Don't leave your teeth on the edge of the sink

As I've said before, the majority of the women I work with are older and, quite frankly, should retire (as I am typing this, one just announced that she forgot to put her teeth in. I can't make this stuff up.). Lala is well over 70 and lives alone with her two cats. She has 1 daughter, who is married to the head chef at The Club. They have 1 daughter who is 11. This morning, Lala was retelling a conversation that she had with her granddaughter a few days ago. She apparently is sick so Lala told her that she needs to get better soon so that she can take her on the St. Patrick's Day loop, a bar crawl around the city. At this point, she turns to me and says "well, she can't drink yet." Really Lala? Your 11 year old granddaughter can't drink yet? You don't say...

Today she got mad at me because I was doing my job. I was doing my job and she was doing my job as well, so I told her to stop. She didn't like that idea very much.

I'm thinking of taking a couple days off before the busy season starts so that I don't rip her head off and shove it down her throat at some point before July 1st.

I'm miscombobulated!

One thing that ReeRee struggles with on a daily basis is forming a coherent sentence. Half of her conversations consist of her bumbling over large words that she thinks she knows and should use to make herself seem more intelligent. What she doesn't realize is that she makes herself look extremely uneducated.

"I'm really out of it today. I'm so miscombobulated! I think I need a nap." Oh honey, you need more than a nap! If I didn't fear that karma would come back to bite me in the ass big time, I'd compile a dictionary of ReeRee-isms. Also, she's extremely sensitive so she'd undoubtedly hate me for life and make work utterly miserable. Case in point: she de-friended me on Facebook because she messed up in front of our boss, he called her out on it and I happened to be in the room at the time. For whatever reason, she got pissed at me like I had ratted her out...

Don't misunderstand these complaints though. I'm not without my faults, by any means. I'm the butt of a running joke around The Club. We also cater outside of the building which takes us all over the region. One such outside party was taking place not even 10 miles from where I live. Since I live about 30 miles from The Club, my boss thought it would be a nice gesture to give me that party to work instead of driving all the way in to town. The day of the party, I completely forgot where I was supposed to be and ended up at The Club. I then had to drive 20 miles back in the direction I had just come to get to the party.

Don't ask me for directions. I'll just get you lost.

ReeRee

Oh ReeRee, where do I even begin? ReeRee is the bane of my existence. She is the main reason for this blog. She provides me with enough material on a day to day basis to fill up 10 blogs. She... is a moron. And is insane. And claims to be a person of God. Which god she is referring to, at times, I'm really not quite sure.

A year ago ReeRee was certain that God was going to sell her house for her. Not the realtors that she has hired to sell her house for her, but God. Hm... I wonder why her house is still on the market?

A few months ago, the north western hemisphere was in for a treat, there was going to be a full lunar eclipse. To make it especially rare, it coincided with the winter solstice for the first time in hundreds of years. A few days before, the staff was talking about it while we were waiting for our lunch (benefit of working at a restaurant). Some people were referring to it as the lunar eclipse, others were saying that it was an eclipse that coincided with the winter solstice. Before we knew it, lunch was up and the crowd dispersed. ReeRee, God bless her, turns to me with the utmost seriousness and says "I thought it was the winter solace moon". Oh dear... I wanted to see where this was going so I let the slip up go. "Yeah, it is. " was my reply. "So why did Mr. P call it the lunar moon?"

This is what I deal with.

The Start of Something Not So Great

The work I do is a dying art. The world of formal dining can be daunting to some. I'm not a waitress, I'm a server. My job involves a list of members of The Club* that use the establishment for everything under the sun, including weekly mass. I deal with disgusting pigs who feel they are entitled due to their bloodlines and/or how much money they have. I also deal with people who genuinely care about myself and my co-workers. All of this is on the surface and can be observed by anyone who walks through the door.

What isn't seen is the craziness that goes on behind the scenes. The majority of my co-workers are female, three quarters of which are over 50. One would think that when dealing with older women that cattiness wouldn't exist and wisdom would emanate through the halls... You would be wrong. The following posts contain the blabberings, blubberings and down right stupid things that transpire each day. Be forewarned, this blog quite possibly will lower your I.Q.