Living The Dream

December 20, 2010 at 10:56 PM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
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My one consolation is that he’s lost more on the value of his house than mine is worth.  Serves him right.

Whitmore Country Club.  Really?  Country club?  It’s just a high-priced subdivision with an intrusive and poorly designed golf course built in and around it:
“The third tee is a stunning par five with a dogleg across the pool and through the common area, and some of the hazards are the parking lot and the over-privileged teens.”
And don’t get me started about how special they are that there is a gated entrance that you can’t get through because they won’t give you a code.  Because of this, you have to drive–and I’m not kidding here–about 4 miles out of your way to go in through the back entrance.
It especially pisses me off when where I need to go is by the front, but I still have to go in through the back, and then go back the same way and come out the back as well, because you can’t even exit the gated area without a code and they won’t give you one, so you can go as much as 6 miles extra, out of the way, for a two dollar tip.
Yeah, two bucks.  These assholes in their 658k dollar (and falling) houses will order 40 dollars worth of food and have the trophy wife come to the door with a two dollar tip.  Two bucks is five percent, by the way.  Tips are the reason I’m good at math, and bad tips are the reason I bought the Anarchist’s Cookbook.    And since the economy is so bad, trophy wives aren’t as hot as they used to be.
Twenty years ago, two bucks was a good tip.  Twenty years ago, for two bucks I’d fondle your balls.  Maybe it’s the same today but the grip is slightly different.

I wrote that piece a while back, intending to go back and finish it.  I’m sure it was the start of a rant about some wonderful night I was having, but I don’t remember the specifics now.  They all seem to run together.  Like Sauce through the hourglass, so goes the slice of our pie…
I did think, though, that as much as I have seen and heard and done and had done to me, I thought I might be more jaded than I am about the people.  And not the customers.  The marks–the marks are all the same.  I’m talking about the people I work with.
Since I’ve been trying to remember the past and write it down to fill in the holes I need to fill for this book, I’m in the state of mind where people from the past come up in my memory.  I wasn’t going to get into specifics here–but man, have I worked with a ton of people.  I don’t think I’ve fired as many as I thought I had–but I have “encouraged” many to quit.  I have hired over a hundred, I’m sure.  And I’ve worked with thousands, because there is so much turn over in the food industry, people can come and go before you realize they are gone.
And because I’ve worked with so many, I thought that I would be…I dunno–bored with people, maybe?  But there is so much of an infinite variety of personalities, that even if I see something in someone that I may have seen before, it’s interesting to see it play out differently.
The job is the same, always.  Take a pizza.  Give it to someone, take their money.  Come back.  Repeat.  Clean.  Do prep.  The last 25 years have been a blur of that entire short list.
But the people make the difference.

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