Lip Locking Grandma

Back story: Drizilla quit working because she was pregnant. The rampant speculation is that the Baby Daddy isn’t her husband, but Johnny Bravo, the best friend who filled the gap because her husband shoots blanks. Sadly, Drizilla quit working, but she didn’t quit chain smoking or drinking while she was pregnant, so when the baby was born last week she weighed under 6 pounds. /back story

Last night as I left work, one of the family members, I’ll call her K for now, said she had to walk to the motel and get Drizilla’s mom’s phone. I offered to give her a ride. She said she was very annoyed with the whole “babysit grandma” adventure because grandma kept trying to kiss her on the lips. “WTF?! My own kids don’t kiss me on the lips.”

She found the phone in the room by calling it, then she quickly locked the door and got back in the van. The conversation turned from Lip Locking Grandma to the parentage of the new baby. This went on for a full 3 minutes until we got back to the bar and parked. As we were getting out, we heard a beep. She looked at the phone and uttered a horrifying sentence:

“OH MY GOD! That all went to voice mail!”

I had plausible deniability. She did not.

Thankfully, Lip Locking Grandma is one of the tech-inept because she didn’t have a pass code set up to access her voice mail. We listened to the message and alternately howled with laughter while counting our blessings. Every now and then it is nice to stumble upon a dummy.

After that scare, I decided to go back in the bar and have a drink. K went to the restroom and I checked in on the Words with Friends game I’m playing with my daughter. I was sitting in the corner, minding my own business (while smelling that a lot of people in the bar need a good scrubbing-the sense of smell is killing me) when suddenly there was a huge ass in my face, all bent over and heading towards my lap.

WTF?! I am NOT a toucher/hugger/mauler, and oh hell no if someone thinks they are going to put their dirty ass on me. I stood up and politely asked Lip Locking Grandma to not sit on me. I mean, holy shit. There wasn’t a shortage of chairs, and I don’t know this woman at all.

That wasn’t good enough. She backed me up against the bar, hugging me while puckering up to kiss me on the lips. I wigged out and she went away mad.

What is wrong with people? When someone politely asks a person to respect their space, why must some people persist and get even more aggressive in their need to paw? I view it as extremely hostile, bordering on rape. It always seems to be women who do this to me. They just aren’t happy until I lose my shit, and then they are all hurt and I’m the mean girl.

I swear the next bitch who does this is in for a surprise. I’m going to dry hump her to the floor and ride her like a saddle bronc. I’m betting everyone will get the point after that.

Disgustingly Hilarious

Cartman (see Cast of Characters) used to work for the town, but quit/got fired for sleeping at work and being all around lazy.  He now works at the Cowboy and, surprisingly, ranks 4th (out of 5) on the Lazy Bartender Scale.  Yes, there are 3 bartenders even more lazy than he is.

Foghorn Leghorn and his drunk girlfriend were living in a camper trailer until it got sub-zero (and they got kicked to the curb by the friend they were freeloading off).  Since they both spend more than they make on booze and cigarettes, they can’t afford to rent a house/apartment on their own.

Cartman to the rescue.

He offered his extra bedroom to Foghorn Leghorn and his drunk girlfriend, and they moved in right before Christmas.  Very soon she decided the kitchen needed a good cleaning (I’ve heard he has as much dog shit in his house as I do in my yard).  Apparently it was so bad  she had to step into the bathroom to gag and when she came out she found Cartman peeing in the kitchen sink.

That right there is some funny shit.  I know I’m going to hell, but every time I think of it I can’t stop laughing.

The Worst Story in the History of Stories

During Labor Day weekend, before things got really busy, a woman, 60ish, rushed in the café and asked if she could use the restroom.  Bagheera and I were at the counter rolling silverware when she rushed back out and snarled that we were out of paper towels.  She grabbed a handful of napkins out of the dispenser on the table and went back in the restroom.

Bagheera went to get paper towels while I continued to roll silverware.  I saw Bagheera walk down the hallway, knock on the door, and go in for about a minute.  Then she came hauling ass out of the hallway into the dining room, carrying a trash bag.  She hauled ass past me and said, “Please put a new trash bag in the bathroom.  I have to go home.”  Then the restroom woman stormed out of the café.

I stood there and wondered WTF?!  It was morning during Labor Day weekend, the busiest weekend of the year in Meeteetse, ravening hordes of people would be busting the door down, and WTF?!  I’m ALONE?!  What the fucking fuck?!

A few minutes later Bagheera’s oldest son showed up to help me and he told me why his mom came home puking and was now laying down with a cold towel on her face.  When she went in the restroom to stock the paper towels she dropped the keys in the trash.  Since she had just cleaned the restrooms and emptied the trash she stuck her hand in the little swinging door on the top of the trash can and right into a Depends full of warm runny shit.  The worst part was the woman who dropped the Depends in the trash stood right behind Bagheera and let her stick her hand in it. 

Things would have turned out differently if I had been in Bagheera’s shoes.

It was hours before I saw Bagheera again and she was green for the rest of the day.  There was also some random gagging.

I took over restroom duties not long after that and at first I asked myself:  Who does this shit?  I kept finding gum in the urinal…until I loudly mentioned to, well, everyone in the bar, that the person who fishes the gum out of the urinal is the same person who patties their hamburgers.  Now I find a lot less of a mess.  I seldom find tobacco on the walls or paper towels on the floor, because everyone knows they will get an ass chewing.   

Fear is an excellent motivator.

Wasting Time

I don’t know what it is about the Outlaw, but some people think I have nothing but time on my hands.  Granted, the cafe is small and there may be only one or two tables of customers at a time, but what customers don’t see are the half a dozen tickets from the bar side.  I seldom have time to slap my ass with both hands let alone play games with people.

One night Bagheera was busy making pizza dough and I was cooking for/waiting on a couple of tables when two older women came in.  I gave them menus and asked if they wanted anything to drink.  They didn’t.  I went to the kitchen for about 5 minutes and went back out to take their order.  They hadn’t even looked at the menu.  I went to the kitchen for 5 more minutes.  When I returned to their table they still hadn’t decided, but wanted me to describe half of the menu.  I went back to the kitchen for another 5 minutes and received four or five more tickets from the bar.  Before I started the bar orders I went back to the women, hoping to get their order.  They laughed, said they still hadn’t decided, but if I would bring them Cokes they would be ready when I got back.  I wanted to beat them senseless with the menus.  What is going to change in the minute it takes me to grab Cokes?  I gave them 15 minutes to think about their Cokes before I went back.  They ordered two cheeseburgers.  Fucking hags.  I wasn’t sitting on my ass in the kitchen, I was juggling food in between playing their stupid game of wasting my time. 

I am very passive/aggressive.  You want to waste my time, I’ll waste yours.

Another night we were overwhelmed with pizza orders.  Bagheera was trapped at the pizza station so I went out to wait on a large table.  They ordered 3 pizzas and when I asked if they wanted anything else, one guy said, “Go put that order in, and come back.  I’ll tell you then if I want a salad or not.”  Seriously?  Fuck you.  You know NOW whether or not you want a salad, you are just playing games.  I did what he said.  I prepped his 3 pizzas (5 minutes each) then went back to see if he wanted a salad.  He was all out of joint because I didn’t come back immediately.  I explained that I did exactly as he said, I put the order in and came back, bad on him for assuming I was the waitress with time to waste instead of the cook.

Don’t play games.

Saturday night I was busy as hell on the bar side, but dead on the cafe side.  On those nights I let Bagheera go home since there isn’t much she can do for me.  Suddenly though, two tables walked in the cafe at the same time Foghorn Leghorn brought me a handful of tickets from the bar.  I got the order for the first table and went to see if the second table was ready to order.  “No!” one of the women snapped at me.  They were passing cell phones around looking at pictures and videos.  Her husband suggested I come back.  I smiled and said, “I have six orders from the bar so I’m going to go start them.  I’ll be back when I reach a stopping point…I’m guessing 10 to 15 minutes.  Okay?”  Holy shit.  They were certainly ready to order.  Again, fuck you.  If you want to have home movie night, do it AFTER you order.  You aren’t just wasting MY time, you are wasting EVERYONE’S time.

And I guess that’s why it pisses me off so much.  I’m paid to be there.  I’m paid to wait on/cook for people.  However, when one table holds me up there’s a cascade effect and everyone suffers.  I view it as inconsideration beyond belief.  The more time I spend playing games with one table, the longer it is for another table to get their food.  Order your damned food so everyone can eat.   

Bastards.

Doing Things My Way

How things work at the Cowboy/Outlaw:

  • I cook, Bagheera waits tables in the cafe, I get the tips as part of my wage.
  • The bartenders service their own tables, they get the tips.  The kitchen does their dishes, rolls their silverware.
  • If there is a large table in the bar or any table the bartender is too busy to wait on, Bagheera or I wait on it, the bartender gets the drinks, we split the tip.  The kitchen does the dishes and rolls the silverware.
  • The kitchen is responsible for all cleaning, which includes the kitchen, cafe, bathrooms and mopping the bar.

Where this goes wrong:

  • The bartenders are a bunch of lazy fucking communists.  Why work when someone else will do it and you’ll still get paid the same amount?
  • The bartenders are greedy fuckers.
  • The bulk of the work load falls on the kitchen.  There are times I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing some mess while the bartenders are sitting on their asses, watching TV. 

Where this has gone wrong recently:

  • A group of 15 people came in for dinner. 
  • I took their order, cooked their food, Bagheera delivered their food, the bartender (the one who can’t spell ‘potato’) delivered about $30 worth of drinks. 
  • Bagheera & I cleaned the tables, did the dishes, rolled the silverware.
  • The bartender couldn’t figure 20% for the auto-grat and ended up shorting the tip by $10.  
  • Bagheera and I did the bulk of the work, yet I had to split the tip with the bartender, who shorted the auto-grat and screwed me out of $5.  
  • I pointed out that when I worked at The Harribalsac we split the tip based on sales, so the person doing the most work got the most money.  It encouraged people to actually, you know, work.

How I plan to fix this:

  • Tonight a group of 9 men came in for dinner. 
  • Bagheera took their order, I cooked their steaks, I refilled their drinks (twice), I cleaned their tables. 
  • When it came time to figure the ticket, I did the auto-grat.  I gave Foghorn Leghorn 20% of his sales…$5.  He was shocked and dumbfounded because it was a $50 tip.

I would have split the tip evenly, but he tried to give the table to his girlfriend (who was off shift and drinking) so the tip would stay with them.  That isn’t the way things work and he knows it.  The bartenders had a huge kerfluffle about a month ago when the dumbass who can’t spell came in off the clock, waited on a table and took the tip.  Everyone thought she should be fired for taking money from Foghorn Leghorn’s girlfriend.  Since he’s a greedy fucker it’s okay to do the same thing to me though.

They should know better than to try that shit with me.

Plus, I’m still a little pissed about the buffalo T-bone incident.  About a month ago a guy in the bar ordered a buffalo T-bone and a soda.  He ate the steak, drank the soda, and said it was the best steak he’d ever had.  Foghorn Leghorn’s girlfriend came into the kitchen and said, “That guy was so impressed with the steak he tipped Foghorn Leghorn and I $40.  Good job!”  Bagheera and I looked at each other in shock.  Whenever someone tipped me very well because of the cook, I ALWAYS split the tip with my cook.  She never even offered a dime.  I was dumbfounded.  Since then, any time I split a tip with her, she gets 30% instead of 50%.

I am not greedy.  I don’t need to make all the money in the world.  I’m all about letting my coworkers make money.  However, if they want to play the greedy game, I’m more than willing to play it with them.  They are either going to start working and being a little more thankful for the work the kitchen does, or they are going to spend a lot of time wondering why they aren’t making any money.

It’s a Beautiful Day

Why is it a beautiful day, you ask?  Because my shit heel, inbred, redneck, fucktard neighbours moved out.  Of course, they left in the night like any good criminals, and I stood on my deck as they drove away to make sure they didn’t poison my animals, slash my tires, or sugar my gas tank, but I figured the Uhaul was some sort of a cruel joke.  However, when I woke up at the crack of 2 in the afternoon and looked out my window, reality sunk in and I did a happy dance.  If the world suddenly feels like it has more air it’s because everyone in my neighbourhood let out a huge sigh of relief.

I live in a mobile home subdivision about a mile and a half out of town.  We have dirt roads, undrinkable water, and questionable property lines.  I’ve been here for 8 years.  It’s quiet.  There are nine houses, seven of them occupied.  Everybody minds their own business.  Everybody gets along.  Nobody goes out of their way to piss off the neighbourhood.  

The rednecks, mom/dad/adult daughter/adult son-in-law/10 year old daughter, moved in sometime in May.  First, they put up an ugly privacy fence around the lot next to the neighbours across the street from me.  Then they filled that quarter acre lot with horses.  Seven horses fighting, running into the fence and drawing flies.  I stood on my deck and wondered who allowed this shit.  Our CC&Rs forbid livestock, but since no one enforces the CC&Rs I figured I was going to have to suck it up and learn to love flies and the smell of horse shit.

About a week later they moved their house in.  All of our houses sit in rows, with the short sides roughly facing east to west.  This gives a break from the wind that howls all winter.  These Arkansas douchebags planted their house facing north to south.  I sat on my deck and hoped they enjoyed getting broadsided by the wind.  Nothing like trying to fit in with the neighbourhood.  The placement of their house was another violation of the CC&Rs, but, well, you know…

Then one “morning” as I drank coffee on my deck and struggled to wake up, I noticed garden hoses running from their house, across 2 lots to the lot with the horses.  We had a bit of a drought this summer.  I looked at my back yard that never gets watered, then I looked at their lots.  Mine was brown and dead, theirs looked like Ireland.  WTF?!  Our water isn’t metered, we pay a flat rate of $35 per month, per lot, for domestic use.  This means you can have a garden, a yard, do your laundry, wash your car, and take as many showers as you want on ONE lot.  You can NOT use the water for irrigation.  You can NOT  pay $35 a month and use enough water for 4 lots, which is how many lots they own.

So the water district got involved.  The rednecks refused to pay for water on all four lots.  They burned out the well pump.  No one had water.  After the pump was replaced, they continued to use so much water that half of the subdivision didn’t have water.  The water district threatened to shut off their water.  They parked a truck over the shut off valve and chained it to a fence.  The water district called for a locate on gas and electric lines across the street from their house in order to shut them off there.  They took shovels and rakes and erased the locate lines.  This went on for two fucking months.  The water district finally got the locator and the backhoe to arrive at the same time and shut their water off.  The next morning, the rednecks dug a trench and turned their water back on.

Meanwhile, everyone in the neighbourhood signed up with an attorney to file an order to have the horses removed, and we formed a home owners association.  The rednecks answered this by petitioning the county commissioners to annex out of the subdivision.  They also filed stalking protection orders against everyone on the water district board and four of the people on the HoA.  The sheriff spent so much time out here I wondered why he didn’t move in with them.  It got to the point that if anyone drove or walked by their house, they called the sheriff.  Their house is on the same PUBLIC road as my house.  It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. 

In September, two of my women neighbours, Theresa and Mary, approached me because they were terrified of the rednecks.  Their husbands were gone a lot, the rednecks filed stalking orders on them, and they were afraid to leave their houses.  They heard I was a little on the mean side and could I help them?  By this time I was pissed.  I HATE bullies, and that’s exactly what these assholes were.  Plus, in every rebuttal against the HoA, they cited my ducks as a precedent for their horses.  Stupid fuckers.  Ducks aren’t livestock.

My neighbours gave me the paperwork from their stalking protection orders.  It was some scary shit.  The redneck bitch included her journal entries, and it read as a “who can we sue next” manuscript.  It involved several different families, people with money, from the community.  I immediately called everyone named in the journal and told them to sever contact with these people.  I made copies of the journal and gave it to everyone concerned.  They had photos and dated written documentation of Theresa & Mary’s every move.  I didn’t know that if you spy on your neighbours and take pictures of them, they are stalking YOU.  This is what I mean by scary shit.

(I guess I should add that Theresa and her husband are quite wealthy and Mary and her husband won half a mil on a slot machine in Deadwood a year ago.)

While reading through the “sworn” testimony I found a passage stating that I told the redneck kids Theresa’s dog had tried to bite me (never happened, never said it happened).  They were using this as stalking evidence.  See if you can follow their logic.  Apparently Theresa’s dog tried to bite me, so we weren’t friends.  But in August we became friends because Theresa was turning me against them.  That’s stalking.  WTF?!  

Needless to say, I saw red.  I was furious that they were trying to drag me into their bullshit.  The next day I was outside talking to Theresa when the redneck bitches careened up the hill towards our houses.  I said something to Theresa and I remember her screaming, “SHE’LL RUN OVER YOU!” as I walked out in front of the speeding car.  The bitch stopped, I leaned in, got right up in her face, introduced myself, told her to make sure she spelled my name correctly when she filed a protection order against me, and proceeded to tear her a new asshole for naming me as a witness against my neighbours.  She never made eye contact and stammered that she didn’t have a problem with me.  You do now.  Then she told me that she didn’t have a protection order against me.  You should get one.

I turned around and Theresa was gone.  Rabbited right back to her house.  She wasn’t lying about being afraid, but of them or me I wasn’t sure. 

Of course, the bitch called the sheriff on me.  He graduated high school with my brother.  I asked if I was going to get a protection order because I felt pretty left out.  He said that yelling at someone wasn’t against the law.  Yeah, I know.  He told me the rednecks didn’t like me talking to Theresa.  I reminded him I have the right to assemble.  Uh…yes, yes you do.  I told him I also have freedom of speech.  Uh…yes, that’s true.  Then I enlightened him on all the bullshit going on with the water district and how their actions crossed the line of criminal behaviour.  Of course he knew nothing about it.  I pointed out that the protection orders and his constant presence on their behalf made him seem more than a little biased, and one would think that maybe he wasn’t the best person to service our neighbourhood.  Uh…  He was dumbfounded because he hadn’t read the paperwork he served, and I guess he thought no one was paying attention to his visits.  He obviously took the time to read it, and he took my subtle threat against his job seriously because he suddenly refered all calls to another sheriff.

So, to wrap up this very long story:  the rednecks looked like asses in court for the stalking protection orders.  Stalking is very clear cut.  Did either of these women call you?  No.  Did either of these women send you harassing letters?  No.  Did they send you texts or emails?  No.  Did they hang around your place of employment?  No.  Did they hang out around your house?  No.  Cases dismissed.  Assholes.

The rednecks looked like asses for the county commissioners when 15 people showed up to fight their petition to annex out of the subdivision.  They were not allowed to annex out, but were allowed to combine their four lots into one.  The commissioners stressed that the CC&Rs run with the land, no matter who you bought it from, no matter how many times it’s been sold.  They brought up my ducks.  There was a chorus of “ducks aren’t livestock” in the meeting room.  The commissioners explained that the essence of CC&Rs is “don’t annoy your neighbours”.  Everything is acceptable until someone complains and if the majority complains, you have a problem.  Assholes.

Lucky for them they didn’t win the petition to annex out because I was leading the crusade to have them removed from our septic system and banned from our road in the event they did.  You can’t be part of the “community” septic system if you’re not part of the community, and you can’t drive on the road the home owners pay to maintain if you aren’t part of the home owner’s association.  Let’s see how you like walking to your house and shitting in a bucket with no water to rinse it out, which brings us to…

The rednecks looked like asses when most of the neighbourhood showed up to support the water district in shutting off their water.  They adopted a “we’ll show you” attitude by filling two cisterns and running garden hoses from them to their house…until the temperature dropped to zero last week and froze their hoses.  Aww…so sad.  Currently, they owe the water district nearly $3,000 for multiple shut-offs and past due water bills.  A lien is attached to their property.  Assholes.

Honestly, in all of this I waffled on my opinion of the rednecks.  My first thought was that they moved here and set all of this in motion in order to sue Mary & her husband for damages and make off with a quick hundred thousand or so.  Once they realized Theresa and her husband had money, the rednecks added them to the plan.  But they were so d.u.m.b.  Maybe they were just stupid and misunderstood.  How can they be con artists when they have a group IQ of ‘duh’?

My opinion cemented when they called the sheriff on me two days before they fled town for sitting on my deck, drinking coffee and talking on the phone while they took down the ugly privacy fence across the street.  I saw their buddy sheriff go to their house.  I saw them in their yard pointing at me.  I saw him shake his head and drive away.  Smart man.  Telling me I can’t sit on my deck is one conversation he doesn’t want to have.

The final score?

Rednecks:  YOU LOSE.

Crossed Arrows Home Owners:  Lesson Learned.

Davey and the Cheeseburger Whore

Yesterday was a day that ended in ‘y’ (I’m beginning to think it should be ‘why?’) so it was time again to bring out the crazy:

  • Davey couldn’t come to work because he was having another meltdown and couldn’t get out of bed.  Betty Booze relayed this message to Bagheera 20 minutes before the bar was supposed to open.
  • Betty Booze came back to the restaurant, bawling and howling, because Davey kicked her out of the house and doesn’t want to be her boyfriend anymore.
  • Davey and the Cheeseburger Whore started drinking in the bar at around 2 in the afternoon.
  • The bartender who had to pull a double because of Davey’s “meltdown” wanted to stab him in the eye.
  • King Triton told the Cheeseburger Whore she was no longer welcome in the bar.
  • Davey told King Triton to “shove this job up your ass” and he ran off with the Cheeseburger Whore.
  • Literally, since neither of them have a vehicle.
  • Davey called King Triton to confirm the job was up his ass and whined, “You’ve been nothing but mean to me since I started working.”
  • Boo Fucking Hoo.
  • I got tired of looking at Speedy’s peach slop so I turned it into a delicious bread pudding.

I can’t wait to see what today brings.

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