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A little fact about the Jackpot Saloon:
Nick Carrol, owner, has a hard on for cowboys. So when he decided to open up another bar across the street from his cash cow, The Replay Lounge, there was no question he would go with a "wild west" theme for the interior... Winchester rifles, longhorn skulls, and polished wood from floor to ceiling. In the two years since the Jackpot first opened, the bar has undergone many changes (our new manager has thankfully insisted that the cowboy theme be downplayed to curb the number of confused rednecks who wander through our doors), but one nagging piece of decoration continues to stay in place: the fucking copper SPITTOONS that we're supposed to use as TIP JARS.
Last night, of course, the inevitable happened... A gang of dominant ape-types came lurching into the bar, beating their chests and scratching their balls. It was the dreaded BACHELOR PARTY PUB CRAWL, and I was stuck behind the bar, completely at their mercy! Just as the rest of my patrons had settled in for an enjoyable evening watching TEAM AMERICA: WORLD POLICE, this slobbering truckload of JOCK HOMOS decided to come in and ruin everybody's fun.
"What are them things, marionettes?" one of them asked.
"Naw, man, those are puppets," his friend responded. "Look, see? There's the strings right there."
A couple rounds of Bud Light and Jagermeister later, they stumbled back through the door, but not without leaving a piece of themselves behind... That's right: as I reached over to clean up the puddle they left at the end of the bar (one of them had the bright idea to snort a line of beer through a straw and ended up blowing snot and foam all over his stool), I noticed with SHOCK and HORROR that someone had SPIT THEIR WAD OF CHEWING TOBACCO INTO MY TIP JAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I guess you could say this month has sucked for me on the work front. After bestowing a whopping 25 cent-per-hour raise on me at the bakery (which, I might add, is probably the only raise in the history of work that inspired an employee to work LESS), my penny-pinching, passive-aggressive, hippie-cultist boss has suddenly stopped communicating with me. I mean, he still says "Hello" and pretends to give a shit about how my day is going, but... This is a guy who prides himself on establishing meaningful relations with his crew. And up until last month, he always greeted me with a hug and a smile, a joke and some honest insight into his personal philosophy towards life. Now, the most I get out of him is a robotic handshake when I punch the clock at the end of my shift... If I'm lucky. Usually, he just looks around for things that have gone wrong throughout the day and tries to find some way to make me feel guilty about it.
What brought about this sudden change in character? I'm not sure... I mean, he still adopts a paternal attitude towards his other employees, my co-workers... My guess? He feels bad about short-changing me on my raise, so he's trying to distance himself from me, turn me into some kind of workplace villain, just so he can justify giving me THE BIG SCREW.
Whatever. I've defeated larger foes than him in my day. I've been spit at, shot at, beaten with sticks, stones, and everything else life could possibly throw at me. I've beaten speed, smack, crack, and booze (okay, NOT booze... but everyone needs a vice, right?), and I'm a stronger person for it. I'm not gonna let some fucking emotionally deprived, rastafarian tightwad push me over the brink. Especially someone who needs to join some kind of misogynist, Promise Keepers-style man-cult just to make his marriage work. I'm not gonna back away from this fight... I'll look into the eyes of my enemy, and I'll smite the SHIT out of him.
In other news, I'm trying decide which shirt to get form THIS site:
http://www.altamontrecords.com/default.asp
Nick Carrol, owner, has a hard on for cowboys. So when he decided to open up another bar across the street from his cash cow, The Replay Lounge, there was no question he would go with a "wild west" theme for the interior... Winchester rifles, longhorn skulls, and polished wood from floor to ceiling. In the two years since the Jackpot first opened, the bar has undergone many changes (our new manager has thankfully insisted that the cowboy theme be downplayed to curb the number of confused rednecks who wander through our doors), but one nagging piece of decoration continues to stay in place: the fucking copper SPITTOONS that we're supposed to use as TIP JARS.
Last night, of course, the inevitable happened... A gang of dominant ape-types came lurching into the bar, beating their chests and scratching their balls. It was the dreaded BACHELOR PARTY PUB CRAWL, and I was stuck behind the bar, completely at their mercy! Just as the rest of my patrons had settled in for an enjoyable evening watching TEAM AMERICA: WORLD POLICE, this slobbering truckload of JOCK HOMOS decided to come in and ruin everybody's fun.
"What are them things, marionettes?" one of them asked.
"Naw, man, those are puppets," his friend responded. "Look, see? There's the strings right there."
A couple rounds of Bud Light and Jagermeister later, they stumbled back through the door, but not without leaving a piece of themselves behind... That's right: as I reached over to clean up the puddle they left at the end of the bar (one of them had the bright idea to snort a line of beer through a straw and ended up blowing snot and foam all over his stool), I noticed with SHOCK and HORROR that someone had SPIT THEIR WAD OF CHEWING TOBACCO INTO MY TIP JAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I guess you could say this month has sucked for me on the work front. After bestowing a whopping 25 cent-per-hour raise on me at the bakery (which, I might add, is probably the only raise in the history of work that inspired an employee to work LESS), my penny-pinching, passive-aggressive, hippie-cultist boss has suddenly stopped communicating with me. I mean, he still says "Hello" and pretends to give a shit about how my day is going, but... This is a guy who prides himself on establishing meaningful relations with his crew. And up until last month, he always greeted me with a hug and a smile, a joke and some honest insight into his personal philosophy towards life. Now, the most I get out of him is a robotic handshake when I punch the clock at the end of my shift... If I'm lucky. Usually, he just looks around for things that have gone wrong throughout the day and tries to find some way to make me feel guilty about it.
What brought about this sudden change in character? I'm not sure... I mean, he still adopts a paternal attitude towards his other employees, my co-workers... My guess? He feels bad about short-changing me on my raise, so he's trying to distance himself from me, turn me into some kind of workplace villain, just so he can justify giving me THE BIG SCREW.
Whatever. I've defeated larger foes than him in my day. I've been spit at, shot at, beaten with sticks, stones, and everything else life could possibly throw at me. I've beaten speed, smack, crack, and booze (okay, NOT booze... but everyone needs a vice, right?), and I'm a stronger person for it. I'm not gonna let some fucking emotionally deprived, rastafarian tightwad push me over the brink. Especially someone who needs to join some kind of misogynist, Promise Keepers-style man-cult just to make his marriage work. I'm not gonna back away from this fight... I'll look into the eyes of my enemy, and I'll smite the SHIT out of him.
In other news, I'm trying decide which shirt to get form THIS site:
http://www.altamontrecords.com/default.asp
