Must Be A Very Artsy Play

, , , , | Working | July 26, 2018

(I work in a theater. Before the show, a bunch of us are in the production office. One of the administrators comes by. They’re doing readings of plays in the theatre this week.)

Assistant Stage Manager: “What play are they reading tonight?”

Administrator:Discharge.

(Everyone looks uncomfortable.)

Me: *jacked up on coffee* “That’s… unpleasant.”

Administrator: “Oh! No, it’s about military discharge.”

Coworker #1: “Oh! Yeah, that’s where my mind went, too.”

Coworker #2: “Same.”

Coworker #3: *nods*

Administrator: “I can see why you would think that, now that I think about it. I just have more context than you guys do.”

That Was A Mis-Steak

, , , , , | Working | July 24, 2018

(I’m a host just watching this happen in the kitchen of the steakhouse where I work.)

Server: “Hey, [Manager], this guy says his steak is undercooked.”

(We usually just throw the steak back on the grill until it reaches the appropriate temperature. The server brings the steak to the line where my manager is, and then uses tongs to pick up the steak, but it falls into the trash-can, since she didn’t have a good grip on it. The server yells at the cooks to cook up a new one.)

Manager: “No!” *picks up the steak from the trash and throws it on the grill* “He won’t even know the difference.”

(Yeah, they sent the steak back out, and the guy ate it. I realized my employee discount wasn’t worth it anymore.)

Taking Out The Best Employees With The Trash

, , , , , , , | Working | July 23, 2018

Recently, our store’s trash compactor broke down. For the time being, management just had our clerks put the trash bags out in the rear lot on pallets next to the compactor until they could bring a dumpster in. This was all store trash, including things like scraps from our meat shop, sitting outside for two or three days in 90-degree heat.

Once they brought a dumpster in, they assigned two of the clerks to take all those trash bags and throw them into it to be taken away. One unlucky clerk went to throw a bag of meat shop trash in, and had it burst in his hands, splashing him from head to toe with rancid, raw meat and drippings.

That’s gross and unfortunate, but it got stupid when he asked to go home and change, and was told by the store manager to stay and finish his shift. The guy lived just down the road, probably would have been back within 20 minutes, and even offered to work past his shift to make up the lost time. But instead, they kept him working in those filthy clothes for another three hours. And he was told to do nothing but lot duty — something clerks are only supposed to do in half-hour increments in hot weather — the entire time so the smell wouldn’t offend customers.

He’s been one of our best and most reliable clerks — it says something that he followed orders there — but he put in his two weeks after that.

Pigs Can Fly, But They Can’t See Windows

, , , , , , | Right | July 10, 2018

In my former employer’s hotel, the front desk was built so that one couldn’t see the front door — which was glass — while seated.

One summer night, while the wait-staff in the restaurant were still counting their tips, I heard a “thump” against the door. I decided I ought to go check it out, and was puzzled to find nobody at the door. I stepped outside, and there wasn’t a soul in sight to any direction. I turned to go back inside, and noticed something just in my peripheral vision on the ground. Looking down, I discovered a piece of cooked pork roast, about two to three inches thick and six or seven inches across, and an accompanying greasy splat almost dead-center on the glass of the door.

Left to ponder this mystery while cleaning the door, I came to the conclusion that someone both highly accurate with thrown projectiles and highly dissatisfied with their meal had discarded the hunk of pork from a moving vehicle.

When I told this story to my friends later, we christened the incident, “The Drive-By Porking.”

You’re An Ool To Trust Them

, , , , , , | Related | July 9, 2018

(Before I get in our new pool with our grandsons, I decide to explain a very important rule by telling a very old, very corny joke.)

Me: “Boys, welcome to our ‘ool.’”

(They both looked puzzled.)

Me: “I can see that you’re wondering why I called it our ‘ool.’ It’s because there is no P in it, and we want to keep it that way.”

(They burst out laughing. Two days later, their mom brings them to swim again. She and I are talking when the older boy yells:)

Grandson: “Uh-oh, Grandma! Now it’s a pool!”

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