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Angels Unawares


I’m sorry, but I took a break from life yesterday and slept almost the entire day. This is what happens when you work as a Pizza Slut for 17 hours on a Saturday.

One of the distinct “joys” that come from being able to do your job well is that you end up doing everyone else’s jobs. This is how I ended up being the open to close manager on Saturday at work. Let me just say, I wish the muscle relaxant my driver had given me at 11 at night would have been offered a little bit closer to 2 AM; do you know how hard it is to finish up a seventeen hour day when your body is whispering loudly “Just sleep. Fuck all this and just go lie down. None of it matters. SLEEP.”

I cannot really complain about my long day, (too much.) I worked with all awesome people who adore working for me, (or so they say, I’m sure there’s at least one ass kisser in there somewhere) and everyone was great about helping everyone else out. The only hiccup in the day is when my day driver got rear-ended; having never dealt with an accident yet while managing, let me assure you- many calls were made to ensure proper steps were followed. I guess if I am the active boss for now, things should be done correctly, eh?

A little before 11 at night, I was silently pitying myself because of the endless amount of work I still had yet to do before going home. A woman and her three boys came in to order carryout, and I’m sure that I didn’t quite keep my look of irritation from my face. However, upon taking the woman’s order, I realized what a friendly and wonderful individual she was, and so my bad attitude quickly dispersed. After slipping her order in the oven, I went back to wiping all the dining room tables down. The woman stood near the door and tried to keep her younglings from running rampant.

Being the friendly customer-friendly person that I usually am not, I asked the woman where she was from and what she was doing. She stated that she was from South Dakote, and since my Rockstar is, too, a native of that state, our conversation flowed freely. I found out she had worked as a Pizza Slut for 9 years, (poor woman), and we discussed the ups and downs of having to do more than our fair share of work.

As I went from table to table, the woman was trying to keep her rambunctious childern occupied, so she told them to pick up all the large garbage that was littering the floor so that I didn’t have to do it before I vacuumed. My heart was warmed when a chubby little boy of 8 came over by the table I was wiping and boasted, “I’m 8, and I’m better at this than my brothers!” I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond without offending the mentioned siblings, so I just grinned at him and winked, and was rewarded with a dazzling cherubic smile.

As I boxed up the woman’s order, I was amazed and astounded to see her pick up a cloth from my sanitizer bucket and proceed to wiped down the remaining tables and chairs that needed it. Because I was so over-worked and exhausted, there was nothing right then that I would have appreciated more at that point. It was then I realized who this family truly was.

There is a story in the Bible of Abraham. In it, three travellers appear and Abraham and his wife Sarah are kind enough to offer them food and drink. Because of their kindness, one of the men tells the couple that they will become parents, and the up-to-that-point barren Sarah laughs with joy. It is then revealed that the three men are ,in fact, angels The story is later mentioned again in Hebrews, and we are reminded not to forget to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. While they were no doubt real people, I believe that woman and her three little cherubs were sent to remind me that not everyone who orders pizza is a complete asshole, and that there is still some good in the world.

So the next time you aren’t feeling customer-friendly, be so anyway, because you may come to find out you’re talking to one of those angels unawares. XOXO

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Mutant Beetles Attack Pizza Slut


Saturday night at precisely 11:59 P.M.,  an unsuspecting Pizza Slut was hauling out the kitchen trash after an extremely slow night when she was startled by a disgusting mammoth bug she almost squashed. An interviewed passerby going about his business at the time had the following to say about the reported incident:

I was standing across the street renting Breaking Dawn out of a Red Box when I heard a girl shrieking, “EEEEEEEEIIIIIIII!!!!!!” I turned around and saw a rather fortunate-looking young woman with large buzooms drop the bag of trash she was carrying and jump up and down in terror. She then ran inside and I heard her cry, “Come out! Come out and see the super creepy bug that’s out here!!!” I saw the cute chic return to the parking lot with a fellow employee who was much less attractive. The two women crouched down to click pictures of the said creeper with their cell phones before I heard the large-breasted woman squeal, “Squish it! Squish it with your foot! I wanna see what happens!” The other woman protested- “NO! I’m not going to step on that with my new shoe!”

After a few minutes of squealing and trying to decide whether to squash the beetle, the more attractive of the two decided to finish taking out the trash. I became frightened (and slightly turned on) when she jumped about 4 feet in the air and let out another squeal. “Another one!” she cried. “There’s another one over here! What the hell?!!??!” The other woman ran over to investigate, and then had the balls to kick the mutant 2nd beetle closer to the first, shrieking as she did so.

“I kicked it! I kicked it over to the other one, Sparklebumps!”

“EEEEEEIIIIIII!” The girl called Sparklebumps ran over and hunkered down by the two frightening bugs.

“Look!” I heard her cry. “The two creepies are racing! Go! Go! Go! Go!”

“Go! Go! Go! Go!” The brave woman who had footed the second beetle joined in egging the massive insects on.

“WOOOOOOO! My beetle won! My beetle won!” The red-haired chicky jumped up and down delightfully.

“NO!!!!!!! That was MY beetle!” I was about to go over and intervene on any arguement that was beginning, but then I heard the Sparklebumps girl speak again.

“OK, I’m creeped out now. I must go inside now, because these buggys are frickin’ creepy, dude.”

It has been confirmed that Sparklebumps and her coworker survived the mentioned attack with no serious injuries.

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Click Next To Continue…


Why did I agree to take a 7-10 hour online course for a job that I no longer want to do? I’ll tell you why. Because I suffered a small bout of temporary insanity. When my boss Frenchie asked, “Sparklebumps, you want to take this course and this test, right? It will look very good on your resume.” I should have said, “I will not bow to your trickery, no. And I am not doltish enough to agree to waste 7 hours of my precious time that could be spent reading to listen to an automated voice drone on about the threat of Hepatitis A in the foody workplace.” Instead, I just smiled like an idiot and said, “Ok.”

Luckily, I can access the course from my own personal computer, and can watch all the fucktarded videos at my own pace, so as to have the ability to stop and rant on my blog about my utter foolishness. So here you go…

The beginning of the course started by informing me that food-bourne illnesses can be caused if my employees speak a different language and have different cultural habits than I. I believe they just gave me permission to only hire English-speaking people who read alot and eat French fries. I will use this video in court if ever I am accused of not practicing equal-oppurtunity employment.

After this, the increasingly-obnoxious automated voice told me to click next to continue.

They also informed me that employees with different levels of education may have a tough time following simple hand-washing rules and such. Here I would like to point out that I have at least 2 years less formal education than any of my co-workers, yet I am surprisingly much more intelligent than most of them. (I realize the fact that I’m wasting my time working as a Pizza Slut may not seem all that intelligent, but nevermind about that.) And I believe that anyone not able to follow the hand-washing video properly is instantly disqualified as a repeat employee.

There’s that “Click next to continue” again.

I must mention here the stellar Brawny man animation they have going on throughout this video. I didn’t realize the Brawny guy had other gigs. Hoorah.

The next portion of videos mentioned the problems involved when an employee comes to work sick, sneezing, vomiting, etc. In their words, I shouldn’t go to work if any of the above mentioned are happening. I KNEW there was a way I could get a day off…As I have just gotten done sneezing a moment ago, I am apparently disqualified from work tonight.

It was also mentioned that feces on hands causes viruses that can be spread. I don’t know about you, but my translation of this is- don’t poop on your hands. Or if you feel the absolute need to, follow the proper hand-washing procedures afterward. Singing “Happy Birthday” twice to ensure proper hand-washing time doesn’t seem all that politically-correct. What if you’re a Jehovah’s Witness?

Click next to continue.

Moving on to biological hazards.

Apparently mold is unacceptable in a restaurant environment. This seems odd to me since there are many gourmet cheeses that actually COME with mold attatched. They mentioned that mold will not necessarily cause sickness, and so I must ask- what’s a little mold?

Click next to continue.

They decided next to teach us about a bunch of diseases with unpronouncable Latin names. The problem is, if I wanted to be a doctor, I would have gone to school to be one. There was one that was mentioned that sounded expecially deadly, however. Hemmorrodhia colitis. When I first heard this term, I imagined myself as a superhero threatening my nemesis with hemmorrodhia colitis. I suppose if I would have been paying attention more closely, I would have learned what this actually was, and how to prevent getting it. However, I was busily anticipating that phrase I have grown so fond of hearing.

“Click next to continue.”

I feel by the time I finally wallow through the rest of these videos, I will be greatly relieved when the speaking stops and I actually don’t hear that automated bitch’s voice saying, “Click next to continue.”

 

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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.

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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.

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Because Tomorrow Is Another Day…


Oops, I mean today is another day. If you want to be technical and all.

My day yesterday didn’t really start out so great.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I lost my pants.

No, I did NOT have my Rockstar around to rip them off of me, if that’s what you thought I meant.

I meant that I couldn’t find my extra pair of work pants, and my main pair was dirty. I didn’t have enough time in the morning to throw a load of laundry in before work, so as I stood there pants-less, I washed the dirty pair by hand that I dug out of the mountain of dirty clothes that has accumulated (because I’m working 11 hour days now)  and proceeded to  dry them with the hair dryer. (Very classy) Then off to work I went.

I am quite certain that my foul mood throughout the day was at least partially due to the fact that my Rockstar has been in South Dakota since Friday. I miss him, and I am becoming increasingly horny at every moment. So when I  was working as a Pizza Slut today, and it was very busy, and the cook we had is evolving from a turtle (I’m quite certain of this) and I found out I got to close with Little Miss Attitude tonight, it is quite understandable that I (to put it mildly) was ready to strap a bomb to my chest and blow the Hut to smithereens.

The very special highlight of my day was when Delightfulness came in to do her orientation, and I got to give her a hug. (Two, in fact.) Her smiling face and fierce glam-rock outfit made me happy. And then she went away. And the day returned to Hell.

Oops, Frenchy forgot to schedule another server. More money for me- or so we thought. We proceeded to (in Awesome’s words) receive the ass-pounding of our lives, complete with short-staffedness. This in itself would not have been such a disaster, (since I don’t mind a nice ass pounding every now and then) but the fact that Little Miss Attitude was “managing” meant that I got to spend the night doing everybody else’s jobs.

(Little Miss Attitude is 18, and attempting to procure her place as a shift-manager. The only reason she is still semi-managing is because I haven’t had time to do all my training yet. She spends her shifts eating Cinnamints, standing around, babbling about God-knows-what to anyone who will listen, and generally bossing people around while maintaining her laziness. When she becomes angry, or upset, her language shifts to Ebonics, and no one can understand her.)

After the harshest part of the ass-pounding, I tried my damndest to get my shit done and get the hell out of there. Sadly, people kept streaming in at various intervals; the dishes were so piled up in back I could not add one more plate to them; and the phone kept ringing.

While I was cleaning the John(s), a couple came in and stood there for several minutes. Little Miss did not acknowledge them in any way, nor did she find it necessary to come and tell me there were customers to wait on. When I came out of the loo, I apologized profusely to said customers and gave them extra superb service. Then I went in back to throw about a billion dishes in the dishawasher.

When this couple came up to pay, the two other people working did not feel like getting the register, and so yelled for me. (Because apparently I’m the only one who can help customers) The couple asked where the manager was, and commented on the fact that I seemed to be the only one actually doing work. (I’m glad someone noticed.) The woman informed me that she would be making a call to Frenchie in the tomorrow to inform him of his misfit employees. Then back to the dishes I went.

I paused for less than thirty seconds at one point, only to have Little Miss berate me and tell me to get going on my shit. Yes. I blew half a gasket. I informed her that I was working my ass off and she told me to quit my attitude. (Insert expletive here)

After I had most of my duties accomplished, Little Miss informed me (for the third time) that many boxes needed to be folded before I departed. I did quite a few, and then thought “You know what? I have to be back here in less than 11 hours. I shall do more boxes in the morning.” Little Miss went on to say that 100 more boxes needed to be folded, and I informed her of my plan to do them in the morning. She said, “I don’t care what you’re going to do in the morning; they need to be done tonight. If you don’t do them, I’m gonna write you up.” Fuckin’ write me up.

In general, I believe that when a manager tells you to do something, you should do it. In fact, I think that you should go above and beyond what is requested of you. That may be the reason I washed 200 dishes when that was not my job to do, and did my best to leave the store as clean as I would leave my house, despite having worked a 13 hour day with no break, (or meal). But I’m sorry. If I say that I will do whatever it is that is requested, (even if I plan on doing it the next day) and I get told I’m going to be written up- FUCK THAT SHIT. I left.

Tomorrow (or today) will be better. Because it couldn’t possibly be any fucking worse.

P.S. I cannot be completely disappointed in the day. I DID make $107 in tips.

P.P.S. I would like to state that this post is not a complaint. It is stating  fact. I appreciate having a job when so many others don’t.

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What Would You Do If….(Pizza Slut Edition)


What would you do if:

#1 A white trash loser with a Southern accent literally shooed you away and said,”Go’on now. Get on outta here! I told ’em not to send you back here. Just get on outta here. Go’on now.” after complaing about you for absolutely no reason?

What I would do: Snort and walk away and then mope around saddened while glaring at said man occasionally until he leaves.

#2 You dumped a flaming hot pizza onto your hand and  into your apron?

What I would do: Say “Shit! Fuck! That was hot!” a little too loudly, and then look around and notice the little girl standing nearby waiting for a refill who’s ears have just been assailed by curse words.

#3 The Way You Make Me Feel came on the radio while you were saucing and cheesing?

What I would do: Sing under my breath while continuing to sauce and cheese, until the spirit of Michael Jackson possessed me and I could no longer resist the urge to screech, “HEE-HOO!” while thrusting my hips and grabbing my crotch. (I think I should have set the pepperoni down first…”

#4 You answer the phone and SMILE while issuing the standard greeting- “Thank you for calling Pizza Hut! My name is Sparklebumps, would you like to hear our specials?”- only to have the person on the line say, “No. Do you guys have any specials?” Repeatedly.

What I would do: Roll my eyes and continue to SMILE while taking their order, then when they hang up, bash the phone reciever mercilessly onto the cradle.

#5 The screechy-voiced woman you worked with deems you worthy of talking to now, and (since she only complains when she has something to say) continues to complain to you about other coworkers?

What I would do: Nod and remain mute,(hoping no reaction will make her stop talking to you) hoping her vocal chords with magically disintigrate so as to rid yours and others ears of the horror that is her voice.

#6 Your managar Awesome’s hubby comes in and she says to him, “Show Sparklebumps your tattoes!” which he obliges by pulling up his shirt after having just met you?

What I would do: Think, “Wah! He’s flashing me!” and then shrug and check out his fun tattoes.

#7 Your manager Frenchie gets on his knees in front of everyone and begs for forgiveness after you have jokingly berated him for flirting with coworkers other than yourself?

What I would do: Narrow my eyes at him as if I’m thinking about it, and then NOT forgive him. He needs to think about what he’s done for a bit longer.

#8 There was a puddle of piss in front of the urinal EVERY night when you are mopping up?

What I would do: Drop my mop right then and stalk back to the kitchen, demanding to know which coworker remaining does not know how to aim his urine stream properly.

Who wouldn’t want to be a Pizza Slut?

 

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