world.
I took a couple deep breathes and my friends from class had asked me if I was okay and if I needed a ride home and all that crap. Nope. I just needed a moment alone with Chef. I pulled myself together, checked the mirror to make sure I didn't have a bright red nose and glossy eyes or any aftershocks that I'd always get after a hard cry. No, I was in perfect condition to confront this situation head on. I walked into his office and asked to have a private word with him with a smug look on my face. He said okay and I closed the door which wasn't what he'd expected, but I wasn't planning on being an asshole in front of any passer-byers. I've never forgotten what I said:
"Let's get something straight. YOU work for ME. Not the other way around. I pay YOUR salary! This is NOT the god damn military and you can treat me with some fucking respect because I've always treated you with it. Also, this is a community college, not a university. You have 30 students, not 300. So, you can get off your ass the moment you notice that I've fucked up and tell me because you KNOW I will take care of it, instead of waiting 3 weeks after the fact when there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. You need to do something to help make this right!" At this time, his face was now red and he was shaking in anger. I knew I had him by the balls whether I had to do the rotation over again or not. The fact was, I had just said to him what every student had always said under their breath or amongst each other at lunch. I made a mental note that there was a bottle of blood pressure medicine on his desk and as I walked out and closed the door behind me, I hoped I didn't just give the man a heart attack.
Well, I packed up my stuff and made an excellent exit, headed home and prayed I hadn't just made it so my year and a half spent working my ass off just got it kicked out of the program. I showed up the next day and all seemed normal until we were all sent off to our stations and he pulled me aside. He told me I could double up on my rotation in one rotation, but the highest grade he was allowed to give me was a C. I doubled up on my rotation and aced them both, but one had to be a C. Fine with me because I didn't have to pay the extra $450.
Fast forward 10 years...
I had contacted the college to ask them about my certificate of completion or diploma because I'd never received one. It just wasn't that type of school. I wanted something to frame and hang in my kitchen. Why? Because I'd earned the damn thing. The lady on the phone said, "Oh, we don't have anything to give you because we show there was one rotation that still needed to be completed." WHAT? And which rotation wasn't completed? The one I bitched about and received a C that was never recorded.
Touche Chef B. Touche.
P.S. Leaving out his full name because people would know who he is because it's an usual name. Also, he'd known he won. He can never know.
Monday, August 6, 2012
DQ
While these stories won't always be in order, they will be posted as the memories come to me. I wanted to share a story about my first job ever. I worked at Dairy Queen. My boss was a prick (which we all say), but I got to work with all my best friends! Had the manager known they'd hired 4, possibly even 5 of us that were so close, it never would have happened. My job was fun, it was silly, it was messy, and at times intense. One of my favorite or even worst experiences at the DQ was working the Drive Thru. When a customer pulled up the machine would shriek at you over and over and over until you hit the button to let the person in line know ya heard 'em. Well, one day we had a rush and the damn thing was beeping and beeping. I answered it and told the lady I would be with her in just a moment.
Well...it doesn't keep beeping once you've answered it the first time.
I went around making blizzards, helping the front counter staff, bagged stuff for customers, and then found that I wasn't really very busy anymore so I started to stack cups and plastic utensils and ketchup (yeah, that's how I spell it).
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking at the drive thru window and I nonchalantly walked up to the window and when I opened it there was a man there who said, "DO YOU REALIZE YOU HAVE A HUGE LONG LINE OF PEOPLE IN THE DRIVE THRU?!! I THINK YOUR MACHINE IS BROKEN!!!"
Holy.
Shit.
I busted ass getting order after order after order and took care of everyone immediately with my friend, Jen's help. Management never found out about it. Knowing me back then, I probably just said the same thing the dude said to me; that the machine was broken...so sorry.
Hardest work I'd ever done in my life in a span of 5 minutes!
Well...it doesn't keep beeping once you've answered it the first time.
I went around making blizzards, helping the front counter staff, bagged stuff for customers, and then found that I wasn't really very busy anymore so I started to stack cups and plastic utensils and ketchup (yeah, that's how I spell it).
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking at the drive thru window and I nonchalantly walked up to the window and when I opened it there was a man there who said, "DO YOU REALIZE YOU HAVE A HUGE LONG LINE OF PEOPLE IN THE DRIVE THRU?!! I THINK YOUR MACHINE IS BROKEN!!!"
Holy.
Shit.
I busted ass getting order after order after order and took care of everyone immediately with my friend, Jen's help. Management never found out about it. Knowing me back then, I probably just said the same thing the dude said to me; that the machine was broken...so sorry.
Hardest work I'd ever done in my life in a span of 5 minutes!
Friday, June 29, 2012
Katie
My dog that I grew up with as a child was Katie, our golden retriever. She was about as loyal of a dog as anybody could possibly wish for. She was, essentially, our other mother when mom was at work. Every morning when we would walk up to the bus stop, Katie was right by our side which happened to be right by a somewhat busy street. Didn't matter to her. She stayed with us until the bus arrived. When it did arrive, Katie would sit and watch us get on the bus and she would literally stay there until she saw that we were all seated. Then she would slowly walk away down back to our house or wherever she went until we got home. When we were on our way home, she could hear the bus and she'd be at the bus stop waiting for us to walk us home. Best. Dog. Ever. She was also basically the neighborhood dog. Everyone knew Katie and loved her. She was kind and very social with people and with other animals. Every once in a while she'd poop in someone else's yard which probably wasn't cool, but she pretty much claimed that whole area as her home. Katie would walk with my brothers and I and friends to the park by our house. Hardly ever leashed because she never left our side. One of her favorite things to do at the park was to play fetch with her tennis ball. Of course! What started out as a lime-yellow, was ultimately a slimy brownish by the end of play time. Her other favorite thing was climbing up the old-school ladder that led to the slide. She'd be right behind or in front of one of us while she climbed straight up. She'd position herself at the top of the slide with all four legs pressed against the sides of the metal slide and WHOOSH, down she'd go like a pro! And she was! She did this constantly.
She had crappy teeth because her "toys" were rocks. She'd been hit by a car and walked away from it. Our neighbor didn't see her when she decided she wanted to stop by and say hi when he was practicing his golf swing and caught her right in the head. She was freakin' unstoppable!!! Until, of course, old age caught up to her and she ended up getting sick with cancer. It was the first time I had been to a vet for a pet to put them down. To be with my family to voluntarily help my dog, our friend, die. I remember being in the room and Katie was lying down and my parents and brothers were there. The moment the nurse came in with the syringe full of pink liquid and walked closer to Katie, I bolted out of the vet's office and out to our van as fast as I could in hysterical tears. I just couldn't say goodbye. I felt bad for abandoning her and my family, but for me...I couldn't do it. My mom came to the van before the rest of the family to check on me and talk me through how peaceful it was and how much better it was for Katie. Geez. Good memories laced with a sad one. Anyway, Katie was the kind of dog any kid would be lucky to have. I know my family was.
She had crappy teeth because her "toys" were rocks. She'd been hit by a car and walked away from it. Our neighbor didn't see her when she decided she wanted to stop by and say hi when he was practicing his golf swing and caught her right in the head. She was freakin' unstoppable!!! Until, of course, old age caught up to her and she ended up getting sick with cancer. It was the first time I had been to a vet for a pet to put them down. To be with my family to voluntarily help my dog, our friend, die. I remember being in the room and Katie was lying down and my parents and brothers were there. The moment the nurse came in with the syringe full of pink liquid and walked closer to Katie, I bolted out of the vet's office and out to our van as fast as I could in hysterical tears. I just couldn't say goodbye. I felt bad for abandoning her and my family, but for me...I couldn't do it. My mom came to the van before the rest of the family to check on me and talk me through how peaceful it was and how much better it was for Katie. Geez. Good memories laced with a sad one. Anyway, Katie was the kind of dog any kid would be lucky to have. I know my family was.
Honey-Baby-Joey
When I was in Preschool, I had Mrs. Morris. My very first crush was on a boy named Joey. My friend Sarah and I called him Honey-Baby-Joey, because of course that's how adults talk. Poor kid was horribly harassed by us, but it was love after all!! Anyway, one thing that I remember that looking back I thought was brilliant, was my teacher made these beautiful mailboxes for each of us. We weren't allowed to take them home until we could recite our address and phone number to our teacher without looking. I remember looking at mine hanging from the wall and Mrs. Morris running up in my view (she was quite tall) and said, "No looking. But can you tell me your address and phone number?" And right then, I gave her both without skipping a beat and was handed my mailbox. I hope my mom still has that somewhere, because it was something so special to me to memorize that. In fact, I shared the story with Farrah's teachers and they worked on making sure all the kids knew their address and phone numbers. Farrah knows hers!
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Early Memory of Mine
I remember living in the yellow house above the property where we were building the home I grew up in. It had green shag carpet. REAL shag carpet. I don't even believe it had padding underneath it. I remember I'd run my small fingers through the carpet as if I was trying to get the tangles out. I don't remember this, but I was told we had a "rake" for the carpet. That's just weird. I also have a memory of being sent to my room that was in a corner of the house and having one of my many, many temper tantrums. I know now what for (probably for pooping in the front lawn as a means to make a point to my mother for making me do something I didn't want to do or something stupid like that - just like any 2 year old would do), and my dad walked in with the film recorder. Is that what they were even called back then? I've seen the film when I'm crying and trying to pull myself together, but what I remember in that moment when dad was walking in was me being embarrassed that this tantrum and cry-fest I'd been having would be documented forever. A little like right now. It made me have to act "normal" because no one wants to be on film screaming, crying, and flailing about unless it's in a script and they're getting paid for it. Pretty sure that's not what I was thinking at that precise moment, however.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Why I Am Doing This...
I've decided to type out some of my reflections from the course of my life. There are things that will pop in my mind from time to time that are stories from when I was 4 to when I was 14 and all hold some sort of significance to me and who I am. I like the idea of people in my family and in my life knowing some of the fun things that I like to reflect on as either being important turning points or just funny things that might bring a smile. Most of these stories will be "you had to be there" but they're old stories. Also, I want my children and grandchildren to know as much as they can about all that I can possibly remember. I'm 35 now. What if in 30 years I'm diagnosed with dementia or alzheimer's? I'd have nothing to leave behind in the form of my past. But I'm using this blog as a tool to journal the life that I lived and have loved and at times, perhaps hated. Not predicting some crappy disease for myself, but who knows? I'll begin as the memories start to pour in...
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