It started yesterday afternoon with the innocent ringing of a cell phone.
"Hey girl," said the fake voice on the other end of the line. A few more seconds exchanging fraudulent pleasantries back and forth passed before my "boss," ( bitchy bar owner,) informs me she has decided to let me go. No reasons given except it just wasn't "working out." Never mind the fact that I busted my ass trying to please her and keep up with her ever changing policies on ridiculous shit such as when it was ACCEPTABLE to ice down the beer or when it was a MORTAL SIN. Apparently the law of physics concerning ice machines and their productivity rate is of major concern in a bar that KEEPS EVERY SINGLE BEER THEY SERVE ON ICE!!!!!!!!! Perhaps having a second ice machine brought in would be a wise business investment in an establishment which requires such a large quantity for day to day operation? However, questioning a woman of her astonishing level of raw intelligence would have been absolutey unacceptable so I tiptoed ever so gently on the ice subject. Of course I still used too much or too little depending on her intoxication level.
Last time I checked, it was 2011 right? The age of computers, smart phones, widgets, gadgets and applications to make your life easier ( and your business run smoother?) Well not in this bar... no way...no how... no sir.
The lifeline of this dump... the heart and soul of it's very EXISTENCE... MONEY... is trusted to a 1930's model cash register that belongs on an episode of Antiques Roadshow... lmao.
Handwritten tabs... dash marks to keep a tally on what is served to whom and color coded PINCHE pourers on the liquor bottles to coinside with what button is pushed when and how many times. Neanderthal, outdated, cumbersome and downright ancient. Methods I am sure are due to utter technological IGNORANCE... but hey I can adapt to substandard equipment. That register was ON POINT every single time.
The regulars, (alcoholics,) who frequent the place were well taken care of and that should have mattered somewhat but... not to Bitch Boss. Oh no. Every single bottle of Coors Light ( dug from the bottom of the ice bin every time I served her,) was NEVER cold enough. There was NEVER enough ice in the rocks glasses when I mixed a drink... I didn't restock enough napkins... or I restocked TOO many coasters.. The jukebox wasn't turned up loud enough or I had it too loud... or there was a problem with rock and roll being played before she decided it was an acceptable hour. A sweet and sour container wasn't full enough one day... then the next I was just about to pour out a half ounce or so of pickle juice ( gasp ) thinking it needed to be refilled as well... Common sense just didn't seem to be welcomed nor appreciated because...
Hell no I was way outta line messing with the pickle juice!!!!
( Rolling my eyes at the memory of her overly botoxed face crinkling up in rage over a mere ounce of pickle juice and how she seems to think there is a shortage of it.)
I am not blessed with an extraordinary amount of patience but I wanted to make her happy, do a good job in her eyes and show MY WORK ETHIC AND EFFICIENCY. I realize now I was doomed from the moment the ass kissing, errand running "head" bartender decided she didn't like me. " We're not a catty bar," she said the first day we worked together. Then the regulars liked me... I talked to them like old friends, made money for HER while she sat on her snotty ass smoking on an electronic cigarette while telling anyone who would listen how good she was at giving blowjobs. CLASSY.
Meanwhile I'm told later that day by bitch boss that I dressed like a "nun," despite being dressed in nicer attire than miss good ol blowjob, bleached brain, head bar queen. So the following day I came in wearing a corset style top that made grouchy bar boss bitch look down at her raggedy ass walmart lime green tank top in disgust. She was in full on drill sergeant swing that day and my questions about proper ways of doing things just made her feel like she could talk down to me and again, I dealt with it professionally.
Last shift... no major problems or issues with anything that should have mattered. Head dive queen came in to throw darts with bitch boss and the usual regulars in there hiding from their wives or ethical responsibilities. I worked my shift, register was ON POINT, liquor and beer sales accounted for accurately and job duties completed per Bitch Boss's orders for that particular moment. The next day... the phone rang.
AXED... CUT... CANNED... 86'D... THE BOOT
I was upset for a little while... until I decided the weight of the world truly rests on the shoulders of KARMA. Bitch Boss will get her due process so...
To hell with that dump, the overly botoxed Pickle Juice Hoarder, the Brown Nosing Sidekick, the pickle juice, the underproductive ice machine and TO HELL WITH UNEMPLOYMENT!!!!!
