We Hire the Handicapped

Recently my boss made a decision to hire handicapped workers for the back of the house and cautioned the rest of us that we would have to stop asking each other, “Are you retarded?”

This is a problem because if I know you are developmentally disabled, I will have nothing but patience and kindness for you. However, if you continually brag that you are the smartest person in your family then proceed to do the most retarded shit imaginable, I will lose all patience and scream at you.

For example: On Saturday night one of the hostesses seated 13 people at an 8 top. I don’t know where she thought the other 5 people were going to sit, but I guess since they were children and would probably be eating the urnal cake before the night was over, she didn’t care. When I told her there were 13 people in the group she gave me her standard response: “I know.” This made me ask my standard question: “Then why did you seat them at an 8 top? Are you retarded?”

The same hostess is also a cashier. On Friday night a single man carefully figured a 15% tip on his credit card and left the slip at the table. The amount of the tip was $2.26. Later, when I went through my credit card tips, I didn’t find one for $2.26. I went through the credit card slips, thinking maybe I mis-read the amount, and found the tip for $2.26. So I said, “That single guy tipped me $2.26” and I got the standard response: “I know.” This prompted my standard question: “Then why isn’t it in my credit card tips? Are you retarded?”

Sunday night I came in to work early and when I started to enter my first ticket at ten minutes after, the computer told me I needed to clock in. (It didn’t ask if I was retarded.) The cashier/hostess asked if I wanted her to change my clock-in so it didn’t look like I was late for work. The next thing I know she’s at the front register and it’s beeping uncontrollably and her hair is flying around her head and there are people at the door waiting to be seated and I can smell the desperation dripping off her. It was then I realized she was neither qualified nor authorized to change my time card. As I was getting menus for the people at the door, I whispered to her, “You’re fucked now.” She had to get the night manager to exit her out of the time clock and I overheard him ask, “Why were you messing with the timeclock? Are you retarded?”

Hey, he stole my line.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. darcknyt
    Jun 09, 2009 @ 03:10:47

    Oh man. Just … oh man.

    Reply

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