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dragonlady7I feel a bit like death warmed over this morning, if death has sore ankles, a sore back, a stuffy nose, an eyestrain headache, sore hamstrings and tender feet, as well as a rather unpleasant stomachache-something. I'm not very warm, either.
I did have a ball last night. Z's coworkers really do like him a lot. And his boss has a fucking amazing house. It's down in Allentown (a chic area of Buffalo's downtown)-- the thing was built either in 1863 or the 1880s depending on which expert you ask, it's massively huge, brick, and beautifully restored, it has a gorgeous modern kitchen ("Lots of people get kitchen envy," the boss's wife-sort* (Henceforth I shall refer to her as the Lady of the House for lack of a better term) cooed, pleasantly flattered by Z's comment. "I'm even learning to cook!" she added) and more rooms than I could count (not that I tried), as well as, of course, a wood-burning fireplace which was, of course, lit, much to my delight.
They had an amazing spread of food, including a sushi platter like you wouldn't believe. Almost all futomaki, although there might have been sashimi before we arrived-- that sort of thing goes fast in more ways than one-- but there were also platters upon platters of cookies, bruschetta, stuffed mushrooms, focaccia, and the like. Which, of course, is to be expected in a household that has such close relationships with like Buffalo's entire dining-out scene.
And oh yes-- they had a massive Cake of the Ages-type thing, with layers of different sorts of chocolate, from Sweet Tooth on Elmwood, for the two birthdays of staff this week. They did not know that Z's birthday is only a couple weeks from now.
There was also a tremendous selection of booze, all top-shelf. I watched the Lady of the House replacing the empty bottle of Ketel One with a full one. I had volunteered to drive, so I very responsibly had only tiny bits of things-- instead of not drinking, I just made myself under-strength drinks. I think there's a definite merit to the light pour, as long as you're not paying full-price. So I had a tiny bit of Captain Morgan in a little bit of Coke, (That's best at its intended proportions) and nursed that a while. Then I had some sparkling French lemonade, and as an afterthought dribbled in a tiny bit of Tanqueray. Then I had a big glass of water. Then I had just a bit of Johnny Walker Black Label, with ice, and I added more ice to extend it a bit. I sampled some Italian pinot grigio, which was soothing to my sore throat. And then I had the tiniest dribble of Jack Daniels in some Pepsi, for the caffeine. All in all it probably added up to three whole drinks, in over five hours, on top of a whole ton of food. I ate so much sushi I am almost ashamed to recollect it.
They had a refrigerator, and you could record messages on it. This utterly baffled me, until the Lady of the House explained that it was intended for like family messaging, the idea being that the light blinks so you know to listen to it, for things like "Don't forget to buy milk!" But mostly, their lovely three-year-old daughter likes to sing to it, and then play back her singing. Which Z summed up nicely: "Aww, there's nothing more touching than a young girl singing to her refrigerator." The Lady of the House laughed.
The young girl was not in attendance, to my disappointment-- she comes to the office all the time and is very well-behaved and adorable, Z admits (he's sort of against the office policy of Bring Your Infant To Work, Whenever, given the quantity of shrieking and pooping that goes on, usually within three feet of his desk, but he admits that babies are sometimes cute, but they are definitely not good coworkers), but last night she had a babysitter and a high fever. So, too bad. Poor thing.
At one point they had some antique cartoons playing on the flatscreen TV in the room with the fireplace, but they had the TV on mute, and instead had a Bob Dylan CD in the hi-fi. It was actually pretty intense-- during the song "Hurricane" (the one about the boxer framed for murder), the ancient Tom and Jerry (before they were animals, I guess they were dudes) cartoon was about some tuba player rockin' the neighborhood, and the shit was actually in time to the song playing, so it actually looked like this entire city of weird people were rocking out to Bob Dylan. Including this hula-ing weiner dog and this whole collection of scantily-clad flapper-era dancing girls.
"Blows my fucking mind," Z said. He'd had about five drinks by then, and was starting to get cuddly (by which I mean, pat me on the head occasionally). He then proceeded to inform people that various things were blowing his mind, and I estimated by the time we went to bed his mind had been blown easily a dozen times.
Oh, they also had a cat, a fat sleek tabby-sort named Dodger with six toes on each foot and the somewhat startling habit of ferociously attacking and biting your hand or arm or hair or whatever when he got too excited. We used to have a cat that did that when I was a kid, but he wouldn't go as nuts as this Dodger fellow-- I was sitting on the floor, sleeve pulled down over my hand, playing with him as I would with Ginger or Snick, who also do that sometimes-- get playful and like to bite-- but he was biting really hard, and then he got up and came over and leapt at my shoulder, which was kind of more intense than I'm used to my cats getting.
Still, I had fun. I put on a glove to protect my hand and of course he liked the smell of the glove so much all he wanted to do was rub himself on it, gently and lovingly. Bah. But when I took the glove off, it was all teeth and claws. C'est le chat.
All in all it was an entertaining evening. I really wish I could afford to write for them some more, but I just don't have the time. I'm trying to get Z to get them to find me a sweet-deal bartending gig at one of their advertisers' places, where I could make enough to get by in just a couple nights a week, so I could have a lot more time off to write. (I'd write for them! I just don't have the time. I'd write for them for free! I could use the credit on my C.V.) Z kinda has a lot of clout with them because he's the first really competent IT/webmaster/networking/server-maintenance/Internet whiz they've had, and he is extremely competent. But, he's not the Networking sort, in non-computer ways, so, he's not really helping me out, there.
_____________
* wife-sort: Saying "girlfriend" doesn't properly encompass the "long-term girlfriend", "babymomma", and "accountant" aspects of her role properly.
_____________
Work yesterday was just retarded. It's been really busy lately, but not good-busy. It's been cranky-busy. All these travelers, pissed off that their flights are delayed, are coming into the bar and taking it out on us. Like we have anything to do with the weather. It's astonishing-- I have always said, in the 12 months now that I've worked there, that it's so great being in the bar because delayed travelers never take it out on you, but I have been being proven wrong all fucking week. Honestly, what is people's problem? Thursday was sheer Hell, and to boot people left me shitty tips. Yesterday, which started off with me in a grouchy mood from the night before, went in much the same manner-- lots of snarky people, lots of impolite people, lots of cold-mannered people, nary a friendly face among them, and pretty much exactly 15% when all was said and done. Even my big tab of the day, a trio of Bills-game goers (it's a Sat. night game this week! Augh!) who were friendly and talkative and drank 16 Bud Lights among them, left me 15% to the penny.
And then my relief was late, and didn't feel like relieving me, so I basically stood by the door and as soon as I saw her, went trucking off down the hall with all my shit, because if I waited to talk to her, I would've bitten her smug little fucking head off. Fucker. It won't happen again-- but only because I've switched my shift so I'll never have relief again. I'm always the last server for the night. Bah.
I admit it. For the first time in over a year of being in this business, I deliberately coughed on someone's drink, because she was a fucking cunt, in a party of asshats, and although I was cheerful to them, I was proven right when they left me an ostentatious 0 on their $18 credit card slip. I actually laughed: I'd've felt guilty if they'd left me anything, because I hopefully gave the smug Shiraz-sipping whore a nasty cold.
Because, of course, I have a nasty cold. Which is just adding to the Joy in my Heart. My heart-- it is full of Joy. I am going to kill someone, today. I really ought to not be at work, feeling like that, but I think I'm butting up against the maximum number of call-ins per quarter (under the Awesome New System perpetrated by Moustache Lady), and don't dare. So there I'll be with my worse-than-not-there attitude... Great.
I did have a ball last night. Z's coworkers really do like him a lot. And his boss has a fucking amazing house. It's down in Allentown (a chic area of Buffalo's downtown)-- the thing was built either in 1863 or the 1880s depending on which expert you ask, it's massively huge, brick, and beautifully restored, it has a gorgeous modern kitchen ("Lots of people get kitchen envy," the boss's wife-sort* (Henceforth I shall refer to her as the Lady of the House for lack of a better term) cooed, pleasantly flattered by Z's comment. "I'm even learning to cook!" she added) and more rooms than I could count (not that I tried), as well as, of course, a wood-burning fireplace which was, of course, lit, much to my delight.
They had an amazing spread of food, including a sushi platter like you wouldn't believe. Almost all futomaki, although there might have been sashimi before we arrived-- that sort of thing goes fast in more ways than one-- but there were also platters upon platters of cookies, bruschetta, stuffed mushrooms, focaccia, and the like. Which, of course, is to be expected in a household that has such close relationships with like Buffalo's entire dining-out scene.
And oh yes-- they had a massive Cake of the Ages-type thing, with layers of different sorts of chocolate, from Sweet Tooth on Elmwood, for the two birthdays of staff this week. They did not know that Z's birthday is only a couple weeks from now.
There was also a tremendous selection of booze, all top-shelf. I watched the Lady of the House replacing the empty bottle of Ketel One with a full one. I had volunteered to drive, so I very responsibly had only tiny bits of things-- instead of not drinking, I just made myself under-strength drinks. I think there's a definite merit to the light pour, as long as you're not paying full-price. So I had a tiny bit of Captain Morgan in a little bit of Coke, (That's best at its intended proportions) and nursed that a while. Then I had some sparkling French lemonade, and as an afterthought dribbled in a tiny bit of Tanqueray. Then I had a big glass of water. Then I had just a bit of Johnny Walker Black Label, with ice, and I added more ice to extend it a bit. I sampled some Italian pinot grigio, which was soothing to my sore throat. And then I had the tiniest dribble of Jack Daniels in some Pepsi, for the caffeine. All in all it probably added up to three whole drinks, in over five hours, on top of a whole ton of food. I ate so much sushi I am almost ashamed to recollect it.
They had a refrigerator, and you could record messages on it. This utterly baffled me, until the Lady of the House explained that it was intended for like family messaging, the idea being that the light blinks so you know to listen to it, for things like "Don't forget to buy milk!" But mostly, their lovely three-year-old daughter likes to sing to it, and then play back her singing. Which Z summed up nicely: "Aww, there's nothing more touching than a young girl singing to her refrigerator." The Lady of the House laughed.
The young girl was not in attendance, to my disappointment-- she comes to the office all the time and is very well-behaved and adorable, Z admits (he's sort of against the office policy of Bring Your Infant To Work, Whenever, given the quantity of shrieking and pooping that goes on, usually within three feet of his desk, but he admits that babies are sometimes cute, but they are definitely not good coworkers), but last night she had a babysitter and a high fever. So, too bad. Poor thing.
At one point they had some antique cartoons playing on the flatscreen TV in the room with the fireplace, but they had the TV on mute, and instead had a Bob Dylan CD in the hi-fi. It was actually pretty intense-- during the song "Hurricane" (the one about the boxer framed for murder), the ancient Tom and Jerry (before they were animals, I guess they were dudes) cartoon was about some tuba player rockin' the neighborhood, and the shit was actually in time to the song playing, so it actually looked like this entire city of weird people were rocking out to Bob Dylan. Including this hula-ing weiner dog and this whole collection of scantily-clad flapper-era dancing girls.
"Blows my fucking mind," Z said. He'd had about five drinks by then, and was starting to get cuddly (by which I mean, pat me on the head occasionally). He then proceeded to inform people that various things were blowing his mind, and I estimated by the time we went to bed his mind had been blown easily a dozen times.
Oh, they also had a cat, a fat sleek tabby-sort named Dodger with six toes on each foot and the somewhat startling habit of ferociously attacking and biting your hand or arm or hair or whatever when he got too excited. We used to have a cat that did that when I was a kid, but he wouldn't go as nuts as this Dodger fellow-- I was sitting on the floor, sleeve pulled down over my hand, playing with him as I would with Ginger or Snick, who also do that sometimes-- get playful and like to bite-- but he was biting really hard, and then he got up and came over and leapt at my shoulder, which was kind of more intense than I'm used to my cats getting.
Still, I had fun. I put on a glove to protect my hand and of course he liked the smell of the glove so much all he wanted to do was rub himself on it, gently and lovingly. Bah. But when I took the glove off, it was all teeth and claws. C'est le chat.
All in all it was an entertaining evening. I really wish I could afford to write for them some more, but I just don't have the time. I'm trying to get Z to get them to find me a sweet-deal bartending gig at one of their advertisers' places, where I could make enough to get by in just a couple nights a week, so I could have a lot more time off to write. (I'd write for them! I just don't have the time. I'd write for them for free! I could use the credit on my C.V.) Z kinda has a lot of clout with them because he's the first really competent IT/webmaster/networking/server-maintenance/Internet whiz they've had, and he is extremely competent. But, he's not the Networking sort, in non-computer ways, so, he's not really helping me out, there.
_____________
* wife-sort: Saying "girlfriend" doesn't properly encompass the "long-term girlfriend", "babymomma", and "accountant" aspects of her role properly.
_____________
Work yesterday was just retarded. It's been really busy lately, but not good-busy. It's been cranky-busy. All these travelers, pissed off that their flights are delayed, are coming into the bar and taking it out on us. Like we have anything to do with the weather. It's astonishing-- I have always said, in the 12 months now that I've worked there, that it's so great being in the bar because delayed travelers never take it out on you, but I have been being proven wrong all fucking week. Honestly, what is people's problem? Thursday was sheer Hell, and to boot people left me shitty tips. Yesterday, which started off with me in a grouchy mood from the night before, went in much the same manner-- lots of snarky people, lots of impolite people, lots of cold-mannered people, nary a friendly face among them, and pretty much exactly 15% when all was said and done. Even my big tab of the day, a trio of Bills-game goers (it's a Sat. night game this week! Augh!) who were friendly and talkative and drank 16 Bud Lights among them, left me 15% to the penny.
And then my relief was late, and didn't feel like relieving me, so I basically stood by the door and as soon as I saw her, went trucking off down the hall with all my shit, because if I waited to talk to her, I would've bitten her smug little fucking head off. Fucker. It won't happen again-- but only because I've switched my shift so I'll never have relief again. I'm always the last server for the night. Bah.
I admit it. For the first time in over a year of being in this business, I deliberately coughed on someone's drink, because she was a fucking cunt, in a party of asshats, and although I was cheerful to them, I was proven right when they left me an ostentatious 0 on their $18 credit card slip. I actually laughed: I'd've felt guilty if they'd left me anything, because I hopefully gave the smug Shiraz-sipping whore a nasty cold.
Because, of course, I have a nasty cold. Which is just adding to the Joy in my Heart. My heart-- it is full of Joy. I am going to kill someone, today. I really ought to not be at work, feeling like that, but I think I'm butting up against the maximum number of call-ins per quarter (under the Awesome New System perpetrated by Moustache Lady), and don't dare. So there I'll be with my worse-than-not-there attitude... Great.
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no subject
Date: 2005-12-18 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-20 03:06 pm (UTC)