Fat Dogs

Sweet, the night is over. The bar is clean and looks like it has never been used. If only my house could get that type of attention just once a week. I had a hell of a time getting to work today. The entire downtown was blocked off for a cycling criterium race. My dog, Sierra, had a playmate over today and I didn’t have time to walk them, so I decided that I would take them downtown and drop them off at my husband’s office. That way they could go for a bit of a jaunt. My dog’s friend, Drake, is definitely the most out-of-shape doggy heart attack waiting to happen in a country riddled by canine obesity I have ever seen. By the time we reached downtown, fifteen minutes after we left the house (I can do the ride without an obese dog in six minutes) he was heavily panting and twice decided to just sit, all 110 pounds as I propelled myself forward on my bicycle. This tug of war continued until we reached the point where the street was blocked off. Sierra was not on the leash but was at my side, when this crazy fat policewoman started screaming at me that no dogs were allowed. I could see my husband’s office building on the other side of the street, but it looked like an island a mile away where I had to jump into shark infested waters to swim to it. My dog ran up to her and she grabbed the dog screaming at me that I had to come and get her, so I told Drake to sit and then I went to get Sierra. But that wasn’t kosher with the fatass Gestapo bitch since I didn’t have both dogs in tow. It wasn’t like Drake was going anywhere, it was the first time in fifteen minutes that I hadn’t whipped him to move. I had a plastic bag of dog shit in my hand and I seriously considered winging it at her, but I remembered then that I live in a police state and at that point I could spend the next two years playing doctor with Bertha in a prison cell somewhere in East Texas. So when she wasn’t looking and no bicycles would take me out, I snuck across the street.

I got to work and the woman who owns the bar was in a complete tizzy. A couple had called in and reserved all eight tables outside and hadn’t arrived yet. The reservation had been held for an hour, which I thought was fucking ridiculous so I told the girls to put the chairs out (we kept the chairs in so no one would sit on them, since there was all of this mayhem with the race). The owner was a bit livid when she saw the chairs go out, but I was pissed that we were still holding tables for people that didn’t show up. She didn’t want to offend them since she felt they were good customers. Hours later, when the reservation holder came in to justify her fucking us over, I was able to put a name with a face. And yes, she is a regular of sorts, but one of the most annoying people I know and shit ass tipper. Good riddance I say.

Otherwise, slammin jammin busy all night. We hired a food runner about a month ago, thinking that we could staff less wait staff and see our dollar stretch a little further (we pool tips). But the girl we hired is a fucking idiot. She just graduated from some $40,000 a year college which daddy paid for. All she talks about is how what she learned in college is advancing her today. I’m like, what the fuck are you talking about, you are food runner. She has to ask about every ticket and I snapped when a ticket with one glass of chardonnay with sitting with one glass of chardonnay and she asked, “Is this the glass of chardonnay?” I said, “Is that what the ticket says?!?!?!?!?!?!?” Because I really wanted to lose it at her, what a fucking idiot. Then she had the audacity to ask the firefighter server about taking over her job. She is one of the best servers I have ever met and the food runner thinks she can take the job when she can’t figure out a fucking singled out chardonnay ticket. No fucking way.

Cheers!

A man walks into a bar, OUCH! You think he would have seen it!