A Dark and Stormy Face

I yelled at some people last night. It felt fantastic. Their expressions were an amusing blend of shock, anger, and fright. They said nothing in response. Let me set the situation for you.

The management has steadfastly refused to allow us to use any automatic gratuity on large groups, like every other damn restaraunt in the country. They think auto-grats reduce the customer's desire to spend, when all this policy has done so far is reduce our tip percentage. Numerous horrific situations occur: splitting checks 25 ways, only to receive tips of less than dollar from each; hosting 45 people and having them leave piecemeal, some leaving without pitching in, and pissing off their friends who proceed to take that out on the tip; large groups of cocky, aggressive, asshole Euro-trash hassling you all night long and waltzing out while expecting you to be pleased with the change from a dollar on a 200 dollar tab, and etc.

Management encourages the servers to be upfront with our customers if they leave less than a ten percent tip. "Talk to them, ask them why they're tipping so poorly, and I'm sure they'll tip up," they say as they leave at 430 in the afternoon. I find this to be the ultimate in Neocon Bullshit in the Workplace at the personal level. Passing the responsibility for our salary onto us, when the salary is dependent on a customer's good feeling is a perfect blame the victim. Without automatic gratuity for large tables, you encourage poor tips. There is no accountability. These managers also steadfastly refuse to spend any money on upkeep, so the place is a shithole, further encouraging poor tips. How would you feel if you had a great time, gotten great service, gotten drunk, and fucked up your math, and are then presented with a guilt trip from your waiter? I would not be pleased. Having tried this at least twice a week in the last ten weeks, it has only worked once. Cussing out bad tippers when they return a few days later works is our only recourse, and works excellently, if you're aiming for catharsis, but not so well if you want tips. Unless you scare the bejesus out of the kids.

Last night, not only did I receive a pocketful of change from a table after waiting on them for two-and-a-half hours, but a friend and nice person received a shitty tip from a jerkface asshole, after he and his friends had been drinking for several hours. He left a ten dollar tip on his one hundred dollar portion of the bill. Four of his ladyfriends left no tip whatsoever.* This server, we'll call her Rapali, politely asked if there was some way she could improve her service because she must have done something wrong to receive such a poor tip. Jerkface then proceeds to apologize, and even go so far as to say, "Don't worry, I got your back." He then changed his tip to five dollars and then they left. He also left a note about how "rude and inapppropate"** he found her question. Reading this note, I felt my brain turn off and my testosterone surge. My hands gripped an invisible beater stick, and my face...well, I'm not sure what it looked like, but the bartender shouted, "No! Chuckles, don't!" as I stormed out the door. I caught up to the group at the corner, where they well all laughing about how they had treated Rapali. I stopped ten feet away,*** and shouted, "I hope you fuckers aren't fucking planning on coming back, ya fucking douchebags!" Obama probably heard me. In Hawai'i. They stared at me in horror and astonishment while I glared, and then turned around and stalked back to my office. They shouted nothing at my back, which was the healthy choice for all of us.

It felt wonderful to give someone a deserved yelling, and I would have loved to continue screaming obscenities, but I would have worked myself into an arrest-worthy action. That would have been less than wonderful. Anyone want to take odds on me and an aneurysm? Damn, I need a new job.

* I've been told many times by different female servers that they hate waiting on predominately female tables. I have not heard the same from male servers with male tables. I have good luck and bad luck with tables and call it as such.
** Yup, he couldn't even spell inappropriate. I wonder if he can spell cobag.
*** If I had moved within arms' reach, I would probably have needed to make my one phone call. Furious doesn't begin to describe, more like Candidate for Inglourious Basterd.

Newspaper Websites: You're Doing it Wrong, Washingtonpost.com

To: Washington Post
Attention: Web Editor and General Management
Re: www.washingtonpost.com

Your website sucks. It sucks almost as much as the guy I saw last night on Clara Barton Parkway driving a fucking Firebird with a bumper sticker that read "Back Off My Nutz" and with a pair of the plastic testicles hanging from his bumper. You might wonder why The Genius has laid a claim of suckage upon thine internet personage, and I'll tell you: your require some bullshit login for every damn article.

When I click on the link for this story about the hippo losing his home, I want to read the article and not see some useless fucking login. I would not mind logging in to peruse your archives, but I am sick and tired of having to log in to view the content of every podunk website out there.

It's also a frikking jumble. I am a web savvy genius and I find it hard to locate information that I want on your website. You need to clean that shit up. You have only three columns, which is good, but when I think I have reached the bottom of the page, the "Diversions" scroll bar, I haven't. There is a ton of content below that bar, but I was fooled and you can bet others are. Clean it up. Kitchen sinks should be left in the kitchen.

You're a national newspaper. Report national news and do it well. Leave the local news to the various Gazettes around town.

On a final note, your movie critics are terribad. Hire me instead, I can guarantee that I will at least watch the entire movie and won't write from the perspective of a balding, jilted journalism major.

Nothing Ever Happens These Days, Not Like The Good Ole Days

I was reading through the headlines on Wonkette and they linked to a post by the "formidable" "law" blogger Ann Althouse about her trip to LBJ's Presidential Library. Given the even-handed treatment she so kindly gave me during the Tucker Incident, I am not at all inclined to link to her site.

Unlike her, I chose to read her entire post and I wish I hadn't. She really is as bad as Brad Altrocket (or whatever his handle is today) says she is. She is probably worse than Pinko Punko says she is, but that is only because he is too nice with some. I did not read the comments.

"And there are three floors of exhibits, which pull you through the history and culture of the 1960s, the time when I was a teenager. Did so much more happen then, or does it only seem so to me?"

I guess she is right. Not a thing is happening today.

The Omega Man

My college has this website thing set up that is basically myspace for alumni. Scrolling through the lists of friends, friends of friends and friends of friends of friends, I can conclude two things: this is taking too much of my time at work and that everyone I knew in college, even vaguely, is now in some stage of being married and/or having children.

I also found, quite by accident, the person that had my mailbox after me. I know who this person is because I opened my mailbox the semester after I had left college for the last time. This person is now in the process of finishing their thesis in "sixteenth and seventeeth century English embroidery." I sincerely hope that is a joke.

ZugZug

Tomorrow, I will relocate myself to a hotel downtown for my office's annual conference. We are expecting 3500 people and I expect to spend at least $500 on food. On my office's tab. I can't wait to hit the breakfast buffet again. All that fruit, fried pork, pancakes, waffles, eggs drenched in maple syrup is going to feel fantastic.

In other news, I tried to take an Afro-Carribean dance class on Saturday. I figured it would be something similar to Samba or Salsa which I had a brief fling with in college. It was more like EXTREME DANCE WITH TAE-BO PLUS MEGA PUSHUPS. I only lasted about 35 minutes before I fell apart due to dehydration. It may have been related to my poor diet or it may have been caused by the bouncing pushups across the studio. Or the aikido rolls into a jump with legs up and arms flailing. The women had to do a bunch of shuffle steps and such while I was roped into the cardio exercise from hell. I am still sore, despite going running on Sunday and Saturday. I have been doing pushups to ease the pain, but I still feel bruised.

I am going back to the class in two weeks.