Harkening back to the “lesson learned” post from a few days ago, I’m sorry to report that the ballbuster woman from the senior center didn’t learn her lesson despite my overt displays (saluting el jefe and calling her “boss”). It turns out she was deeply offended and expressed her dissatisfaction to the big boss (a compassionate, sensible woman who I happen to like). But it wasn’t until the end of the shift that I heard about all that.
The milfy type who’s number 2 at the joint, referred to me as the “undercover boss” (from the tv show) when I arrived, the implication being that there’s something about me that rings of competence and leadership. She’s in the process of figuring out that there’s more than meets the eye with this new guy William.
But no sooner had that fun fluffed my essence when she lowered the boom and gave me a lecture about how I was dealing with the woman I don’t like. Now if she knew me better, the milfy cutie would have said something along the lines of “Check it out, William. I know so-and-so is a douchebag. But she’s making noise about you calling her boss and saluting and what not. So cool it, brother. I know you work at the speed of light and the geezers already like you because they get their food quickly when you’re here. We don’t want to lose you. Sorry to let you in on all this bull shit but it’s my job. Are we good?”
I could have appreciated a lecture of that kind. But that’s now what I got. I got the lame corporate-type directive you’d get on a fucking job. Ya know…”We’re a team” and all that bull shit. And “We appreciate your work” and you get the idea. A fucking paid political announcement.
It occurred to me that I might point out “Look here! I’m not your fucking employee! I’ve seen the volunteers here and how they work and you should be kissing my ass for even being here in the first place. Tell so-and-so to shut the fuck up and stop being a little sumo wrestler because I got news: A few of the guests have already told me she’s a goddamn bulldozer. They don’t like her. And they like me. What would that tell you?”
But I spared her the ire. For the rest of the shift, milfy eyed me wondering if I’d ever show my face again. And the answer is I will on days their dollar lunch is worth the dollar (which is only occasionally. The food isn’t very good). And really, that’s why I didn’t act out. Because I’m still going to want to eat there occasionally.
I punted yesterday as a show of defiance but the truth is I’m inclined to go back because mifly is pretty fucking cute. And she’s already telling me about cooking for one (as in dropping hints she lives alone). And they got ribs today (their best meal). Fuck the strike! I think I’ll show my ass…make sure not to sexually harass the attractive woman…and continue to fuck with the idiot in new and creative ways. That right there sounds like a fun day! Onward and upward.
P.S. On an unrelated subject, the Instacart experience is finally and satisfactorily resolved. They undid the charges and the bottom line is that I got a cartful of groceries very cheap. But considering all the mistakes and drama, I wouldn’t do it again if I had a do over. And that tells you something right there: They’s some big fuck-ups!