Clarification of my previous journal entry ( No, I'm not going to link it, it's only one mouse click away, you lazy fucks):
Before leaving Seattle for the magical land of fake tits and fancy cars that I now reside in, I worked for about a month at Barking Dog Alehouse in Ballard. During my breif stay there my "Chef,"(how I hate using that term to describe her; anyone who thinks that cooking begins and ends with presssing buttons on a microwave does NOT deserve to call themselves a chef.) proved to be simultaneously useless, lazy, and ridiculously egotistical. Combine all this with an intellect comparable to a potted cactus and my more astute readers might begin to realize why I began to think that quitting that job would be a little bit like like being paid to have an orgasm.
About a week and a half before I left, I gave them a week's notice which the insufferable woman chose to not accept, telling me to just leave and not come back. Our red headed protagonist was more than happy to oblige. He even refrained from gesturing with any of his fingers as he left, although the temptation was great.
Fast forward to two days before I leave on my thousand mile, one way road trip. I enter that cavern of hell and nearly inedible food long enough to grab my final paycheck. Arriving home, I open it and discover that it is short by almost six. Hundred. Dollars.
Ranting and raving ensues, as well as a particularly agitated phone call. My former boss tells me she'll look into the computer records and call me back the following day. Two weeks of daily phone calls later, she is still dodging every one and not returning my
messages. One day, the floor manager tells me that she has abruptly left the company with no notice what so ever, leaving a tangled knot of loose ends behind her. He tells me that he'll look into it for me.
The day I posted that entry he got ahold of me to tell me what he had found out. Apparently, there is no record of me having worked any of the days for which I was supposed to hae been paid. In case you were wondering, this means that my former boss was NOT content to just have me be paid late. She erased all my clock-in times on those days so that I would never be paid at all. I will never see the money that I'm owed. Now, when I need it the most. I owe my roommate money and can't stand it. I'm not a fucking deadbeat, but my "chef" made damn sure that I'd be doing a decent impression of one.
So, dear porn friends, that is the venom of my previous entry in a (ridiculously lengthy) nutshell. I'm slightly more level headed now and no longer wishing her dead. I'd be content if she just contracted a particularly long lasting urinary tract infection.
Before leaving Seattle for the magical land of fake tits and fancy cars that I now reside in, I worked for about a month at Barking Dog Alehouse in Ballard. During my breif stay there my "Chef,"(how I hate using that term to describe her; anyone who thinks that cooking begins and ends with presssing buttons on a microwave does NOT deserve to call themselves a chef.) proved to be simultaneously useless, lazy, and ridiculously egotistical. Combine all this with an intellect comparable to a potted cactus and my more astute readers might begin to realize why I began to think that quitting that job would be a little bit like like being paid to have an orgasm.
About a week and a half before I left, I gave them a week's notice which the insufferable woman chose to not accept, telling me to just leave and not come back. Our red headed protagonist was more than happy to oblige. He even refrained from gesturing with any of his fingers as he left, although the temptation was great.
Fast forward to two days before I leave on my thousand mile, one way road trip. I enter that cavern of hell and nearly inedible food long enough to grab my final paycheck. Arriving home, I open it and discover that it is short by almost six. Hundred. Dollars.
Ranting and raving ensues, as well as a particularly agitated phone call. My former boss tells me she'll look into the computer records and call me back the following day. Two weeks of daily phone calls later, she is still dodging every one and not returning my
messages. One day, the floor manager tells me that she has abruptly left the company with no notice what so ever, leaving a tangled knot of loose ends behind her. He tells me that he'll look into it for me.
The day I posted that entry he got ahold of me to tell me what he had found out. Apparently, there is no record of me having worked any of the days for which I was supposed to hae been paid. In case you were wondering, this means that my former boss was NOT content to just have me be paid late. She erased all my clock-in times on those days so that I would never be paid at all. I will never see the money that I'm owed. Now, when I need it the most. I owe my roommate money and can't stand it. I'm not a fucking deadbeat, but my "chef" made damn sure that I'd be doing a decent impression of one.
So, dear porn friends, that is the venom of my previous entry in a (ridiculously lengthy) nutshell. I'm slightly more level headed now and no longer wishing her dead. I'd be content if she just contracted a particularly long lasting urinary tract infection.
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
kittymalarchy:
Oh yeah, and what I should've written earlier (but we are going to blame on exhaustion and just waking up) was sorry- hopefully we'll meet up again one of these days...what can I say- I just woke up when I was online and that leads to comments not well thought out! I hope you enjoyed SF.
treachery:
oh thats a weekly game on tues at the resevoir park its crazy that like 50 people play every week