Can I just tell you that one of the single greatest things to ever happen to my hometown was the day when they opened up an Olive Garden.
I don't really care for Olive Garden in particular. Like almost every human I know, I like the unlimited breadsticks and minestrone, but it's not like Oh shit guys, let's do something awesome! Let's go make trouble at the Olive Garden!
I hadn't seen my best friend J in like three months, and this is what we did tonight to celebrate us both being home from our respective colleges (his is in Germany people, hence the separation).
So when M-V first got an Olive Garden, I was in like 7th grade. people went absolutely fucking APESHIT over the Olive Garden, like three and four hour waits and stuff, and no reservations. People waited fucking FOUR HOURS for like some watered down I-talian and Cosmopolitans, the drink of the 40+ divorcee in heels. It's ridiculous, almost as nutty as when we got our first Starbucks last year, but my adventures there are for another day.
So tonight, I picked up J in a parent's fire-engine red Jeep Cherokee Laredo, and we proceeded to the Olive Garden.
The wait was 40 minutes, it being Saturday night and New Hampshire having sucky restaurants in general. If we hadn't had a gift card, I probably would have suggested that we bounce. But we waited it out. In the interim, my lil Kraut (who happened to be slightly tipsy from a few mudslides this afternoon) decided to people watch and make loud, flamboyant commentary along the lines of, "Jesus Christ, did you see her tits sticking out!? Shiiit, look at all these pregnant bitches" etc, etc. A group of late teens/early twenties folks walks past, looking dumpy and you know...trashy. Decked in sweats with visible roots, and the boyfriend/babydaddy/stroller caddy in (I shit thee not) a NASCAR shirt.
"Who the FUCK let the trailer trash into the Olive Garden!?" Oh shit. Jethro turns, trying to stare down J, who is not only taller but is obviously...gay. He makes eye contact with me. Fuck, do I have to fight this asshole? J won't fight, and I will have to call on my years of competitive boxing. Jethro looks long and hard, decides that the ensuing lawsuit and the hate crime accusations for gay-bashing at the Olive Garden aren't worth it, and pushes his stroller with Jethro Jr. out the door.
J also told the waitress not to get all "Eastern European" on his ass, and watched a man on crutches get served before us, shouting "Jesus! You have to be fucking handicapped to get served here!"
I worked in food service, but only once.
Worst job I ever had: food service. I didn't waitress or do dishes, but my freshman year of college I worked at the university dining commons. I did a job called "Line", where you replace buffet trays and make sure none of the steamed eggs are cracked or that nobody fucking hoards the breakfast sandwiches. At like noon, you put out the hotdogs and burgers, and sign off shift. The job sucked. I had to be up at 6 am every morning to go in early and cut bread and put out the baked goods, I always sweated because of the hot water we used to heat the buffet, I smelled like scrambled eggs, and once in awhile some dipshit lit a toaster on fire. I did this for a semester before decided that drinking every night and sleeping in was more than worth being broke for the next semester. But we tried to make the job fun because, you know, that's the best part of miserable jobs: your coworkers are usually just as miserable, and want to make trouble.
We played egg toss with the broken steamed eggs, and crushed them in our fists while making Hulk noises. We found the giant bread knives in the potroom, and would have katana-battles in the back area. One time, we used a two-foot long pair of spring-loaded tongs to make the "Tot-a-pult", and attached a little dixie cup to the end to place tater tots in and launch them across the dining common. I lifted some bags of bagels for our room, giving my stoney roommate endless pumpernickel-munchie goodness. Some girl once lit the toaster on fire trying to warm a fucking croissant, and we saved it in all it's blackened glory to remind idiots, then watched as the mice in the storage room ate it. We would wink at the little old Korean ladies who made sushi and sometimes catcall at them, making them suspicious. If you clocked in before 5:45 am, the university computer would get all confused and would pay you for an additional hour of work.
My job now is not that much fun, but it smells mildly better and I don't risk getting ketchup all over me or never wanting to eat breakfast again (I'm a cereal girl now, for the most part). I work for the campus Police Department's student security force, and it can sometimes blow, but some nights you see some hilarious shit. Like bitches peeing outside, being drunk idiots, or you see like football players wet themselves. Once in awhile, someone gets robbed or there's a domestic disturbance. Job actually sounds more badass than it is, but some of these stories come later. Point is - food service can pay. Like when you launch tater tots at skanky girls at breakfast, or steal colossal-sized bags of Lucky Charms. Or when you are the hostess at the Olive Garden, and you get to watch someone stand in the middle of the lobby and openly insult everyone. Shit, it almost makes me miss food service. Almost.
I don't really care for Olive Garden in particular. Like almost every human I know, I like the unlimited breadsticks and minestrone, but it's not like Oh shit guys, let's do something awesome! Let's go make trouble at the Olive Garden!
I hadn't seen my best friend J in like three months, and this is what we did tonight to celebrate us both being home from our respective colleges (his is in Germany people, hence the separation).
So when M-V first got an Olive Garden, I was in like 7th grade. people went absolutely fucking APESHIT over the Olive Garden, like three and four hour waits and stuff, and no reservations. People waited fucking FOUR HOURS for like some watered down I-talian and Cosmopolitans, the drink of the 40+ divorcee in heels. It's ridiculous, almost as nutty as when we got our first Starbucks last year, but my adventures there are for another day.
So tonight, I picked up J in a parent's fire-engine red Jeep Cherokee Laredo, and we proceeded to the Olive Garden.
The wait was 40 minutes, it being Saturday night and New Hampshire having sucky restaurants in general. If we hadn't had a gift card, I probably would have suggested that we bounce. But we waited it out. In the interim, my lil Kraut (who happened to be slightly tipsy from a few mudslides this afternoon) decided to people watch and make loud, flamboyant commentary along the lines of, "Jesus Christ, did you see her tits sticking out!? Shiiit, look at all these pregnant bitches" etc, etc. A group of late teens/early twenties folks walks past, looking dumpy and you know...trashy. Decked in sweats with visible roots, and the boyfriend/babydaddy/stroller caddy in (I shit thee not) a NASCAR shirt.
"Who the FUCK let the trailer trash into the Olive Garden!?" Oh shit. Jethro turns, trying to stare down J, who is not only taller but is obviously...gay. He makes eye contact with me. Fuck, do I have to fight this asshole? J won't fight, and I will have to call on my years of competitive boxing. Jethro looks long and hard, decides that the ensuing lawsuit and the hate crime accusations for gay-bashing at the Olive Garden aren't worth it, and pushes his stroller with Jethro Jr. out the door.
J also told the waitress not to get all "Eastern European" on his ass, and watched a man on crutches get served before us, shouting "Jesus! You have to be fucking handicapped to get served here!"
I worked in food service, but only once.
Worst job I ever had: food service. I didn't waitress or do dishes, but my freshman year of college I worked at the university dining commons. I did a job called "Line", where you replace buffet trays and make sure none of the steamed eggs are cracked or that nobody fucking hoards the breakfast sandwiches. At like noon, you put out the hotdogs and burgers, and sign off shift. The job sucked. I had to be up at 6 am every morning to go in early and cut bread and put out the baked goods, I always sweated because of the hot water we used to heat the buffet, I smelled like scrambled eggs, and once in awhile some dipshit lit a toaster on fire. I did this for a semester before decided that drinking every night and sleeping in was more than worth being broke for the next semester. But we tried to make the job fun because, you know, that's the best part of miserable jobs: your coworkers are usually just as miserable, and want to make trouble.
We played egg toss with the broken steamed eggs, and crushed them in our fists while making Hulk noises. We found the giant bread knives in the potroom, and would have katana-battles in the back area. One time, we used a two-foot long pair of spring-loaded tongs to make the "Tot-a-pult", and attached a little dixie cup to the end to place tater tots in and launch them across the dining common. I lifted some bags of bagels for our room, giving my stoney roommate endless pumpernickel-munchie goodness. Some girl once lit the toaster on fire trying to warm a fucking croissant, and we saved it in all it's blackened glory to remind idiots, then watched as the mice in the storage room ate it. We would wink at the little old Korean ladies who made sushi and sometimes catcall at them, making them suspicious. If you clocked in before 5:45 am, the university computer would get all confused and would pay you for an additional hour of work.
My job now is not that much fun, but it smells mildly better and I don't risk getting ketchup all over me or never wanting to eat breakfast again (I'm a cereal girl now, for the most part). I work for the campus Police Department's student security force, and it can sometimes blow, but some nights you see some hilarious shit. Like bitches peeing outside, being drunk idiots, or you see like football players wet themselves. Once in awhile, someone gets robbed or there's a domestic disturbance. Job actually sounds more badass than it is, but some of these stories come later. Point is - food service can pay. Like when you launch tater tots at skanky girls at breakfast, or steal colossal-sized bags of Lucky Charms. Or when you are the hostess at the Olive Garden, and you get to watch someone stand in the middle of the lobby and openly insult everyone. Shit, it almost makes me miss food service. Almost.
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