…I’m not winning any.
Drizella is not the sharpest tool in the shed. One would think she would notice a correlation between bitching about Bagheera and how mean I am to her afterwards. One would be disappointed.
Tonight she came in the kitchen, heaved a gigantic sigh and yelled, “Why are there never any Goddamned hand towels here?”
Her mistakes, in order, are:
- Taking the Lord’s name in vain.
- Yelling at me.
- Bitching that Bagheera didn’t wash the hand towels because she was, oh I don’t know, trapped in the kitchen for 12 hours a day, three days straight.
I looked at the towel rack and there were about 100 dish cloths, but since we only have 2 or 3 hand towels, they were gone. I asked what was wrong with using a dish cloth to wipe your hands since that’s what all the kitchen folk use.
“I will need to use 5 or 6 of those to dry my hands. I don’t like them. I want hand towels.”
Out of curiosity I asked, “Why do you expect someone to provide the things you like? Only the bar people use hand towels, so why do you expect them to be washed for you? I don’t expect anyone to wash my aprons. I do it myself. I don’t expect the kitchen to be stocked with all the things I like; I buy the extras myself or I make do with what’s available.”
“I AM NOT going to buy hand towels and wash them for this job!”
“Then quit your bitching and be happy with the dish cloths.”
I stewed on her attitude for a while and I decided I didn’t like it. Not one little bit.
She brought in a few orders for fried food and hung the tickets like she’s supposed to until I was crazy busy. I wasn’t exactly busy, but I got several orders at once and realized the grill was off. Apparently, the fan blew the fire out and I didn’t notice until I put a hamburger on and it just sat there looking sad.
As I was scrambling to get the grill back on and willing it to heat up NOW! Drizella came in the kitchen and said, “I have an order and I want to read the ticket.”
“Just hang the ticket.”
“No! I want to read it.”
I turned and gave her the bitchface. She said, “I need a full Jack of ribs…”
She meant, “I need a full rack of Jack ribs” and even though I understood what she meant, it didn’t stop me from being a bitch. “See, this is why I don’t want you reading the tickets to me. By the time you stumble your 4th grade reading ability through them, I’ve lost interest. Just hang the ticket!”
“I want to read it to make sure I’ve got it right. It isn’t for you, it’s for me.”
“Then do it with your mouth closed and hang the ticket!”
I smirked my way through the rest of the night. I don’t always enjoy being a bitch, but sometimes it’s just too fun to resist. Complain about Bagheera some more and see what happens.
I have some extra hand towels at my house, I think I’m going to take them to her tomorrow.