Back in Boston; or, Hello Jordan!

i came back to boston to hang out with gem before i get shipped off to israel for a ten day "excursion" through my holy land; war? what war?!

gem was sure to give me some ground rules before i even arrived. i'm a terrible listener and have never been one for "specifics", so here is what i imagine gem's rules were:

1. don't fucking make me miserable
2. don't complain about anything ever
3. don't be a bitch

and of course that last rule is crossed off because she doesn't think that's possible. or rather, i should say she WOULDN'T think that's possible since this is my imagined list of her rules. since i wasn't listening.

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

A short message of advice.

Do not, for a moment, think that anything involving dairy will make you feel better after eating something greasy that has made you feel ill.

Last week: french toast, frites, mimosa breakfast illness followed by m&ms (a pretzel) and some ice cream.

This week: chicken ranchero quesadilla with extra picante illness followed by peanut butter and banana smoothie.

Fool me once, dairy, 12 hour sleep it off session. Fool me twice? Blog about it.

For Example...

This post used to have a very long, terribly unfunny, overly personal story about poor communication among friends. And since the internet is not for talking about personal things, this post needed to be edited for content. Below you'll find the only good things about the previous form of the entry:




I was unhappy. So I wrote this brilliant gem of a txt: Thank you for inviting me out tonight. Unfortunately, I'm starring in a brand new hit tv show called Party Of One: The Lonely Years. Hope you can still have fun without me.

No response.

Dear Thugs,

Dear Thugs,

Yeah, you guys. You fucking, pieces of shit bitch guys. You dirty ass stupid kids who broke into my car last night while I was on the couch watching Amy Adams on SNL. You guys. You suck. Yeah, I know I left my car unlocked - but seriously - who the hell do you think you are walking up my LIGHTED driveway into my LIGHTED carport and rummaging through my smoking sexy 03 Honda Element?? And did you even hear my dog barking at you?? She is on to your scent now. You're just lucky that SNL suddenly decided to become funny again so that i was too busy to get off the couch and look out the window to check what she was barking at! So next time, because I'm pretty sure SNL will never be funny again - you better watch your backs because i have every intention of getting up and looking!

And I WILL catch you.
So now, let's discuss the things you took. Yeah, you took my ipod. But it's like, two years old. And a nano. So not only will all your thug friends that you try to sell it to think you're the biggest faggot in the world for having stealing a nano in the first place, but it's also valued around $25. In fact, the imported Best Of the Cardigans album that you overlooked on the dashboard was worth more than that nano. Actually, all my CDs that I had in the car were worth way more than that. And i'm a little offended that you weren't interested in them at all... And you took my old passport? Yeah, now you have my social security number - but i've already destroyed my credit so i don't think it will do you much good. And my car registration? i don't know what you're planning on doing with that, but i DO know that i'll have it replaced by tomorrow afternoon.

Although I applaud your decision to steal my caselogic zipper of cds, i will say that i am completely over that hip hop phase so i'm not even all that bummed out about it.

And lastly, just so you know, you missed out on the following:

•$180 in cash stuffed in a check presenter sitting in the center console
•dkny glasses, burberry sunglasses and christian dior sunglasses
•a really great mix cd i made in November before my disc drive broke on my laptop
•$4 in nickels and dimes in my cup holder

so....WHO SUCKS NOW??? HUH?!?!?!?! HUH?!?!?!?!


Fuck you!!!

-Sasha - but you knew that, because you have my passport.

WFI: Fake cabs, real Haitians.

Sometimes when I am late for work, I hop in a cab at back bay station and take it a few blocks to my work. It's only like $4, takes 5 minutes...gets me to work on time. On Tuesday most streets were coated in 3 inches of ice and slick slush and where they weren't, there was an obstacle course of mountainous snow to get there. On a day like Tuesday the walk from Back Bay to work would have taken 12 minutes or more. So, I got in a Top Cab.

In Boston, there are several cab companies: Boston Cab, MetroCab, Independent, Town Taxi etc. As a somewhat of a cab aficionado, Top Cab is always my least favorite. But in the pecking order line up, a Top Cab was the front car, so I got in. When I told him 11 Newbury Street he scoffed, "Why don't you get out and walk?" I take enough cabs to feel comfortable saying 90% of drivers are Haitian and 90% of Haitian drivers have an awful attitude. That's racist to some I'm sure, but it's just fact to me. I realize it's only a few blocks, but who cares? What does this guy know? Maybe my knee is busted? Maybe there's a hole in my shoe? Maybe I am just lazy and feel like it? He's not allowed to refuse a ride. I know this because, one time, an undercover cop lady stopped my cab and asked if I was refused a ride from another cab in front of the one I got in. She told me it's illegal for a driver to refuse a ride. Plus, when was the last time you made $6 in 4 minutes? So, I said, "Why don't you just drive? I'm late for work." He replied, "Why don't you walk there? You don't know where it is?" "Please drive." "Which way you want to go?" "I don't care which way as long as I get there on time." A few minutes later he said, "I hope you have change." I didn't respond. "Did you hear me! I said, I HOPE you have change!" I didn't say anything. Then I touched a plastic part of the partition and he turned around and said, "DON'T! TOUCH! ANYTHING!"

Well, now I was just pissed as fuck. I got out my notebook and pencil to write down his cab number and name and ID, which, to my surprise, HE DID NOT HAVE! I asked for his information. "What you need that for?" "It's supposed to be posted. I need your cab number and your license." "What for?" "That doesn't matter. I need your information. Now." Then he pulled over and said, "You pay me! You get of my cab! Get out!" "Give me your information." I kept asking and he kept saying "You pay me, you get out, you pay me, you get out." I'd had enough and I was going to be late for work, so I screamed, "GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING INFORMATION NOW!!!!!" This really pissed him off. "Don't you talk to me that way!" he yelled back at me. "Don't you talk to ME that way! Give me your fucking cab number and I want to see your fucking license. This is FUCKING ILLEGAL!"

Next, he backed up Newbury St (a one way) and drives down Berkeley and parks in the middle of the road. I repeated myself 100 times. "Give me your information now! It's supposed to be posted!" He gets his cell phone out and calls what I assume is the owner of the cab and starts angrily click clucking at him. "Get off the fucking phone and give me your FUCKING INFORMATION!" He tells the person on the phone, "I don't know what's wrong with her...I don't know." "OH YEAH?!?!? GIVE ME THE FUCKING PHONE AND I WILL TELL HIM MYSELF." I banged repeatedly on the partition: "GIVE ME YOUR GODDAMN CAB NUMBER RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO SEE YOUR FUCKING LICENSE YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!!"

Then! He gets out of the car, comes around, opens my door, and reaches in to grab at me and I SCREAMED "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! IF YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME, I WILL FUCKING SUE YOU FOR ASSAULT MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The people on the sidewalk in front of Valentino just gawked. I took this opportunity of him out of the car on the cell phone to get out, write down the number on the side of the cab, the cab name and call Top Cab. I explained what was happening to the dispatcher at Top Cab and he said if he doesn't have the medallion paper posted in the backseat it's not a real cab and I need to get out, not pay him, and call the police and he gave me the number to call. Meanwhile, a meter maid comes over to tell him he can't park IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET! and the piece of shit fucking fuck is telling him I won't get out of his cab and am harassing him. So, the meter maid dude comes around and asks, "Why are you giving this guy a hard time?" I got out and said, "HE REFUSED A RIDE, DOESN'T HAVE A LICENSE, AND REFUSED TO GIVE ME HIS CAB NUMBER WHICH IS" I then leaned into the cab and screamed,"FUCKING ILLEGAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCK!! I'M NOT PAYING YOU! EAT SHIT AND FUCK OFF!" I slammed the door and walked away, noticing I had gathered a small crowd.

I ran to work and ended up getting there on time. I called the police, described what happened, she looked up the information I gave her, and asked for a description. I wanted to say he was a stout BAD WORD with shit for brains in a black fleece with a tan knit cap, but instead, I said he was african american, short, stocky, no facial hair, no glasses, with a black fleece and a tan knit cap. She said, great, that's all we need, I'll put the word out and we'll suspend him right away.

I've never felt so exhilarated in my lifetime. I felt amazing! The whole time I was thinking, 'what is wrong with me? let this go! you never do anything like this! where is this coming from?' I was having uncontrollable rage. And I've never felt better in my life.


SO! I've decided to become a serial, albeit selective, complainer! When shit is going down and I would otherwise hold it in and fuss and fume internally and mentally write caustic editor's letters, I am instead, going to go straight to the top and let the fuckers know what Meghan thinks! Just this morning, when I ran down a flight of slick steps in plain view of the front car train conductor only to get to the 1st door and, as he closed them, get my jacket sleeve caught in the door! I pulled it out and banged on the door trying to get his attention, but the train just pulled away, leaving me in the freezing dust. So, what did I do? Did I get pissed and imagine my email to the MBTA? Did I have fake conversations about my train incident with fake clients? No. I walked over to the train map and dialed the customer service number, waited on hold for 10 minutes and told the dude I had a suggestion for the orange line. OK, what is the suggestion. I suggest train conductors NOT pull away with someone's clothing caught in the doors. He said he agreed, got all the timing info, exactly what happened, my information and promised to address the issue across the board with all train conductors. YES! VICTORY!

So, even if these people are blowing smoke up my ass, it feels so fucking good. I don't care one bit if they are lies. I feel amazing. Like I could complain about anything and there would be someone to listen and tell me sweet little lies. Well, someone besides Sasha.

oh god oh god oh god oh god

i caught a scorpion in my room.

did you hear me?

SCORPION IN MY ROOM.


vietnamfriend: i know many people who have found scorpions
whiitethrash: it only takes one, thu.
vietnamfriend: but only one
vietnamfriend: but you got it?
vietnamfriend: sasha
whiitethrash: if i had a gun
whiitethrash: with one bullet
whiitethrash: i could still kill you.
whiitethrash: do you understand??
whiitethrash: or is that analogy horrific.


AAAAHHH!!!!


in other NEWWWSSS!!! Gem is on a flight back to boston as we speak. hopefully she had some horrible ideas in seattle (like wrecking her rental car) and will tell us about them. i shall not post any more until then. toodles!

Roommate Tiffany: The End

Roommate Tiffany informed me last week, or perhaps even the week before, that she would be moving out before October. Her friend leased a house or some junk and Tiffany gets her own bathroom. That was the big seller. I guess I can't really blame her after the tampon incident. But damn. I will miss her sillyness.

Last weekend I asked her when she would be moving out. The conversation went a little like this...

Me: So when are you going to move out exactly?
Roommate Tiffany: Well, my friend said we could move in Friday, but I don't think I'll have all my stuff packed by then.
Me: ...sheets?

I'll miss that rainstick, maybe.

Besides that, I have had another handful of job interviews. Craigslist - either you are worthless or I am!! Because I am still unemployed. I even went to a Hallmark store for a job. Yes, Hallmark. Not such a bad idea IN THEORY though, because after all, I do want to illustrate children's books and greeting cards and I like big air conditioned rooms and having very few customers. So, you know, naturally it ended up being the worst fucking idea.

Yeah I didn't get it. There are a few reasons why. One being when I walked in, the manager told me I had "way too many piercings" for Hallmark's "very conservative environment". Whatever. Eight. All in my ears. They come out, you know. They do. I just unhook the back and they come right out! Sure, my ears are way uglier without them due to my susceptibility to keloids (ew!), but give a girl a break! But, it might also have way more to due with the personality test I had to take. Scantron style. I was told it would take at least forty minutes. Of course I pulled it off in 25-30. And I'm an honest gal. Not really. But sometimes. But when you hand me a bunch of questions essentially all boiling down to three basic ideas (1. Would I report a co-worker for stealing merchandise 2. Do I think it's okay to hire employees who "recreationally smoke marijuana" 3. Would I alert a manager if someone were drinking or doing drugs on the clock. Well, No - because I would be that employee, Yes, because I would be that employee, and lastly - No, because, I would be that employee!!!) I'm going to answer them the only way I know how. Honestly. It was actually very annoying, because it was the same basic four or five questions each repeated twenty different ways. Although the occasional random question made it quite entertaining. My favorites included, "Would it be a mistake to hire you?" (I hope they didn't notice the eraser residue on that bubble...) and "When you get angry do you break things and throw stuff?" I sure don't! But I curse a lot. Is that a problem?

Oh well. I also had to take a test for Borders. Actually the entire application is just an online personality test. Did I mention I've taken it at least four times before and never received a call back? What am I doing wrong!!! Oh well. And, this might infuriate Gem, but I applied at Whole Foods. I promise to save boxes though. ...if I get it. Which I wont. So no big deal, right?

Fuck you.

I wrote about almost being peed on, so fuck you. I'm sorry my life isn't as tragic as yours.

I'm going to go make cheesecake and buy a digital camera.

Also, edit my posts and I will send you anthrax in the mail. <3