The Concept of Caring

I had a talk with an employee the other day, and it was brought to my attention that the fact that I “don’t care about my job may have a negative affect on my employees.”
Now, to be fair, he was only quoting me about the “not caring” part. Because since I have been in my powerless position of power as Head Pizza Slut, the fact that I get none of the benefits to do all the work has made me somewhat of an underachiever as far as making my store “all it can be”. I believe my exact words were something along the lines of- “If my boss had found somebody better than me, he probably would have replaced me by now.”
It’s true, this is a terrible attitude to have, but after numerous conversations with my Boss With the Gorgeous Blue Eyes, he has confessed that he would rather have my half-assery as a faux general manager with my full amazing personality and specific set of job skills, than a manager giving his complete dedication with half as much personality and less multi-tasking ability than I. (At least until June) In other words, I don’t completely suck. Hence, I have come to the conclusion that I needn’t strain myself, as I will be getting paid the same amount of dollars despite my performance.
While there are those who may balk at such an attitude, I must point out that I have been begging for a demotion for the last six months- ever since I realized that I could have the same amount of pay with a quarter of the responsibility by just being a plain old server. So when my co-worker told me he may have to call my boss about my attitude, I said, “Please do.”
I decided long ago that in order to be the “manager” that I “should” be, I would have to work 80 hours a week for at least six months to ensure that everyone was trained and performing their duties to my satisfaction. While I have the work ethic to support such a commitment, I do not have the desire- at least not for pizza. Put me in a bookstore, or a shoe store, and I will gladly “care” enough to want to be there 700 hours a week. Hell, I wouldn’t even need any other employees in that case.
When I made this confession to my boss back then, and explained that my efforts would best be used elsewhere, he understood. Yet he has failed to replace me with someone more “caring”. And so, I am convinced he is resigned to my position on the matter.
In the end, I have composed a list of things more worthy of my caring efforts than giving away free pizza to unsatisfied customers: (because I have to give them free food, even when I KNOW that shit wasn’t fucked up)
1. Finishing my book(s)- I know it’s getting annoying that you all haven’t had a chance to run out and buy my best-selling novel that hasn’t been finished yet.
2. My family- ‘Twould be lovely to take my Rockstar’s Daughter to the zoo or for he and I to start the band we’ve wanted to for the last THREE YEARS….
3. Bloggery- because, after all, I have fans and shit.
4. Exercising- or baking cupcakes. (I lean toward the latter)
5. Becoming amazingly and ridiculously famous- I’m sure this would come with the publishing of my book(s).

P.S. To be clear, another employee has pointed out that I’m “the worst boss ever. For the company, that is. I’m great for the employees.”

Pizza Whore

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.

Purgatory’s Not So Bad When People You Like Are There

The Purgatory I speak of is Work.

While I no longer relish going to work every day as I did when I worked at my bookstore (a lack of thousands of books will do that), I can now say I only dread the days when Little Miss Attitude is at work.

I arrived at work last night not extremely thrilled to provide my managerial skills. (This being because the caveman-aged computer screens at work seem to go out every time I manage) Luckily, my day was brightened when Frenchie informed me of a pleasant email I received from his boss stating my superior handling of said computer situations. Also, I am happy to report that the new server that has been hired seems to like me, and vice versa, though I haven’t a French accent to properly pronounce her South American name.

A little while after clocking in, one of my drivers informed me that our self-proclaimed douche/asshole delivery driver was on the phone for me. Douchey (we shall call him) just called to inform me that instead of being 6 minutes late as he usually is, he was going to be 10. While unneccessary for him to do so, Douchey made said call because he has decided I am likable and actually can perform my job to his standards. I told him, “It’s quite alright that you’ll be late. I’ll just write you up when you get here.” (A little joke we have amongst ourselves to make jabs at Little Miss Attitude.)

After the night started to get underway, I was cutting and boxing our lovely pizza creations, while bossing my boss Frenchie around. He needed said bossing simply because my boobage presence makes him distracted and out of sorts. He thanked me for my direction, stating that a pair of Dominatrix heels would go well with my no-nonsensical attitude. I agreed; however, said heels are not company-appropriated non-slip.

Things went well with no screen blackouts or disastrous mishaps, and after the rush, Douchey, the Narcoleptic waitress, and I began conversing on serious matters such as Apron Incidents and pink dicks. (The pink dick conversation was started by Little Miss several weeks back when she informed all present that she didn’t like them.) Narcolep let me know (after discussions of non-sex happening during the Apron Incident) that I am, in fact, every NORMAL man’s fantasy (what with the nakedness and horniness and all), while Douchey proclaimed that he couldn’t get past the idea of me in an apron sans clothes. (Or in his words, “I didn’t really need to picture that”) What hilarious and non-work-appropriate conversation ensued I will spare the details of, but suffice to say that it was great to actually be at work with people who don’t tell me I’m fat. (Douchey I’m quite certain would be honest if I asked him, because he’s honest like that, so I have no intention of asking.)

At precisely 11 PM (closing time), while Douchey was out on a delivery, I received a phone call asking for a pizza to be delivered. I regrettedly (haha) informed the man that we were closed; then he asked, “Isn’t it 10:59?” I fibbed and said, “I’m sorry, no. It is, in fact, 11:02.” Then the man said, “It’s not nice to lie, Twinkie!” The caller was Douchey coming back from his delivery, just fucking with me. (He for some unknown reason has nicknamed me Twinkie, which is better than his first choice of Cheeseburger. We decided he subconciously picked Twinkie because everyone likes Twinkies… There was some talk of cream-filled in there too, but nevermind about that) All together, the night was not half bad.