Yesterday I was at my job at FVS, selling fishes and doing what I do best (which happens to be...selling fishes...) It was a pretty good day so far, with not much work to be done and me feeling much better after a nasty bout of food poisoning the previous day after going to lunch with my friends. Then HE came.
First, he asked about steamer clams. We don't have any right now, and I pray to God we never do again, because I hate those little spitting bastards. They freak me out. I told him we wouldn't have any until the end of the week, even though I had no idea. The seafood manager doesn't tell me anything.
He went away for a while, then came back and requested two lobsters. We have a sale on lobsters under 1.5 pounds, for $9.99 a pound. Kay. I got him his lobsters and he started talking to them. Not like, "oh man, I'm sorry, you're gonna die and get in my belly" but actual, real, conversation. Like he expected them to talk back to him. I was getting uneasy at this point, but it got worse. He turned to me and started talking about how Catholics can't eat lobsters or something. I joked that I was Jewish so that's not a problem to me. (I totally am, too. I converted. Just saying.) OH GOD. He went off about the Illuminati and how there are places in the universe that we can't see but the Japanese have a filter or some shit, at this point I wasn't really paying attention. I just went "huh. That's interesting. Well then." I quickly boxed up his lobsters and got him the hell out of there.
He ended up returning the lobsters because somehow he misunderstood the sign saying it was $9.99 A POUND. He thought it was $9.99 for the whole thing. Jesus Christ.
[deleted my last post. It was pretty pathetic. Life happens, y'know, and we're kinda not dating anymore.]
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
FLASHBACK! How Not To Make Friends
how not to make friends.
"The Sandwich Shop, this is Artist, how may I help you?" I chirped, pen in hand. An order was placed for pick-up, and I did everything by the book, and informed my caller that it would take about half an hour to forty-five minutes to create the seemingly millions of sandwiches she was intent on consuming. She never thanked me and hung up the phone, and I thought nothing of it.
Of course, nothing went as planned.
We experienced an enormous rush suddenly, the line reaching almost out the door. I placed the pick up slip on the line, hoping that someone would see it and take care of it as I hurried to feed the masses. Unfortunately, I didn't make its presence known well enough, and it sat neglected as hungry customer after hungry customer sped by. Twenty-five to thirty minutes passed and I stared at the slip, realising I had to make it. I began to do so, thinking the customer would understand, as there had been a mob packing the restaurant. As I prepared a panini, I saw a woman glaring down at me from the register, the look of death on her face. I finished her food and she began to screech.
"YOU TOLD ME TWENTY MINUTES!"
I jumped about three feet in the air, as did Rosario, Harmony and Nina. Nina consulted my slip and frowned.
"I don't think so, ma'am. This says thirty minutes to forty-five."
"THAT'S NOT WHAT I WAS TOLD. I'VE JUST SEEN PEOPLE COMING THROUGH AND COMING THROUGH, AND IF CALLING AHEAD IS NOT ENOUGH TO GET YOUR FOOD FIRST, THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID THAT ON THE PHONE!"
I got over my shock and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry this happened, ma'am." I wasn't sorry in the slightest.
"I WANT A FREE SANDWICH!"
That was it. I looked her square in the eye and shook my head. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't have the authorisation to give you free food without a manager's approval, and we don't have any managers here right now."
"Nina could--" Harmony whispered. I ignored her.
"THEN YOU ALL WILL PAY FOR IT!"
"Ma'am, it appears we made you a whole turkey sub by accident. We will give you that instead of the half you ordered," Nina said, coming to my rescue. She had a look of no-nonsense on her face, and I would have quaked if I was that customer.
"THIS IS DISGRACEFUL!"
"You've made that clear. Have a nice day, ma'am."
The customer left and I went in the back to sob. I had never been spoken to like that in my life. Rosario and Nina came back to give me hugs and that was my initiation to the world of food.
Of course, nothing went as planned.
We experienced an enormous rush suddenly, the line reaching almost out the door. I placed the pick up slip on the line, hoping that someone would see it and take care of it as I hurried to feed the masses. Unfortunately, I didn't make its presence known well enough, and it sat neglected as hungry customer after hungry customer sped by. Twenty-five to thirty minutes passed and I stared at the slip, realising I had to make it. I began to do so, thinking the customer would understand, as there had been a mob packing the restaurant. As I prepared a panini, I saw a woman glaring down at me from the register, the look of death on her face. I finished her food and she began to screech.
"YOU TOLD ME TWENTY MINUTES!"
I jumped about three feet in the air, as did Rosario, Harmony and Nina. Nina consulted my slip and frowned.
"I don't think so, ma'am. This says thirty minutes to forty-five."
"THAT'S NOT WHAT I WAS TOLD. I'VE JUST SEEN PEOPLE COMING THROUGH AND COMING THROUGH, AND IF CALLING AHEAD IS NOT ENOUGH TO GET YOUR FOOD FIRST, THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID THAT ON THE PHONE!"
I got over my shock and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry this happened, ma'am." I wasn't sorry in the slightest.
"I WANT A FREE SANDWICH!"
That was it. I looked her square in the eye and shook my head. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't have the authorisation to give you free food without a manager's approval, and we don't have any managers here right now."
"Nina could--" Harmony whispered. I ignored her.
"THEN YOU ALL WILL PAY FOR IT!"
"Ma'am, it appears we made you a whole turkey sub by accident. We will give you that instead of the half you ordered," Nina said, coming to my rescue. She had a look of no-nonsense on her face, and I would have quaked if I was that customer.
"THIS IS DISGRACEFUL!"
"You've made that clear. Have a nice day, ma'am."
The customer left and I went in the back to sob. I had never been spoken to like that in my life. Rosario and Nina came back to give me hugs and that was my initiation to the world of food.
Monday, June 7, 2010
FLASHBACK! The Salad Nazi
I've decided that since I'm entirely too busy right now to do any proper posts, I'm gonna do some flashbacks from when I worked at The Sandwich Shop. To the two people who read this blog: enjoy!
Today, as I was beginning the end of my shift at the Sandwich Shop, a young man from the college came in. He was strikingly handsome, and I shot him my best "I make-a da sammiches" smile, with my usual cheery, "I can help you whenever you're ready."
Oh dear Lord. I had no idea what I was in for.
"Yeah, I'll get a Chicken Caesar Salad," he said in a soft voice, gazing at me with doe-like, innocent eyes.
"Everything on that?" I asked sunnily, reaching for a grilled chicken for chopping-and-nuking.
"Yeah."
I breezed into the back, took out a salad container and lovingly shredded the enormous romaine leaves that were, for some reason, left whore, and arranged them so that they lay on the plastic in a pleasing manner. I then returned to the line and sliced cucumbers and arranged them artfully on the lettuce. Since Parmesan cheese goes on our Caesar salad, I reached into the cooler, pulled out the Parmesan, and shook that thing like it owed me money.
"STTTTTOOOOPPPPP!" he screeched, grabbing the countertop.
"What?" I asked, alarmed. My chicken beeped at me.
"Is that cheese? I'm allergic to cheese."
I stared at him, uncomprehending. It is a common known fact that Caesar salads have a good amount of cheese in them, in the salad and in the dressing. "All right, sir," I replied, a little shaken. I took the offending salad up in my hands sadly. "I'll make you a new one."
"Sorry," he grunted.
That bastard isn't sorry at all, I thought crankily to myself. My fake smile fell and I probably looked the pissed-off bitch I was. "It's all right, sir," I muttered, taking away my perfect Caesar and placing it in the cooler. My supervisor saw the whole thing and began speaking to him as I ripped more Romaine into a plastic container, not caring if it was a complete salad or not. I then savagely chopped cucumbers and threw them in there.
"Is it all right if I put croutons in there?" I asked. He smirked and laughed with his buddies then nodded. I put a cup full of croutons in. I then fetched the rapidly cooling chicken from the microwave and placed it in the container.
"Wait."
I looked up, loathing burning in my eyes. "Yes, sir?"
"Can you cut it up more and distribute it around the salad?"
This made me angry. "Of course, sir." I grabbed the chicken, diced it into tiny pieces, and tossed it evenly around the salad. "Is there anything else you'd like, sir?"
"She don't like me nomore," he giggled to his friends.
How astute, I thought sourly.
"Yeah, I want some broccoli and carrots."
"We don't have either or those, sir."
He looked shocked. "What do you have?"
"Everything you see here." I gestured to the line, which he could see clearly from his vantage point. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a few minutes, then said, "Tomatoes."
I chopped two tomatoes and shoved them in the box. "Anything else?"
"No."
"Go on down to the register and she'll take care of you there."
Down at the register, my supervisor informed him that our Caesar dressing is 50% Romano cheese. He told her that was just fine, and asked for extra, please. I went to the back to avoid punching him.
Oh dear Lord. I had no idea what I was in for.
"Yeah, I'll get a Chicken Caesar Salad," he said in a soft voice, gazing at me with doe-like, innocent eyes.
"Everything on that?" I asked sunnily, reaching for a grilled chicken for chopping-and-nuking.
"Yeah."
I breezed into the back, took out a salad container and lovingly shredded the enormous romaine leaves that were, for some reason, left whore, and arranged them so that they lay on the plastic in a pleasing manner. I then returned to the line and sliced cucumbers and arranged them artfully on the lettuce. Since Parmesan cheese goes on our Caesar salad, I reached into the cooler, pulled out the Parmesan, and shook that thing like it owed me money.
"STTTTTOOOOPPPPP!" he screeched, grabbing the countertop.
"What?" I asked, alarmed. My chicken beeped at me.
"Is that cheese? I'm allergic to cheese."
I stared at him, uncomprehending. It is a common known fact that Caesar salads have a good amount of cheese in them, in the salad and in the dressing. "All right, sir," I replied, a little shaken. I took the offending salad up in my hands sadly. "I'll make you a new one."
"Sorry," he grunted.
That bastard isn't sorry at all, I thought crankily to myself. My fake smile fell and I probably looked the pissed-off bitch I was. "It's all right, sir," I muttered, taking away my perfect Caesar and placing it in the cooler. My supervisor saw the whole thing and began speaking to him as I ripped more Romaine into a plastic container, not caring if it was a complete salad or not. I then savagely chopped cucumbers and threw them in there.
"Is it all right if I put croutons in there?" I asked. He smirked and laughed with his buddies then nodded. I put a cup full of croutons in. I then fetched the rapidly cooling chicken from the microwave and placed it in the container.
"Wait."
I looked up, loathing burning in my eyes. "Yes, sir?"
"Can you cut it up more and distribute it around the salad?"
This made me angry. "Of course, sir." I grabbed the chicken, diced it into tiny pieces, and tossed it evenly around the salad. "Is there anything else you'd like, sir?"
"She don't like me nomore," he giggled to his friends.
How astute, I thought sourly.
"Yeah, I want some broccoli and carrots."
"We don't have either or those, sir."
He looked shocked. "What do you have?"
"Everything you see here." I gestured to the line, which he could see clearly from his vantage point. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a few minutes, then said, "Tomatoes."
I chopped two tomatoes and shoved them in the box. "Anything else?"
"No."
"Go on down to the register and she'll take care of you there."
Down at the register, my supervisor informed him that our Caesar dressing is 50% Romano cheese. He told her that was just fine, and asked for extra, please. I went to the back to avoid punching him.
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