I have officially graduated to the level of Pizza Whore, because last night I just frickin’ bent over and took it up the ass.
No, I didn’t have sex on the make-table (though there IS a legend that that has happened in my store in the past). I just went to work and had the joy of getting the ass-pounding of my life.
Just so you know, my co-manager Awesome is responsible for the term “ass pounding” when it comes to being so busy you are completely buried with no hopes of a respite.
I may have mentioned that at this point I’m not exactly thrilled to go to work every day. The whole manager thing makes this so. I honestly cannot imagine anyone saying, “Oh yes! Please let me go to work and not make tips and yet be completely responsible for all the shit that could go down! Moniter screens going out? I got that handled. After all, I’m making less than the drivers. Running out of dough? I don’t mind, because I get to wear this awesome little name tag that says manager on it!”
Fuck my life.
It is true when They say (whoever They is) that you can’t go back. I’ve tried. In fact, I’ve begged to go back to just being a server, but since there is no one who can do my job as awesomely as I, I am stuck. So the only option is to find a new job. Is anyone out there looking for a slightly-neurotic , highly-intelligent,Triple-DDD’d chic to shovel shit or lick your kitchen counters clean? Anything that is less detestable than managing Pizza Sluts?
The night couldn’t have started any better. After all, my cook was at least decent enough to supply a doctor’s note when he decided to call in. Luckily, I had the new cook there who doesn’t completely suck that begrudgingly stayed, because he didn’t want me to get ass-fucked. As if that would have helped.
You may have noticed when watching commercials that we have this obnoxious Box Dinner Deal going on. If there is anything decent left you people, you will refrain from ordering these until I have found a new job. Simply because I do not think I can handle running out of prepped dough one more time without taking that giant pizza cutter and slashing my throat with it.
After running out of dough because the entire population of St. Cloud, (and some of St. Joe) called to order a Dinner Box, I was highly distraught when we had 15 MORE orders for the Box Deal on my screen and no dough. (We had no dough because every pan had been prepped ahead of time and we went though it all in less than 2 hours.) I called my boss Frenchie only to have him tell me he couldn’t come in because he took pain meds. I believe my exact words were, “fuck this.” I will be very in touch with my emotions when I say- “I was very ANGRY with my boss. I was very ANGRY with him.”
My blood pressure is rising, so I must desist writing about this for now. Just know that I get to do it all over again tonight and I’m not exactly thrilled about it. But calls to the boss’s boss were made.