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.
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.”