Hahahaha, sounds like the good ol' Walls-man. I haven't seen he or G-L-E-N-D-A in, like, forever. Unfortunately, they'd likely be mighty disappointed at my current situation. This Monday, I Harold J. Potter, Esq., Clown President, started back at The Piece... I know, it's almost too awful to comprehend. I was left with few other choices after the closing of the bookstore. It was my first night back, closing by myself and I still managed to have a pristine close by 10:15 with deckbrushing. It saddens me that I could go on cruise control my first night back after a year and a half absence.
Oh, and you'll love this part: after I inquired as to the last cleaning of the soft serve machine, the manager on duty paused and said, "Umm, I think... yeah, about two weeks." It was so bad that even just opening the lid to the chocolate soft serve almost sickened me with the smell of "dirty feet", as the manager put it. The soft serve was actually coagulated and hardened on the top and along the sides of the basins. Fortunately, she proceeded to clean in that very night at close.
The GM, who by the way is most definitely senile to the nth degree, wants me to learn grill. I know it'll be more money, but I'm still reluctant to go through the training process with anyone but Evan, especially since there are, at last count, three actual cooks employed by the store, and Party Brad, who is a *snicker* GSS, but is almost always cooking. Oh, and speaking of clowns, I overheard two employees who came to our The Piece from the Main St. The Piece talking about an employee named "Andrew." Upon further inquiry, one of the two proclaimed, "Yeah, I love Andrew Lee, though he's usually getting screwed over. He's pretty much a manager without the manager hours."
And damn, tell Bobby not to go killing himself out on the ice. How am I supposed to play on a line with him if he's concussing himself with head-to-ice spills?
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Oh, and you'll love this part: after I inquired as to the last cleaning of the soft serve machine, the manager on duty paused and said, "Umm, I think... yeah, about two weeks." It was so bad that even just opening the lid to the chocolate soft serve almost sickened me with the smell of "dirty feet", as the manager put it. The soft serve was actually coagulated and hardened on the top and along the sides of the basins. Fortunately, she proceeded to clean in that very night at close.
The GM, who by the way is most definitely senile to the nth degree, wants me to learn grill. I know it'll be more money, but I'm still reluctant to go through the training process with anyone but Evan, especially since there are, at last count, three actual cooks employed by the store, and Party Brad, who is a *snicker* GSS, but is almost always cooking. Oh, and speaking of clowns, I overheard two employees who came to our The Piece from the Main St. The Piece talking about an employee named "Andrew." Upon further inquiry, one of the two proclaimed, "Yeah, I love Andrew Lee, though he's usually getting screwed over. He's pretty much a manager without the manager hours."
And damn, tell Bobby not to go killing himself out on the ice. How am I supposed to play on a line with him if he's concussing himself with head-to-ice spills?