Tag Archives: pizza slut

Adventures of Pizza Slut


To keep from being depressed about being the Head Pizza Slut, I have decided to compose a graphic novel based loosely on my adventures. (Minus pictures.)

Pizza Slut was all-powerful and could multitask like nobody’s business. She had the super powers of making unhappy customers satisfied, and of get the most lazy of employees to do the most disgusting of chores like scrubbing toilets and scraping crusted cheese off of pizza pans by using her secret weapons- her gargantuan boobies, which were only kept secret because of the extra safety pins she had to use in between the buttons of her managerial superhero uniform. On occasion, the buttons were unable to hold and would bust open, resulting in extra cleaning tasks being completed by those employees lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the semi-perfect cleavage. P. Slut’s only weakness was French fries. Oh, and attention given to her by anyone even remotely attractive. (Even the unattractive ones would sometimes distract her from her superhero duties.)

Anyhoo, on this particular day, P. Slut was flying around her restaurant putting proper dating labels on product and proofing dough, when she received a call from a completely unsatisfied customer.

“I am IRATE!” The customer screamed into the phone, while P.Slut tried to keep the rolling of her eyes from transmitting across the phone lines. “My pizza was made with less than the proper amount of pepperonis, and even though I ordered it easy on the pepperonis, I INSIST you make me a new one!”

P.Slut took a deep breath before she mustered up her most aquiescent customer service voice.

“I am SO sorry, ma’am, there is no excuse for such ridiculous mistakes, ESPECIALLY when you ordered it light pepperoni. My cooks OF COURSE should be able to read your mind when you order in such a way, and should surely have put the normal amount of pepperoni on your pizza. I will have them re-make it post-haste, and will fly it out to you myself.”

“Well, you had better just do that, and don’t think I’ll be giving you a tip for delivering it either. I have to buy my Pall Malls, after all.” The customer banged the phone down in P.Slut’s ear, and within moments, P.Slut was flying her super-awesome yellow Hover-Ranger to the customer’s house, Full-on pepperoni pizza in hand.

“Here you go ma’am.” P.Slut smiled politely, and bent over just enough for the woman to catch a glimpse of her super-human cleavage. The woman had been going to complain, but when she saw the most awesome boob-butt, she thought to herself that she’d better not, because there’s no telling when a woman with great tits is going to unleash a royal ass-whooping on someone who really needs it. The woman closed the door without a word, and P. Slut wiped her brow. She had once again saved her restaurant from receiving another Customer Incident Report.

The End.

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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.”

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A Regular Whore


It should be well-known by now that money matters not to me one iota.

I know that it cannot buy happiness.

Or love.

It cannot give you a hug, or get you to work, or give you super powers. (Although it can most certainly make you powerful.)

On the other hand:

I believe the lack of money is the root of all evil.

If you lack it, you cannot pay your bills, and then the Demon Bill Collectors start calling.

If you lack it, you cannot buy fabulous shoes that set you apart from all the other bums also trolling the aisles at Walmart.

It was said once in a Book I read one time that “the love of money is the root of all evil.”

I know I shall not be going to Hell for loving the money, because I surely don’t.

So someone PLEASE please PLEASE tell me why when my pretty boss where I’m a Pizza Slut offered me $2 more dollars an hour not to take the fabulous job at Crafts Direct and to stay miserable where I am, I took it. I am certainly a whore now, because I feel as if I just got paid to be fucked in the ass.

 

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Quandry


I am proud to announce, my Lovelys, that I have a new job!

I also have one tiny huge problem.

A few weeks ago, I ventured into the happiest place on earth. No, not Disneyland, but a place filled with glitter, and paint, and feathers, and everything beautiful- Crafts Direct. For those of you not from frozen Minnesota, think of Hobby Lobby, or Michaels, or Joann Fabrics on steroids. While I am not the craftiest person in the world, (as I am able only to re-sew buttons onto shirts that have popped because of my magnificent busooms) I have dabbled in oil painting (and pissed off the person I did a portrait of), and jewelry making, and in the buying of peacock feathers for various projects. Of course, upon seeing the many signs posted : Now Hiring!, my imagination went wild at the thought of spending my paid days amongst sparkly and seasonal decorations. (and using my employee discount on these very things.) I filled out an application, feeling a bit disheartened as I observed the many other individuals doing the exact thing as I. I left not fully expecting to be called; for what would make the hiring gods of Crafts Direct pick my app out of the many that were surely piled upon their desks?

Needless to say, my Sparkle somehow managed to catch their eye, and I was hired upon my impressive interview.(where I wore everything crafty and bright.) While I truly detest being a pizza slut, I must stay working as one, and I will explain why.

It seems in my short year (or longest year of my life) as a pizza slut, I have become superior at my job. It also happens that there is no one there that is even semi-ready to take my place. There is also one other thing I may have forgotten to mention.

My boss is very pretty.

Let me point out- I love my Rockstar and he is my Beloved. That being said, I am a sucker for a pretty face. I have failed to mention the little fact that my boss is highly attractive because there is a small chance that I could be fired for saying so so blatantly on my blog. However, given my quandry, being fired would solve my dilemma.

You see, because my boss is pretty, and is not an assface, I feel terrible for leaving him without a sufficient replacement for me. Sadly, he knows that I find him to be easy on the eyes, and has surely used this to his advantage by giving me sad dejected puppy eyes when I told him I got a new job. Fuckin’ A.

“Can you not stay until January, so I have time to find a new you?” He pleaded with me. My heart broke.

While I have told him I will stay as full time as I can until he doesn’t need me anymore, (and that he will surely never find another me) I  explained how I have never dreamed of being a Pizza Slut, and am not fulfilling my destiny doing so. Unfortunateley, I suspect he knows of my histrionic personality, and has since assured me of my general awesomeness as a runner of my store. Such excessive attentions have always been my downfall.

I am also concerned that when I do eventually leave, all my employees shall follow me in the quitting.

Ask me why I care so about a job I don’t give a shit about. The only answer I can come up with is, “I have a pretty boss.” Damn me and my attraction to everything beautiful.

 

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Tired


I’m too tired to sleep. So while I’m lying in bed trying to makeout with the Sandman, I think to myself, “I should get up.” But I’m too tired to. So I lie in bed until exhaustion overcomes me. In the morning, my damn alarm goes off and I think to myself, “I should get up and eat breakfast before work.” But I’m too tired to. So I doze off and on until the last possible second and then I rush to make myself semi-presentable. While washing my face, I think to myself, “I should do a super fun makeup effect with my newly purchased 100 shades of eyeshadow.” But I’m too tired. So I slap on an uninteresting shade of beige and off to work I go.

When I get to work, I think to myself, “I should call all the applicants and set up interviews.” But I’m too tired. So I struggle through yet another day at work with fewer people than I need because there is no one else to call. When I’m closing up the store, I think to myself, “i should really do as good of a job as I would like to.” But I’m too tired. So instead I do a job that is not up to my standards.

My skin is too tired to make the effort; my feet are too tired to wear heels; and my boobs are too tired to stay perky.

When my friends call me, I don’t answer, because I’m too tired to sit on the phone for extended periods of time, and I have nothing to talk about except work. When an intersting song pops into my head that I think I should write down, I don’t, because I’m too tired to think of a word that rhymes with “winter”. When I get home from work, I think to myself that I should make a beautiful lunch for my Rockstar to take in his ugly lunchbox, but I’m too tired. There was also a point last week when I almost turned down a little Naked Fun Time with my Rockstar because I was too tired. Almost.

Basically, in the end, I will have no friends because I’m too tired to hang with them, no Rockstar because I’m too tired to take care of him, and no job because I’m too tired to do what I’m getting paid to do. Then I will have all the time in the world to sleep…

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Spreading the Sparkle


Ok, I realize that considering what you all know about me, this blog title sounds excessively dirty. However, I would just like to state that I’m not spreading what you think I’m spreading, so get your mind outta the gutter!

I have written extensively about the many joys that come with being a Pizza Slut. Not the least of them is the constant pressure to be happy and friendly, even when you are ready to stab someone in the head. A prime example is the following:

There is an old man that comes into my store on a regular basis. He is crotchety and cranky and all the other words used to describe a typical Grumpy Old Man. The first time I had the pleasure of waiting on him, he refused to make eye contact with me, barked his order at me, and dismissed me from his presence by ignoring the fact that I was standing in front of him. I left his table with a smile on my face and one thought in my head-” It shall be my one and greatest accomplishment and goal to make that man smile.”

Now why in the world would I not detest this crank with every fiber of my being because of his rude and unacceptable behavior? Why, when my coworkers see him and groan inwardly at the thought of taking his order, do I instead grin foolishly and skip out to his table to procure his mealtime wishes? I will tell you.

Having an excessively active imagination, I have composed a story about this man, and the reasonings for his depressive behaviors. I have told myself that he was once young, (and probably just as rude and cranky) and was married to a beautiful and lovely-personalitied woman who had enough patience to deal with him. Sadly, (in my head) his wife died at a reasonably-young age, and he has forever since been pining for her and been growing increasingly bitter with the world. And so, in his defense, I understand his demeanor, for I would be very sad also and probably much ruder to people if my beautiful wife had died and left me alone in a world full of fools.

In past visits this man has made to my store, I have ignored his surly demeanor and smiled happily whenever he has come to eat. When he looks firmly in my non-direction, I thank him for his business and ask him to come back and see me sometime. When he refuses to acknowledge my service, (or my presence) I smile and tell him to have a wondrous day. My efforts have not been in vain, because although his face has not once twisted in such a way that may be mistaken for a smile, he now looks into my eyes when ordering, thanks me for my service, and actually formed a complete sentence this week instead of grunting to ask for a cookie. Perhaps it was my perserverance as a Customer Maniac that did it, or the fact that I have excessively large chest fruit to admire, but he’s been back three times this week to see me. I may be so bold to hoarde his almost attentions, because yesterday someone else sat him and he was his grumpy old self. He only became less so when I hurried out to express my happiness at his visit. I’m telling you, one of these days, he’s gonna smile….

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I Thought Summer Was Hot, But I Guess It’s Just Me


When I got terminated from my bookstore, one of my first thoughts actually was, “Hmm. I guess I will no longer be receiving excessive attentions from strange men that I don’t know.” When this occurred to me, I must admit that I was slightly distraught- not only does the attentions of weirdos make for interesting blog fodder, but despite the general creepiness of most advances I’ve received, they somehow still manage to satisfy my histrionic need for adoration.

It seems that my worries concerning this subject were pleonastic (Yes, I’ve been reading my thesaurus again.)

What I failed to realize at the time of my firing is that I had newly been hired as a Pizza Slut. That means- out of 17 employees, I work with exactly two other women. What do you think the reactions are of men (and boys) who get to work with my amazing self every flippin’ day?

Admit it. You’d be thrilled too.

Shall we go over just a few of the wanton and unbelievable comments I’ve received in the last 9 months? Here we go:

“You don’t understand. I’m completely falling in love with you. I don’t know what to do about my girlfriend.”

You may be surprised at this one, since I have not before this mentioned anything about an overly-amorous being at work.  Let us just say his job title rhymed with “moss”, and he no longer works with me. (I promise, I had nothing to do with that.)

“You’re gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. And your personality is awesome. I only have one question. Will you be my secret lover?”

Incidentally, this was the fourth sentence out of a new employees mouth after having met me. It left me wondering what it is about me that makes people think they can say these blatant things to a fellow employee….

“You are and amazing and powerful woman, Sparklebumps. That scares me.”

Oh yes. I am sooooo scary. BOO! MWAHAHAHHAA

“You’re totally awesome. I love working with you.”

I must admit, every employee I have has said this to me at some point, even the ones who don’t lust after me. It’s because, well… I’m awesome. I don’t mean to sound cocky, but it seems to be true.

“I find you to be very pretty. ”

Seems very sweet right? That comment was followed with- “And you have a really hot ass.”

“You’re gorgeous. I want to squeeze your butt, but I didn’t want to get fired. But I think you’re really beautiful.”

No, I didn’t let him squeeze my butt, just in case any of you wondered about my boundaries…

While I find it incredible that these comments are truthfully flung my way so frequently, I must admit that it’s quite good for my ego. It’s also a bit humorous that my allure seems to have no age limits. You would think a 20 year old would have a slightly different inclination than a 52 year old. But who am I to judge?

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