Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Work! (Not Full Time)

This week I'm employed at a very famous (if you're a golfer) PGA Tournament in New Jersey. Today I had to get up at 6AM (golfers do their thing mighty early) to catch the 8AM PATH to NJ. From there we were shuttled out (like bean pickers) to the golf course where we were issued uniform shirts and put to work.

I had a perfectly delightful (if horrifyingly early) day mostly popping sodas and ice tea cans to pour for parched golfers and their families as well as corporate spectators that came in to the clubhouse once the heat of the afternoon got to be too much. I was working with the wife of the club's GM, who ran the computer and tracked drinks and charges for private members and assorted corporate reps. It was actually a lovely morning and afternoon until she finally called it a day and went home. That's when the AGM for the club took over the room.

I loath her. Seriously. I usually get along with most people, and I generally like working for and with women. But this bitch be a CUNT. And her cuntiness is only covering up the fact that she is completely insecure and panics whenever there is the slightest amount of "busy" business or is afraid that she will look bad in front of her bosses. That's when she starts telling you to pour wine in to wine glasses and use the ice to make drinks colder. Not to mention the fact that she has always talked to me like I am gum that somehow got stuck to her coochie hair. And while I should just let it roll off my back, since I don't work there full time and it doesn't matter in the slightest, there's something about this bitch that makes the words "FUCK YOU" appear written across my forehead every time we get within two feet of each other. She knows it, and I know it, and not only can I not cover it up, I don't even make the attempt. Today I aggravated her so much that she sent me home four hours earlier than I was scheduled.

Which was fine because I had already worked a full eight hours and I was worried how long Riley would have to go without a walk. That and the fact that what I thought would be a highly profitable five day stint working for great tips has turned out to be tip money going in to some nebulous giant pool with no telling how much goes in or who's counting it or who's getting tipped out. That's assuming the agency that hired us in the first place doesn't skim all or part of the money right out from under us.

Illegal? Call a cop.

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