I was going to write about what cheap shit bastards live in Cody and think they are doing you a favour when they tip less than 5%. You know, the ones who leave $1.68 on a $30 ticket and tell the cashier to make sure the server gets it, as if the cashier is going to fill up her car and head for Vegas on the stolen tip. That is so…well…everyday.
So I thought about having a rant on the creep who left Jamie a note on a napkin reading, ‘If you’re not too young for me and interested call me’, but it’s just too obvious. The pervert didn’t own up to being O.L.D. and is already shifting blame onto Jamie for any relationship difficulities.
It crossed my mind to bitch about all the tables that came in today and decided it was ‘Buy One Salad Bar & Everybody Eats for Free’ Day, but this falls under the Cheap Shit Bastard category. You see, when people steal from the restaurant, it is the server’s job to charge them for it, which means the thievers don’t tip their server.
Instead I decided to entertain with a little story about what happened after I got home from work.
Maggie is terrified of going outside now that the electric fence is working. The fact that she doesn’t have a collar and has only been disciplined by the fence one time two weeks ago doesn’t stop her from shaking like a 70 pound Chihuahua every time I try to take her outside.
So tonight we were walk/dragging down the hall when her legs got tangled up in mine and I fell flat on my face. Only my boobs broke my fall and trust me, my A cups aren’t big enough to stop that much velocity.
To make matters worse, it freaked Maggie out so bad, she tried to bite me before she ran and hid under the desk. Now my wrist hurts, my back hurts, my knee hurts, my head hurts and my boobs hurt. My pride and dignity are fine since I don’t have those.
Lent F-word count:
You just don’t know how hard it is to work with the general public without saying that word.