Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


A riddle-

What has two thumbs and hates the breakfast shift?

This girl.

Seriously. Getting up at 4:15ish? No problem. Functioning at 5:30? Not a problem. (That's why they make diet cherry cola so damned tasty; it's the perfect caffiene delivery system.) Residents who won't either all show up at once, or at least show up a table at a time? That is a problem.

I had half the dining room to cover, which is about 45+ residents. Getting the meals out wasn't too bad, but trying to bus my tables afterwards was a freakin' nightmare. I'll have to do better tomorrow. And Jeebus forbid you forget anyone's fucking coffee or prune juice.

I want a sign that says "Hi. See me? I'm the new girl. I realize you've been spoiled by the other breakfast servers, but I am neither psychic, nor excessively intelligent this early in the morning. If you normally drink 3.4 ounces of apple juice mixed with 6 teaspoons of freshly squeezed cranberry juice, garnished with a gentle sprinkling of metamucil and a side of prunes, you. Have. To. Tell. Me. Don't get shirty because I don't magically appear with this special concotion the nanosecond you sit down."

And yes, I will answer to "New Girl", "Diane's Girl", and other derivations of my given name.

...and speaking of food, that's one of the other perks. Free meals. And let me tell you, the residents? They eat better than I do. Yesterday's lunch? Salmon, roasted new potatoes, caesar or garden salad, mashed taters, veggies etc. Today they got really good looking salads with strawberries, oranges, pine nuts and a balsamic vinagrette over romaine (or a garden salad) Cranberry glazed pork chops, taters, asparagus and beets. And what do they do?


If it were up to them, it would be Bacon, Ham Steaks, Ham Sandwiches, waffles, and sausage all the time. (And while we're talking pig. I don't think the residents realize that Ham, Bacon, Pork Chops, and Pork Barbeque all come from the same animal. People who snit at pork chops, would hawk their dentures and/or push their tablemates out of the way for a ham steak. I don't get it.) I suppose though, the less they take, the more there is for those of us who appreciate it.

Anyway, after breakfast is over, things improve immensely. Lunch is a breeze. Dinner is a joy. But breakfast eats it raw. Maybe I'm just pissy because I feel like someone beat me with a baseball bat. I got new inserts, and will wear my docs tomorrow to see if that makes a difference. (I'm packing motrin to be on the safe side)

Oh, one other thing that drove me nuts yesterday, and today too. Yes, I used to be management. I've also been a bus-driver, activities director and aide, toenail wrangler, doctor's office record keeper, receptionist, housekeeper, and now I'm in the kitchen. It's called cross-training. It's called pitching in where I'm needed. (It's called being broke!) There's no reason to stare at me like I have eight heads, and then utter "What are youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu doing in the kitchennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!?!11WTF!!11" I'm not slumming, this is not punishment. In fact, it's actually kind of fun. Despite the hairnet, and breakfast, it's not bad. Just because you would never think of doing something that's "not my job*" doesn't mean I won't. It's called being flexible. Look into it.

*Ok, the only thing I won't really do is be a nurse's aide, and that's because I don't think I could handle wiping butts and giving showers. I could pour meds, do accu-checks & BPs no problem, but (no pun intended) giving suppositories, wiping butts and giving showers? Nooooooooothankyou. I will be a caring, supportive staffer while the residents are clothedthankyouverymuch.


Blogger Special Sauce said...

And related to absolutely nothing else- I have it on reasonably good authority that the neighbors are dealing drugs.


Time to make sure everything of any value is bolted down, wait for the next "shipment" to come in, and call the cops on 'em. Dumb fuckers. (And ask me about the woman who gave them a cat. There's an interesting story there.)

5:55 PM  
Blogger parcequilfaut said...

What kind of drugs?

I vote for the cat story.

7:38 PM  
Blogger GoddessAradia said...

I second the cat story.

Your job problems sound eerily familiar - oh, yeah, thats cuz I worked in a restaurant. Good luck with grumpy morning people!

3:45 PM  

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