a bad egg. a very, very bad egg.

Dear Kevin,

RE: Your wall post on my Facebook

It was a BFI overall. However my response was a WFI, as it has left me regretful. You know that Seinfeld episode where George comes up with the "jerk store" comeback long after the insult, and then tries to recreate an opportunity to use it? It's like that. I would love to get fired all over again.

See, I have been working for this restaurant (a chain throughout Arizona) since the first week in January. I always preferred serving breakfast and lunch as opposed to dinner or cocktailing because I would rather go to work at 5am and be done at 2, then go to work at 4 and be done at 11. Or whatever. I like getting up early, and even more than that, I absolutely love having an excuse as to why I can't go out at night. You see, "Oh, I'd love to but I have to be up at 4 for work tomorrow! Oh shoot!" is not only easier [read: less embarrassing] to say to your alcoholic friends, but they also mock you less than with other truths made up excuses like, "Oh I'm not a big drinker...", or "But there's a Degrassi marathon on tonight!", or, the worst, "But they're rerunning Lisa Ling produced documentaries on PBS all evening! You remember Lisa Ling, right? She used to be on The View, that show with Barbara Walters and all those kooky women! I mean, I totally hate Elisabeth as much as the next Liberal Jew, but Rosie really brought that show alive, and I'm a huge Whoopi fan. No, I know neither of them were on the show when Lisa was but still - no thanks, I don't drink, but that's nice of you to offer. No, really, I'm driving anyway. What? You don't even know my mom. Okay, I mean, just one. Is this a double? What does that even mean - oh it doesn't have more alcohol? Are you sure? Really? Okay...But just this one..."... So, when I moved from Tempe back to Tucson to live with my parents - which is a whole separate WFI for another day - I decided to try my hand at transferring from the Scottsdale location to one of three Tucson locations.

I loved where I worked in Scottsdale. Not only was everyone awesome in their own way, but everyone there knew how important their job was: not at all important!!! The restaurant was a transition place for these servers; people were working there in order to get somewhere else. Saving up to travel, paying for college, buying pot (important!), opening up a private practice, etc. etc. etc. They didn't live to be waiters, they waited to live!!!!! ...Not to mention I was well respected and appreciated and people laughed at my jokes there... But this Tucson location! Oh Tucson! With your recovering meth addicts, ex cons, strippers, and community college drop outs. I mean, not that I hold anything against people who are recovering addicts - I mean, good for you! Awesome! Ex cons getting their life back in order? Great! High schoolers - hey, make money money! But...zero aspirations?? Shit! With the exception of a few servers, barely anyone talked to me and when they did they were telling me what I was doing wrong and how I needed to "smile more, SERIOUSLY, IT'S A BIG DEAL", or "walk faster or you'll never make it in this business!" or "blahblahblahstupidblah". Give me a fucking break... I used the wrong size kids cup once and had a serious talking to - that began with "what the hell are you doing!!?" - in the kitchen about it. This place was a nightmare. And I was planning to quit in a couple days anyway.

But the incident! I knew something was wrong when the
manager, a big man with a goatee who looked like he should be running a nightclub and not a family breakfast restaurant, was standing outside talking to one of my customers as they were leaving. Customers that left a shitty tip... I had no idea what the problem could be though. This man had been on my back constantly for my "lack of smiling", so I figured maybe she said something about that. [The irony behind that is that I would often go up to my table and joke around about how the manager doesn't think I smile enough and warn them about how if I looked crazy it was his fault! It was a home run of a joke!] Turns out, that wasn't the problem...

What this bitch of a lady harpie was saying was that she heard me tell another table that the restaurant was a "Shit hole" and how I couldn't wait to get out of there.


WOAH WOAH WOAH. Is that lady a mind reader or WHAT!!1 But seriously...


Why would I say that to a table??? Why wouldn't the table I said that to tell the manager?? This lady is just a tattle tale! But even worse, she is a maker-upper of things to tattle!!

I was taken out to the back parking lot where the manager proceeded to cuss at me and pull the little man's complex on me. "THIS IS MY FUCKING RESTAURANT HOW DARE YOU FUCKING SAY THAT. BLAHBLAH CURSING CURSING I AM UGLY BLAHBLAH TALK DOWN TO YOU TALK DOWN TO YOU. I CAN FIRE YOUR ASS WHENEVER. I OWN YOU BLAHBLAH." And all I could say back was... "But I didn't say that?!" or... "Yeah but still, I didn't say that?!" Seriously, with the inflection of a question. It was just such a ridiculous accusation. This woman had no reason to lie, he kept telling me. And I kept telling him that maybe she wasn't lying, but she definitely misheard me, or misread my lips or something because that is just out of the question! He didn't care. My argument about how I don't even use the word "shit hole" didn't go over well either. Which is true! But the REAL truth was that I was talking to an Indian guy I knew in high school who randomly came in and his name, seriously, from afar, when coming out of one's mouth, could be confused for the words "shit" and "hole"! I AM NOT KIDDING.

I should have walked out right there. That is what I regret the most. I should have called him a fucking loser, told him his restaurant was a shit hole, and gone home right there; after all we were in the rear parking lot. My car was twenty feet away. But I thought that that would all look quite silly when I had to walk back to restaurant and go inside to the front register to get my keys. And then come back a couple hours later at 2pm to get my paycheck. Things just didn't work in my favor in that regard. Then after I went back inside and WENT BACK TO WORK I thought...why am I not throwing a fit? I should have yelled at that man, gone back inside and made sure he was scolding me in front of customers. Or perhaps said something to which he would respond with "YOU'RE FIRED GET OUT NOW" and then gone back to a table, and told them that I had just been fired for saying something I didn't say, and point at the manager, who would inevitably be watching me with fiery eyes, and let them know that he had just cussed me out and yelled at me for something I didn't even do and that I was sorry I wouldn't finish up taking care of them and to please tip their server! That would have stuck it to the man! "See that guy? With the bad earrings and spiky hair?? He just fired me cuz some old harpie told him I called this place a shit hole! Can you believe that? A SHIT HOLE. Hey, also, he used to be in prison for dealing firearms and drugs! FUCKING GUNS AND DRUGS. SHIT HOLE SHIT HOLE!"

But I didn't. And I'm left wishing for one more shot at the establishment. At that man. It would have made a much bigger statement than the "no call no show" I pulled over the weekend.

So, the BFI = I don't ever have to go back. The WFI = I didn't stand up for myself and I let a man get away with treating me like shit.

But at least I have my paycheck. [And I didn't declare my tips for that day...!]


Job hunting soon omg byob bbq bff lolz!!111!!!!,

Lewis

WFI: hotlinking!

I've been riding my bike.

For two weeks, I've taken the Southwest Corridor to work. I really like riding my bike and all the fears I had surrounding riding in the city are gone. It takes between 15 and 20 minutes to get to work, which is much faster than the train. On very hot days, riding is a cool breeze. At night, it keeps me from the temptation of taking a cab home. So, riding my bike: BFI.

I've gotten so used to the speed of getting around. A ten minute walk takes 2 or 3 minutes on the bike. So, after my 8 am doctor's appointment (you can guess the kind...) and trying to fit 40 minutes of cardio intensity into 30 minutes at the gym, I got ready like lightning and hopped on my bike like the wind. I always follow traffic laws. I haven't done a lot of research on biking rules or anything, but when in doubt, I always imagine I am a car and think, WWJD? If he was driving a car, that is. But on Thursday, I was running late to work.

Consider this map for a moment: MAP See where it says Newbury St? Find Berkeley St. Now Find Commonwealth Ave.

So, I ALWAYS ride down Berkeley (a one-way), take a right on Comm Ave, and another right onto Arlington (a one-way), so I can get onto the sidewalk in front of the former Ritz, which is now The Taj, and park my bike in front of work. This is the way Jesus driving a car would go. But you know, I notice a lot of people riding up Newbury St. the wrong way as a short cut. I know this is wrong. I know. But, A LOT of people do it. Every day, a lot of people break the law and I see them and they look like nice, happy people. So, the day I was going to be late to work, I decided, I would be less like Jesus and more like nice, happy people and go the wrong way up Newbury St, a one-way street. This is where the BFI becomes the WFI.

After about two car lengths of breaking the law, a woman I'd guess is in her early 40's, stepped out from between two cars to cross the street and just so happened to be right in front of me. I screamed, "WHOA" and swerved to miss her. Due to her inaction, we collided and I fell directly on my knee and ankle, ripping my jeans, scraping my knee, and spraining my ankle. When I looked over, she was on the ground as well. Before I could say, "Are you ok?" she started yelling at me. "Just WHAT were YOU doing riding the WRONG way down a ONE WAY street?!!?" I just stared at her, shocked, and said, "What were you doing not in a crosswalk." She didn't say anything. I noticed the rip in my jeans and the blood as I got up. I said, "We are both wrong. Leave it at that. I'm sorry. I have to go to work now." And started walking off in a daze. She followed me yelling YOU SHOULD GET A TICKET!!! In an unusual coincidence, there happened to be a motorcade of state troopers on the block at that moment. A mustachioed, aviator wearing cliche of a trooper walked up to me and asked if a car hit me. I said no, a lady walked in front of me and I fell. He seemed satisfied with that until whatshername huffed and puffed her way over and said to him, "She was going the wrong way down a one way street!!! I think she should get a ticket!" She was seeking justice, that's for sure, straight from the law enforcement themselves. The officer looked at me, the bike, me again and back at her and shrugged, "It's not a very fast bike." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" Then he snapped into action, "You know. You're not supposed to do that, you know. It's not a fast bike and you're not a messenger, but if you were going fast, you could really hurt someone." "Oh, I know. I'm sorry." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" The woman wouldn't let it go. He just looked at her and deadpanned, "Are you alright." It was not as lost on me as it was on her. She began to answer with her voice all quivery, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm a little shooken up is all. I'll feel this tomorrow." To which the officer answered with a, "Wellp." And we all walked away from each other.

So, I ruined her day by doing something I wasn't supposed to do. She ruined my day by doing the same. We were even. It was all pretty shitty though. Especially the swelling and bruises on my foot and the oozing road rash on my knee. My friend couldn't come get me from work cause his car was broken. Waiting for a minivan cab took an hour and a half and cost me five extra dollars. Nothing good came from being less like Jesus.

Halfway through my first client, I realized I also lost my phone in the ordeal. So, goodbye all those phone numbers I had but rarely used! I'm currently trying to track down the person who found it and is calling a bunch of people. They can keep the phone. I just want my numbers. Seems like the person who found it has a lot of spanish speaking friends, so my guess is one of the construction workers at Brooks Brothers found it since it happened right out front. Or maybe I left it at the gym and the cleaning ladies found it and don't want to return it. Either way, I feel disconnected and as if time does not exist. In other words, lonely.

To take care of any bad karma accrued because of the incident, I have decided to be a monthly donor to Greenpeace. Perhaps stopping to talk to those crazy solicitors on the corners of Starbucks is going to bite me in my butt, but at least I'll help save some indigenous people of the forests up in Canada from having their land clear cut by Kimberly Clark. Perhaps it's another WFI. We'll see how long it lasts.

So, anyway. I haven't been riding my bike anymore.

WFI, a real one!!

Long story short, roommate Kirsten and I received a "notice to comply" letter in the mail near the end of November. We probably would have seen it sooner if we had bothered to check the mail since October, but whatever.

Anyway, it read a lot like, "Blah blah you are slums", "Blah blah your house makes everyone else's look even worse", and "Blah blah if you don't pull those weeds out of your front yard we will fine you lots of money blah blah!" and it read nothing like, "hey, neither of you have a criminal record*, and you don't deal drugs out of your house** or illegally own any firearms and you also never, not once, ever, have hosted brutal dogfighting matches in your backyard, so here is some money for being awesome!!!" PS - who is the neighborhood association anyway? Do I want in on that?

Around the third letter - we decided we should probably start taking them seriously. We had until December 4th before Riley Degroot (the "neighborhood inspector") would be inspecting our house again. Also, did you see that his name is Riley Degroot? What the hell kind of name is that? But anyway. We were basically going to be fined $100+ a week until we pulled them, so we made plans to get up and pull some weeds over the weekend.

However, you know. Things happen. People stay out late and don't come home and are lazy and don't want to do stupid shit that doesn't matter and sorta always think problems will solve themselves. But like, they don't.

So on the morning of December 4th, Roommate Kirsten and I drag ourselves out of bed in the cold and get to work with our bare hands. And it sucked. And then a conversation happened that went sort of like this...

"somethingsomething something crash and burn"
"Did you just say 'slash and burn'?"










So, WFI or not? Well... sadly, not. Look how silly those fires are! I mean, yes, Kirsten did catch her shoe ablaze, and yes, Gracie came awfully close to catching a muzzle full of lighter fluid, but she didn't! And Kirsten put out her shoe fire almost just as fast as it had started! There were no outrageous explosions and not even one neighbor saw us and thought we were up to no good! Instead everything...worked out? No weeds, in half the time? We love pulling weeds??

Maybe next time.







*we're ignoring Roommate Kirsten's arrest, because it was just that once...
**and we're not actually dealers, so we're ignoring this too...
***also i am stoned right now

B F I

friendemily: the hardest thing about this diet shit is no burritos
friendemily: why cant they just make diet burritos



...BFI:

DIET BURRITOS.

the weekend.

here's a list of the WFIs i've had this past weekend:


1. hot boxing a car in a university parking lot
2. spending an evening at my parents' house
3. getting a tattoo


now, actually, one of those wasn't a bad idea at all. in fact, it was a terrific idea. the best fucking idea. and here's a hint, it wasn't #2. as for the rest? yeah, pretty bad.

Just My Luck.

So, I really haven't been able to upload all my trip pictures because there is a limit to flicker for the month or whatever and I have 500 pictures. That makes it difficult. Anyway, I don't want to talk about my trip! I want to talk about this weekend!

Friday Night: Certified Bananas at the Enormous Room.
Saturday: Grocery shopping for party
Saturday Night: Big Fat Greek Wedding, Caroline's Birthday party
Sunday: PUMPKIN PARTYYYYYYYYYY!

Now, sure, all of those things sound fun, but in my life, there's a WFI lurking in just about every seemingly great idea.

First, I wish I wasn't going to Certified Bananas because I have so much cleaning and prep to do for the party and I still don't have anything to wear to the wedding. But! I have to do normal things and act normal so Emily doesn't pick up on the surprise part of our party on Saturday.

Then we need to buy so much for the party...food, beer, decorations, pumpkins. AND I HAVE NO MONEY. I am really screwed on this. I am hoping for a decent commission check this month or I am financially fucked for November.

Then there's the wedding, which I think will actually be fun. But I am not getting my hair done because of the aforementioned lack of time and money. AND I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO WEAR YET! It's a formal evening wedding. I am going to look so stupid because I just don't have anything. And I have to wear a dress because I am taking Mary and I can't be the girl who brings a girl and wears pants! I won't be able to take a greek boy home with me! Plus, I have to give a wedding gift, which is another $100 dollars. Also, I have no money.

And then there's the party. We invited just about everyone we know. So, I am worried there will be 50 people packed into our apartment. It could be the world's greatest party or the world's most uncomfortable party.



Then of course, there's the Emily's Birthday present surprise of us flying her secret lover in from L.A. for the weekend. It will be like a movie when she arrives at the restaurant thinking it's dinner with her sister and Secret Lover is at the table. The wrench in the whole thing is Em's x-boy who will be at Caroline's party and also our party (accidents on both accounts) who also happens to be good friends with S.L.

Hopefully the next few days will unravel neatly and with very little drama. Why do all the most exciting future BFI's have so much WFI potential? I'm sure there will be a disaster among all the WFI possibilities and I will report back. So, to our two (TWO!) fans: Wish me luck!

ART

BFI or WFI? Instead of working on any of the fifty things I have to have done next week for midterms, I spent the night in the studio drinking beer and printing a shit ton of these.


I think it's a BFI.