While I am quite adept at multi-tasking in a restaurant setting better than nearly anyone, I do not deny that I come with an accident-prone edge. To put it mildly, I am a giant klutz. If I had a dime for every time I’ve produced a bruise from running my ass into the corner edge of a table or counter while at work, I’d have… well, I’d have alotta dimes. Too, I am very good at spilling things.
That brings me to the story of the day.
Though I was a bit upset that tonight was not a busy night for making tips, I did not mind the idea of going home early because of the slow business. I was switching over the salad bar, intent on rapidly finishing my server duties and departing before a party of 15 children or a hockey team came in, when the gallon of blue cheese dressing slipped out of my hand and proceeded to explode (yes, explode) over the cooler. When I say “over the cooler”, what I really mean is over the cooler, floor and walls, two carts of lidded dough that sat in the explosive’s path, and all over me.
A driver opened the cooler door right at that exact moment and said, “Sparkle, who’d you get excited?”
It is true, as disgusting as it sounds, the cooler did in fact look as though a mass orgy had just been conducted within. I took a picture to share with friends, intent with using the punchline, “This is what happens with the boys work with me.” As I mopped up the gooey white mess from the floors, the walls, the carts, and my hair, the only thing I could be thankful for was the fact that the shit didn’t get in my eye.
Blue Cheese Money Shot
Filed under Humor, Life, Uncategorized, Work
Sparklebumpsthebookwhore 
I worked in a deli years ago and a lady walked in and reached to pull a soda out of the big, glass fronted fridge. I think it was a 7-up… she got one at about her eye level, and as soon as it left the shelf it slipped and fell on the floor, landing upright. It was a one in a million thing. It got just enough pressure to pop a tiny hole in the seam around the drinking hole. It shot a fine, clear. sparkely mist into the air like a mini nuclear mushroom cloud. It was like a bug fogger bomb going off. Every thing and person in the room could feel the tiny drops landing on every surface. The mist was pretty in the sunlight. But everything in that room was stickey. And the spray seemed to last forever.
When it ended, she looked around the room and said, quite clearly, “well, I just want to die.” What can you say to that?
You say, “You can die after you clean your mess up.”
I wish I had thought of that, because I was the guy that had to clean it up. sigh.
So where’s the pic?