duh-RA-muh
May. 29th, 2005 11:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7There was, like, way way too much drama at work today given that it was an absolutely dead quiet Sunday. I mean really. There was nobody in the place. And yet. I was tangentially involved in not one, but two (!) dramatic episodes of duh-ra-muh. I sort of regret that I won't be in to participate in the gossip, since I actually know what happened.
For once.
I should probably cut this and all, but at least I won't use any real names. I know, I know, Dooce, i haven't learned anything from you about not blogging about work with my real name. But, anyway, none of them read this, and I'm not going to say anything bad. I'm just going togossip tell the real story.
So I get in. I'm supposed to be working from 1-9, cocktailing at All-Stars I assume. But the schedule has me placed at Landmark. So, confused, I ask the cash office lady, since she probably would know where they really want me.
"Oh," she says, looking a little wide-eyed, "Senior Manager's on his way down here. [bartender just senior to me, we'll call her Tammy not her real name]'s out there. They need somebody in the Club."
I look puzzled, trying to remember the schedule. There are four people junior to me now, and it seems inexplicable that they wouldn't have somebody. "Ohhh," I say, remembering: "They had scheduled Tammy to train Newest Girl in the Club."
"Right," Cash office lady says. "But Newest Girl didn't show up. Tammy was supposed to train her for a bit, then go over and work at All-Stars."
"Oh," I say, understanding: so I was supposed to go to Landmark. "Oh, but if New Girl doesn't come in, then Tammy has to stay in there all day."
"Exactly," Cash Office Lady answers.
"Ohh," I say. "So, er, where should I go?"
"Mm, Senior Manager will be here in a minute. Go out and wait for him."
I step out into the hallway. There's Tammy, looking enraged. There's one of the supervisors, looking trepidatious. There's a couple of terrified cashiers. And here comes Senior Manager, looking eminently reasonable which means he's about to stomp somebody. "What seems to be the problem, Tammy?" he asks.
What it boils down to is that Tammy refuses to go work in the Club. She says she's leaving. Senior Manager says that walking out on a shift is grounds for termination. She says she understands that, and turns and waves to the other spectators: "This may be the last time I see you!" She goes and punches out. Senior manager turns to me.
"Will you please go in the Club? We need somebody in there."
Spotlight! I stand there. I shrug. "Sure," I say, a bit grimly, and turn on my heel and stalk off to the security checkpoint. I know I can be mildly ill-mannered: I'm the one that didn't walk out.
I'm in the Club two hours, when Newest Girl shows up: "I wrote down the wrong time!"
So I train her for about twenty minutes. During the two hours, the bartender from Allstars came in no less than four times, because he was mind-numbingly bored and has had no business all day. It was dead out there, dead in the entire airport. Usually Sunday's a money day; not today. Nothing. No business.
So I went across to All-Stars two hours late, and made little to no money (Well... better than nothing). I came in and helped Newest Girl close at the Club-- nothing to do, really, but went over the weird cash register procedures with her at least-- and then went back to close All-Stars. Tammy wouldn't have missed out on any money if she'd just fucking gone into the Club and sat there. So... I don't really feel sorry for her. It was bizarre of them to schedule her there in the first place, but made more sense than having Newer Girl (who's been in there once) train Newest Girl. Still and all.
So. That's half the drama. The other one, I'm more directly involved in.
It's getting late at All-Stars and I've sent in my last food order, and am starting to break things down and put them away for the night. But the food hasn't come, and hasn't come. On the dot of fifteen minutes (I won't call before then, because 15 minutes is reasonable but 20 means they've forgotten about my order) I phone over to the kitchen. Now, the shift's been slow; I haven't had cause to phone the kitchen even once up til now. So I don't know who's cooking.
Cook answers the phone.
"This the Grill, Scary Grumpy Old Bastard speaking," he says. [Note: name changed to protect the SGOB, should he care.]
"Shit," I think. "I hate this dude. He just about ripped my head off when I told him a customer had complained their beef on weck was undercooked." But, the question must be asked.
"Hi," I say. "This is Bridget from All-Stars. I sent over an order for some food about fifteen minutes ago and just wanted to check up on the status of the order."
"Well," SGOB answered, audibly furious, "It gotta be cooked, don't it!"
I am a bit taken aback, but think perhaps he thinks I'm referring to the order I sent over just after, only about five or six minutes ago. "Oh," I say, "no, the one from fifteen min--"
But he has hung up the phone on me.
I turn, phone still in hand, to the bartender I'm working with. "What?" he asks, seeing my astonishment.
I tell him what the cook said to me.
"That's not right!" the bartender says. "He can't say that! I'm on my way out anyway; I'll talk to him on my way out."
I sigh. "If you want," I say, "but I doubt you'll get anywhere with him."
A few minutes later a supervisor comes over with the tray of food. "What happened?" I recount the conversation to him, and he looks dour. "You didn't hear this from me, but SGOB has got to go."
A little while later a manager comes by, and asks me if the other bartender's still there. "No," I say.
"Too bad," she says. "I wanted to thank him. After what SGOB said to you, and then to him, Senior Manager was going to write SGOB up for misconduct, and instead, SGOB quit and walked out. We'd been wanting to get rid of him for ages."
Apparently, the supervisor tells me later, SGOB had actually threatened the bartender, telling him not to make him come over this counter. Which was definitely way beyond anything warranted-- the bartender in question is a fairly innocuous sort, and certainly not the kind who's going to start fights.
So anyhow. Not one but two walking-out-of-work incidents! In which I was tangentially involved! I am sorely disappointed I won't be in tomorrow to gossip. :) Not that I'm much of a gossip.
In other news, I got home and Dave had not only Done Something With The Damn Turkey-- he had stripped all the meat off the rack, had made two different kinds of turkey salad, and had put the rack in to make turkey soup with fresh herbs. This pleased me immensely. But what pleased me even more was that he was in a good mood, and felt comfortable enough to actually tell me what he'd been doing these last few days, rather than being sullen and defensive.
So he talked about hacking the iPod, admitting it was hopelessly geeky and he'd probably never finish. I expressed interest. Sure, I don't understand it, but I know he loves reverse-engineering stuff, and I know he's good at it, and I know that's what made him so invaluable to his last company, so I'm not going to yell at him for pursuing it. I'm confident he's got the self-discipline to find a job in a reasonable amount of time. At least he's not just playing video games or something.
He just better not be snarky about me writing fanfiction. It keeps me off the streets, man!
For once.
I should probably cut this and all, but at least I won't use any real names. I know, I know, Dooce, i haven't learned anything from you about not blogging about work with my real name. But, anyway, none of them read this, and I'm not going to say anything bad. I'm just going to
So I get in. I'm supposed to be working from 1-9, cocktailing at All-Stars I assume. But the schedule has me placed at Landmark. So, confused, I ask the cash office lady, since she probably would know where they really want me.
"Oh," she says, looking a little wide-eyed, "Senior Manager's on his way down here. [bartender just senior to me, we'll call her Tammy not her real name]'s out there. They need somebody in the Club."
I look puzzled, trying to remember the schedule. There are four people junior to me now, and it seems inexplicable that they wouldn't have somebody. "Ohhh," I say, remembering: "They had scheduled Tammy to train Newest Girl in the Club."
"Right," Cash office lady says. "But Newest Girl didn't show up. Tammy was supposed to train her for a bit, then go over and work at All-Stars."
"Oh," I say, understanding: so I was supposed to go to Landmark. "Oh, but if New Girl doesn't come in, then Tammy has to stay in there all day."
"Exactly," Cash Office Lady answers.
"Ohh," I say. "So, er, where should I go?"
"Mm, Senior Manager will be here in a minute. Go out and wait for him."
I step out into the hallway. There's Tammy, looking enraged. There's one of the supervisors, looking trepidatious. There's a couple of terrified cashiers. And here comes Senior Manager, looking eminently reasonable which means he's about to stomp somebody. "What seems to be the problem, Tammy?" he asks.
What it boils down to is that Tammy refuses to go work in the Club. She says she's leaving. Senior Manager says that walking out on a shift is grounds for termination. She says she understands that, and turns and waves to the other spectators: "This may be the last time I see you!" She goes and punches out. Senior manager turns to me.
"Will you please go in the Club? We need somebody in there."
Spotlight! I stand there. I shrug. "Sure," I say, a bit grimly, and turn on my heel and stalk off to the security checkpoint. I know I can be mildly ill-mannered: I'm the one that didn't walk out.
I'm in the Club two hours, when Newest Girl shows up: "I wrote down the wrong time!"
So I train her for about twenty minutes. During the two hours, the bartender from Allstars came in no less than four times, because he was mind-numbingly bored and has had no business all day. It was dead out there, dead in the entire airport. Usually Sunday's a money day; not today. Nothing. No business.
So I went across to All-Stars two hours late, and made little to no money (Well... better than nothing). I came in and helped Newest Girl close at the Club-- nothing to do, really, but went over the weird cash register procedures with her at least-- and then went back to close All-Stars. Tammy wouldn't have missed out on any money if she'd just fucking gone into the Club and sat there. So... I don't really feel sorry for her. It was bizarre of them to schedule her there in the first place, but made more sense than having Newer Girl (who's been in there once) train Newest Girl. Still and all.
So. That's half the drama. The other one, I'm more directly involved in.
It's getting late at All-Stars and I've sent in my last food order, and am starting to break things down and put them away for the night. But the food hasn't come, and hasn't come. On the dot of fifteen minutes (I won't call before then, because 15 minutes is reasonable but 20 means they've forgotten about my order) I phone over to the kitchen. Now, the shift's been slow; I haven't had cause to phone the kitchen even once up til now. So I don't know who's cooking.
Cook answers the phone.
"This the Grill, Scary Grumpy Old Bastard speaking," he says. [Note: name changed to protect the SGOB, should he care.]
"Shit," I think. "I hate this dude. He just about ripped my head off when I told him a customer had complained their beef on weck was undercooked." But, the question must be asked.
"Hi," I say. "This is Bridget from All-Stars. I sent over an order for some food about fifteen minutes ago and just wanted to check up on the status of the order."
"Well," SGOB answered, audibly furious, "It gotta be cooked, don't it!"
I am a bit taken aback, but think perhaps he thinks I'm referring to the order I sent over just after, only about five or six minutes ago. "Oh," I say, "no, the one from fifteen min--"
But he has hung up the phone on me.
I turn, phone still in hand, to the bartender I'm working with. "What?" he asks, seeing my astonishment.
I tell him what the cook said to me.
"That's not right!" the bartender says. "He can't say that! I'm on my way out anyway; I'll talk to him on my way out."
I sigh. "If you want," I say, "but I doubt you'll get anywhere with him."
A few minutes later a supervisor comes over with the tray of food. "What happened?" I recount the conversation to him, and he looks dour. "You didn't hear this from me, but SGOB has got to go."
A little while later a manager comes by, and asks me if the other bartender's still there. "No," I say.
"Too bad," she says. "I wanted to thank him. After what SGOB said to you, and then to him, Senior Manager was going to write SGOB up for misconduct, and instead, SGOB quit and walked out. We'd been wanting to get rid of him for ages."
Apparently, the supervisor tells me later, SGOB had actually threatened the bartender, telling him not to make him come over this counter. Which was definitely way beyond anything warranted-- the bartender in question is a fairly innocuous sort, and certainly not the kind who's going to start fights.
So anyhow. Not one but two walking-out-of-work incidents! In which I was tangentially involved! I am sorely disappointed I won't be in tomorrow to gossip. :) Not that I'm much of a gossip.
In other news, I got home and Dave had not only Done Something With The Damn Turkey-- he had stripped all the meat off the rack, had made two different kinds of turkey salad, and had put the rack in to make turkey soup with fresh herbs. This pleased me immensely. But what pleased me even more was that he was in a good mood, and felt comfortable enough to actually tell me what he'd been doing these last few days, rather than being sullen and defensive.
So he talked about hacking the iPod, admitting it was hopelessly geeky and he'd probably never finish. I expressed interest. Sure, I don't understand it, but I know he loves reverse-engineering stuff, and I know he's good at it, and I know that's what made him so invaluable to his last company, so I'm not going to yell at him for pursuing it. I'm confident he's got the self-discipline to find a job in a reasonable amount of time. At least he's not just playing video games or something.
He just better not be snarky about me writing fanfiction. It keeps me off the streets, man!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-05-30 03:46 am (UTC)And get this: he was fired for being lazy, which we all know is newspaper-speak for Making Up Stories. Y'know, as in "He was so lazy he made it up instead of finding out what actually happened."
So, I'll enjoy your bits of gossip, and you can enjoy mine, and we'll be happy gossips together. :)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-30 12:42 pm (UTC)There's also been gossip that Newest Girl steals money, but I don't know where she'd steal money from. Still, it makes me nervous-- that's probably the worst (and most frequently true) awful thing you can imply about a bartender, and there I am with my uncounted paper cup of tips on the back bar that I can't possibly watch all the time and I'd never even know if she took. It makes me very nervous to think about working a shift with her. And I have no proof, only a fellow employee I already don't think much of saying she heard it.
Work gossip is fun but only sometimes.