Bail Money?

I am so furious right now I may not make it to the Grand Opening of my new blog because I’LL PROBABLY BE IN JAIL.

I'm guessing this is what it looks like.

I’m guessing this is what it looks like.

Way back in November, The Bar Hag and Foghorn Leghorn were living in a camper trailer and freezing to death. King Triton bought several cute little electric heaters for the bar and cafe, and after listening to The Bar Hag bitch and moan about all her infections and diseases, Bagheera caved in and LOANED one to her. A few days later Foghorn asked if he could buy the heater. Fine.  It is now mid February and no one has seen any money for the heater, nor has it been returned.

On Wednesday a woman who works at the other bar in town, The Graveyard, gave us a head’s up that The Bar Hag was threatening to turn us into the health inspector for having a dirty kitchen.

  1. OUR KITCHEN IS NOT DIRTY-Bagheera, Speedy and I work endlessly to keep the kitchen clean.  I am batshit crazy about safe food handling and clean work spaces.
  2. Our kitchen IS old-We need a new floor in the front half, but we have new counter tops, new floor mats, and a new floor in the back half of the kitchen.

The news pissed off Speedy, who took it upon herself to ask Foghorn to return the heater. 

Today we got a visit from the health inspector based on an anonymous tip that our kitchen is filthy.  We passed the inspection with no problems, but it still pisses me off to no end.  Foghorn Leghorn allowed his shitbag girlfriend to turn us in, and possibly get us shut down, over a heater that she felt she was entitled to keep.  If King Triton & Bagheera weren’t already planning to fire his ass on Saturday, they sure would be now.

And I know that little bastard was in on it because he walked into the kitchen tonight while Bagheera and I were talking about it, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised.  He hauled ass out of the kitchen when I yelled, “People who live in glass houses probably shouldn’t drive home from work drunk off their ass unless they want a DUI!”

I plan to make it my mission to not rest until both of them get picked up for drunk driving.  Two $750 fines, a night in jail for each of them, two $100 alcohol evaluations, and two $300 alcohol awareness classes is my goal.  The visit from the health inspector was free, but the retribution isn’t going to be.


In other news, I have received many emails and I thank you for all your kind words and support.  I will send out the new address on Monday. 


It’s Time

tumblr_memkx7AiQ21rkupzpo1_400I’ve hinted for several months that I’m unhappy with this blog. It started as a server’s blog, and I feel it has run its course since I’m no longer a server. I wait on the occasional table, but most of my time at work is spent hiding in the kitchen while the self created chaos of my co-workers threatens to slide my cheese off its cracker.

As I started to fall asleep last night, the name of the new blog whispered into my brain. I’ve been a busy little bee today setting up my new home, and soon you will all be invited in for the usual sass, snark, and tales of Crazy People You Never Want To Meet. Things will be a little different, but I’m hoping the change will be for the best.

I plan on having the Grand Opening on Monday February 25th. If you would like the new blog address, send an email to and I’ll send the address to you.

Mountains Out of Molehills

When I got to work today Bagheera told me we couldn’t use the back gate anymore.

Say what?

The back gate opens off the parking lot into a small enclosure and the back door of the kitchen. She was in NO mood to discuss it, but apparently P. Little is back in town and King Triton thinks he’s going to break into the bar, so we can’t use the back gate.  I think he does this stuff just to piss off Bagheera.

Who’s P. Little? He’s Davey’s less ambitious, more dumb brother.  How could he be less ambitious and more dumb?  By knocking up a fat chick and scamming the state out of welfare only to get caught.

I thought Bagheera meant we couldn’t use the back gate until it was fixed, so I gave it some thought tonight.  It drags in the gravel and currently is frozen closed in a couple of inches of ice.  The latch is a joke and has never worked.  I decided a SOBER person needs to take it off the hinges and cut two or three inches off the bottom and then put it back on the hinges.  (I have to step-by-step and state the obvious because I’m so used to working with drunks who do everything half assed.)  A proper latch is in order, too.

I mentioned this to King Triton as I was leaving work.  He said, “I’m going to have someone screw it shut.”

Uh…this is NOT okay:

  • We have to drag our trash through the bar. 
  • If there is a fire or an armed robbery (always a possibility in King Triton’s mind) we are trapped with only one exit from the kitchen. 
  • I have to go through the bar at night to start Frankenvan.  It’s bad enough that I have to wade through the drunks as I’m leaving, I certainly don’t want to do it three or four times a night. 
  • I’ve started exiting out the front door because I keep finding Brain Damaged Chris lurking in the parking lot, and I’d hate to make him more brain damaged.  If he sees me going out to start Frankenvan he gets a head start on the lurking.

I asked what was with the screwing.

“I’m scared to death P. Little is going to break in here.”

“The back door is triple locked and has a 2×4 brace.  He’s not getting in the back door.”

“He could come through the window.  He broke in here before.”

“Oh yeah, what did that get him?”

“I don’t know.  It happened before we bought it.”

“So…20 years ago P. Little broke in here and now you are going to inconvenience and endanger the kitchen staff on the possibility that he might haul his lazy ass off the couch and come down here in sub-zero weather to wedge himself through a tiny window and steal $50?”

He did have the decency to look a little ashamed about the whole thing. 

Why do some people have to create a problem where none exists?  It’s not as if P. Little is riding into town with his gang of Worthless Motherfuckers after 20 years of hard time, and he’s heading straight for the Cowboy to rob the place Butch Cassidy style.  The lazy bastard has been taking up space on his mom’s couch, not 3 blocks away from the bar, for the last 10 years that I know of.

I swear, one of these days I’m going to start drinking Pine-Sol straight from the bottle.

The Jig is Up

K from the Lip Locking Grandma post told Foghorn Leghorn that everyone knows he has a Vienna sausage.


I was so waiting to throw that at him the next time he pissed me off.

She stole my thunder.

Kindergarten Duty

“Holy crap. I feel like a kindergarten teacher who has to watch the two of you constantly to keep you from eating paste.” How did I come to utter this sentence to Bagheera? Read on.

Right before Christmas Speedy brought in some hot chocolate mix someone had gifted to her. Several customers raved about how good it was and when we ran out, Bagheera asked if I could make more. I bought the ingredients in Cody on a Thursday, and before Sunday, the day I usually make things, Speedy took it upon herself to make the mix. Bagheera said it tasted “funny”.

“Did she follow the recipe?”

“No, she just dumped the different ingredients in a bowl.”

“Why do you let her do that?”

“You think I can stop her?!”

So I put some in a cup, added hot water and took a sip.


Later I learned Speedy used an entire can (a full cup) of 100% pure cocoa power with a cup of powered milk to make the mix. Oh, she also didn’t add any sugar. Why? Because she thought the cocoa was Nestle chocolate milk mix.

For those of you non-happy-homemakers out there the recipe calls for:

10 cups of powered milk
4 3/4 cups powered sugar
1 3/4 cups cocoa
1 3/4 cups powered creamer.

I planned to cut the recipe in half and have enough hot chocolate mix to last us a year. Instead, I’m still futzing around with the mess she made in order to make it useable.

We make Ranch dressing by the gallon. Since our customers (read King Triton) like it thick we usually add more mayonnaise so we end up with about a gallon and a pint from a batch. Today I noticed the small dispenser of Ranch was nearly empty (another post) and went to the back of the kitchen to fill it.

I pulled out the big dispenser and there was less than half a gallon in it. Confused, I asked Speedy, “I thought you made Ranch today.”

“I did.”

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“We like it thick.”

“Okay, but typically a packet of the power makes a gallon of dressing. Where’s the rest of it?”

“Bagheera didn’t have enough mayonnaise so I didn’t use any buttermilk. We like it thick.”

“Yes, but it’s green. Did you use the full packet of mix?”


“If you were only going to make half a batch, you should have only used half a packet of mix.”

“Why are you being so mean? We were busy.”

“No! You said you weren’t busy all day. How much mayonnaise did you use?”

“A little less than eight cups.”

“How much buttermilk did you use.”

“None. Bagheera didn’t have enough mayonnaise.”

“So you made Ranch out of mayonnaise and nothing else?”

“Why are you being so mean? At least we made it.”

For those of you who don’t make restaurant size amounts of Ranch, it’s 8 cups of mayonnaise and 8 cups of buttermilk. More mayonnaise for thicker dressing, more buttermilk for thinner dressing. That shit is so green it looks like Green Goddess dressing. Yeah, you made it, but I get to re-make it on Sunday and futz with it so it doesn’t taste like a cup of salty mayonnaise. If you can’t do it right, don’t do it at all.

A few days ago we decided we were going to have a fish & chips special with Cole slaw. I took the time to look up a recipe and buy the ingredients on my trip to Cody. I told Bagheera I would make the slaw on Sunday and we could start the special then. When I got to work tonight Speedy told my she made half the Cole slaw from her own special recipe. I hadn’t found the Ranch dressing yet, and I forgot about the hot chocolate fiasco, so told her if she had a special recipe to go ahead and make it all. Imagine my surprise when, while I was having a small cow over the Ranch dressing, I found an open can of evaporated milk in the cooler.

“What’s this?”

“Speedy used it to make the Cole slaw.”

“What?! You don’t put milk in Cole slaw.”

“Speedy did. It’s really good.”

For those of you unfamiliar with Cole slaw, the sauce contains mayonnaise, vegetable oil, white vinegar, salt, and sugar. No milk, evaporated or otherwise.

I got a fork and scooped some out of the bowl. “What the fuck?! Mayonnaise and evaporated milk? What the hell Bagheera? This tastes like ass. She didn’t put any sugar in it.”

“You said there wasn’t any sugar in Cole slaw.”

“No, I said there wasn’t any sugar in Tartar sauce. Holy crap. I feel like a kindergarten teacher who has to watch the two of you constantly to keep you from eating paste.”

Bagheera left alone in the kitchen is fine. She doesn’t attempt to make anything unless she has been properly trained and she never, ever varies from the exact recipe.  Speedy starts making stuff, forgets half the ingredients, substitutes weird shit, and decides it’s fit to eat. That’s fine when people are coming to your house for dinner. It’s not so fine when people are paying for a meal. Restaurant food should be consistent…consistently bad, or consistently good, just as long as people know what to expect when they order.


The Bar Hag got fired today. She created so much chaos and hard feelings this week, it was impossible NOT to fire her. And it’s only Thursday.

  • Monday–The Bar Hag, Foghorn Leghorn and Eeyore spent the day getting drunk and shit talking me for so many hours that King Triton got mad and wrote a hateful letter to all the employees.  Out of 8 items on the letter, four were directed at me.  If he had taken the time to actually sit down and talk to me, he would have learned that they were just gang banging me in the hopes I would get fired.  Sadly, he knows this, but he didn’t use his Better Judgement.
  • Tuesday–I told everyone they could eat shit.  King Triton said, “Everybody got a letter.”  I said, “If you’re going to treat me like “Everybody”, I’m going to act like “Everybody”.”  I am NOT doing dinner specials anymore, we will have menu items only.  I am NOT cleaning the men’s room.  I’ll clean the ladies’ room since I use it, but the bartenders can clean the men’s room from now on.  Or not.  I really don’t care.  I’m also NOT mopping the bar.  If the on shift bartender has time to bend me over, she has time to push a mop. 
  • Wednesday–The Bar Hag and Foghorn Leghorn got into a HUGE drunken fight at around 3 in the afternoon at the bar.  (He was scheduled to work at 5 and he was shitfaced at 3.  One of the items on the hateful letter was, “If you come to work tipsy I will fire you for cause and I will fight your unemployment.”  Yeah, right.)  Eeyore threw them out of the bar and told them if they wanted to make a scene, they could have a public scene.  And did they ever.  My dad said he was at the post office (around the corner and down the block) and heard people yelling at each other.  When he drove by, The Bar Hag was yelling at and hitting Foghorn Leghorn.  So Foghorn was befuddled AND forlorn at work.  I didn’t feel one bit sorry for him.  In fact, until I was aware of the fight and subsequent break up, I planned to share the Vienna sausage story with him.  Hey, I play rough.images

What’s the Vienna sausage story, you ask?  Well, the day after The Bar Hag and Foghorn slept together, she told everyone in the bar that he had a little Vienna sausage.  Hawk’s girlfriend Kelly sent her a picture of Hawk’s junk with a caption that read, “See what you’re missing”.  Foghorn saw it and jumped to the conclusion that Hawk was trying to bed or had already bedded The Bar Hag.  The fight was on between Foghorn and Hawk, and it still is, which suited The Bar Hag.  If the two men were fighting, they wouldn’t discuss how and why the picture was really sent.  She went one step further and said Hawk’s girlfriend was a closet lesbian and tried to rape her.  Foghorn decided he hated both Hawk and his girlfriend, and The Bar Hag’s secret was safe.

If they hadn’t split up on Wednesday, I planned to enlighten him.  Someday I still might.

Take Responsibility for Your Actions

I don’t know why drunks and drug addicts absolutely, positively cannot take responsibility for their actions. When they get fired/thrown in jail/divorced/you name it, it is always someone else’s fault. When I was at the Harribalsac my slackassed co-workers were always busy passing the buck. Nothing was ever their fault. If they spent half as much time working as they did blaming someone else for their woes, the restaurant would have been spotless, the food would have been excellent, and customers would have received great service. But we all know that wasn’t the case.

This is chronic in the food and beverage industry, mostly because so many employees are drain circling drunks and drug addicts who have found they can earn a living by doing as little as possible while other people pick up their slack. Sadly, I’ve found employers tend to like the lost causes and will give them chance after chance in the hope of redeeming them so they can feel good about their own lives. I have no such redemption delusions. “Work hard or get out” is one of my mottoes. And for the love of all that is holy, I don’t want to hear any whining.

Foghorn Leghorn’s girlfriend, The Bar Hag, and I had a major falling out New Year’s Eve. Mind you, I’ve been patient with her because she has an 8th grade education and mentally she’s still 14 years old. She’s into gross public displays of affection, high drama, and the Chicken Little kind of crap most of us got over by the time we hit high school. When she gets drunk she laughs like the Joker and I’ve spent hours listening to this seep into the kitchen until it has invaded my sleep, and I fear the only way I can get rid of it is to smash my head into a wall. Repeatedly.

The Bar Hag’s Joker Laugh

I’ve listened to her whine about her bladder infections, her yeast infections, her pulled muscles, all of which has prompted me to tell Bagheera that The Bar Hag needs to stop having nasty butt sex with Foghorn Leghorn. I’ve heard every excuse under the sun why she needs to sit for half her shift, and why it’s simply impossible for her to actually DO anything, yet when she gets off shift and starts pounding beers and shots she is miraculously cured and can dance and play pool like nobody’s business. I’ve put up with this and kept my mouth shut for months because we are short handed and I certainly don’t want to work in the bar.

Until NYE.

When I got to work at 5 The Bar Hag was already in a lather. She and Foghorn were fighting and he refused to work with her. Instead of working his scheduled shift, he opted to get completely shit faced drunk.

He should have been fired.

I felt bad for The Bar Hag because she really kind of sucks as a bartender so I offered to stay and help her when I closed the kitchen at 9:00. Bagheera offered to help her if we weren’t busy in the kitchen until I closed. The Bar Hag was having none of it. She wanted Foghorn behind the bar so she could fight and have the drama she feeds on. She wanted to be able to go up and down the bar whining to the customers about how horrible life is because she and her one true love are fighting and she’s just miserable. Or some such shit.

After I closed the kitchen I went to the bar and hung out with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time and an interesting man named Cactus (actual name, not a nickname). I offered to wash dishes for The Bar Hag because she was truly overwhelmed, and Foghorn was falling down drunk in the pool room.

Then came the countdown. King Triton went back to play Auld Lang Syne on the the jukebox and I noticed Doc go behind the bar. Doc drank himself into a coma this summer and nearly died. We are all on strict orders not to let him drink under any circumstances. I watched The Bar Hag laugh with him while he poured himself a shot and he told her not to pay attention to what he was doing. I heard her say, “Hey, you’re a grown man. If you want to drink, you can drink.” I watched him take the shot and her throw her arms in the air in the victory sign like his life is some sort of game. I remembered watching King Triton and Bagheera cry because they thought their son was going to die.  I saw red.  When she made her way down to my end of the bar I said, “That right there is going to get you fired, and just so you know, I’ll be the one who tells on you.”

Suddenly, Foghorn was in my face, screaming and drunkenly trying to argue with me. King Triton wanted to know why we were fighting, so I told him, which I had planned on doing the next day when things were more rational, but hey, you want to send your boyfriend to fight your battles? Game on.

King Triton told The Bar Hag not to let Doc behind the bar and not to serve him. End of story. Or it should have been. Instead The Bar Hag went up and down the bar, literally crying to people about what a mean girl I am and how I’m going to get her fired and on and on and on. She started pounding shots, which always makes things better. I left before 1 am so I don’t know what else went on, but apparently she had been letting people run tabs all night and when they left, 90% walked out without paying. Also, based on the inventory, she hadn’t charged for more than half the drinks she served. Based on the register tape, she was charging people 25 cents for beer rather than $2.50. It was unclear whether the money wasn’t collected or if it went in her pocket.

She and Foghorn were both reprimanded and she was put on 90 days probation. She was limited to only 2 drinks after work, because King Triton was tired of seeing her be “sloppy drunk with the customers.” The ways to get off probation were:

  • No financial mistakes
  • Act as if you want your job
  • Stop showing up for work drunk and/or hungover
  • Work like you mean it

Since the beginning of her probation she and Foghorn have spent a inordinate amount of time passing the buck.  First the NYE fiasco was King Triton’s fault…no wait, it’s Glory’s fault…no it’s Tinkerbell’s fault…I’m sure it was Glory’s fault.  Not once have either of them said, “You know what, I think we fucked up.”  Their stories about that night have changed more frequently than I’ve changed my underwear in the last month, but one thing is consistent:  it isn’t their fault.

She continues to charge people 25 cents for beer and $1.25 for mixed drinks.  Apparently, she really is stuck back in 1979.  The register is constantly a mess, and typically when that happens, money is going in someone’s pocket.

She and Foghorn have also spent a lot of time fighting the 2 drink rule.  It isn’t fair.  Glory can drink as much as she wants, why can’t The Bar Hag.  Well, Glory drinks possibly 1 beer every few weeks.  There is no reason to limit my drinking, I limit myself.

When The Bar Hag and Foghorn aren’t passing the buck or whining about drinking limits, they spend their time spying on me in the kitchen, trying to get me in trouble.  I find this very amusing because my IQ is greater than their combined IQ, and they end up looking like a couple of dumbass douchebags.  Their latest thing is tattling about what I eat.  We are allowed one shift meal and I respect that.  No place I’ve ever worked has had an issue with me taking advantage of the food policy.  Foghorn ratted me out because I had both Shepherd’s Pie AND a turkey sandwich…except to his embarrassment Shepherd’s Pie contains beef, and what is the one thing I don’t eat, haven’t eaten in more than 20 years because it make me sick?  Beef.  The turkey sandwich was a turkey burger that I brought from home on a bun from the café with fruit and yogurt from home.  My shift meal cost less than a dollar.

That’s right, you lose.  Thanks for playing, better luck next time.

The Bar Hag also started telling customers that I have a bad attitude (well, duh), that I “got a talking to” and King Triton and Bagheera are ready to fire me.  Of course, those customers came straight to me all bewildered and dumbfounded that my job would be in jeopardy since I actually work.  Other than the bad attitude, the whole thing was The Bar Hag’s wishful thinking.  My job is absolutely not in jeopardy.  Foghorn and The Bar Hag didn’t like it when she got yet another reprimand for talking shit on me to customers.  Our business is our business, and people don’t come in to hear the employees bicker and whine.

The final straw with The Bar Hag is she thinks she can sit on her ass and play on her computer on Sundays while Bagheera and I are scrubbing the kitchen, dining room, restrooms, and I’m stuck mopping the bar floor. 

Oh hell no.

I make slightly more per hour than she does, but there is NO FUCKING WAY I’m going to be on my hands and knees scrubbing while she is free to sit on her ass.  I told Bagheera she might be content to pay The Bar Hag to sit while she works like a dog, but that doesn’t fly with me.  If I have to work, so does everyone else.  The first Sunday I busted The Bar Hag, she gave Bagheera 17 different excuses why it was necessary for her to be on her computer.  When Bagheera told her to pack it up and get to work, The Bar Hag spent the rest of the afternoon playing pool with Foghorn.  The second Sunday was the same deal.

Apparently, there won’t be a third Sunday because The Bar Hag got her hours reduced to Tuesday nights, which she will spend with me.  I don’t see her sticking around for long.

Of course, this is all MY fault.  Yes, once again I’m the Mean Girl, capable of getting good, reliable, hard working employees fired with just a glance and the right word.  If I wasn’t such a brown-noser, The Bar Hag would still have all her hours and I would be the one looking for a job, because you know, I don’t do anything while I’m in the kitchen.  (eye roll) 

I’m comfortable in my position as the Mean Girl.  I’m not there to make friends.  I’m there to make money. 

So now Foghorn is sour and rude to everyone, The Bar Hag is probably planning to vandalize Frankenvan, and everyone is on eggshells.  This brings up another of my mottoes:  “If one if us is going to be pissed, it may as well be you.”

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