Friday, January 29, 2010

The Blob

I am not a mean-spirited restaurant.  In fact, I like to think that I am at least somewhat nicer than the average building.  The things I say may be somewhat offensive, as they are pointed at a member of a particular sect of the population--overweight people.  As a rule, I have nothing against overweight people.  I do have something against overweight people who act like animals in restaurants--just the same as I would have something against people of any body type who act like animals in restaurants.

That said, The Blob does not appear here as a result of her massive girth.  The Blob is featured because she is a horrendous customer who--in addition to general gruffness and lack of etiquette--cannot even cough up a ten percent tip even after keeping the server past the closing time.  Now that she has committed a handful of transgressions and displayed an utter lack of respect for those who work inside me, I am free to go after her with everything I've got.

I must say that even attempting to draw the picture of someone as massive as The Blob completely taxed my computer.  At more than one point I had to take a break when I saw smoke coming from the processor.  More problems occurred when I attempted to upload the picture to Blogger--it seems that the entire website crashed and was down for a number of hours.

I am, however, thankful that The Blob opted for a table and not to belly up to the sushi bar.  The otherwise sturdy structure would undoubtedly fold like a cheap camera under the tremendous girth of her more-than-ample midsection--and probably take one or two of our best chefs with it.

Whenever The Blob enters the restaurant, she should have to put down a one-hundred dollar chair deposit.  If the chair she sits upon is still intact when she leaves, she gets the deposit back.

But go ahead, Blob.  Keep treating the staff like your personal slaves and leaving atrocious tips.  Next time you arrive you may be met with the following message:

I'm sorry, but this restaurant has a strict policy against serving whale.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Now Hiring Slobs

Recent events at the restaurant had left us short handed.  Two positions, one of server and one of dishwasher, needed to be filled as soon as possible. The owner, hoping to expand the pool of applicants, took out an ad on a popular community classifieds website.  Well, expand the pool of applicants she did--but, as we all know, quantity does not equal quality.

It's surprising to me how unprepared people are when they arrive.  No one seems to have enough foresight to even bring their own pen.  One employee, sick of lending them out, started telling applicants that we had no pens and sent them over to the comments box to which one was attached by a short length of chain.  There they would stand for fifteen minutes, bent over in the small space, using the small surface of the comments box to fill out the application upon.  I think that I would be tempted to hire on the spot the first person who had the good sense to arrive with their own writing implement.

Worse yet was the manner of dress.  If you're trying to put your best foot forward, you might want to look down to make sure there still isn't a bunny slipper on it.  Applicants by and large did not seem to be troubled by thoughts of proper dress or personal hygiene.  I think that if things continue on in this vein that the next time we are taking applications we will see a number of applicants wearing bib overalls with no shirt or perhaps only a barrel with a pair of suspenders.

Next, please.

Are you serious?  Oh, wait.  Our misunderstanding.  I notice on your application that you were applying for position of dishwasher.  In that case, welcome aboard.

Friday, January 15, 2010

A Man Bedazzled by CD Technology

Recently, our CD player caught the eye of a middle-aged man who was leaving the sushi bar.  He paused at the counter and took a minute to admire the silver disc as it spun behind the device's see-through window.

"That's cool," he said to the server.  "I didn't know that CDs spun like that when they played."

"Yes," said the server, puzzled at the man's decision to air a confession that anyone with a modicum of shame would keep to themselves.  "Just like a record."

"Wait a minute," the man added.  "You mean a record spins when you play it?  I thought that a turntable held the record still and that the needle and the rest of the universe spun around the record."  (The man never actually said this.)  What he did say was, "I thought the disc stayed still and the laser moved across it."  Which is understandable, since the gentleman has only had over two decades to familiarize himself with compact discs.

And, on the off chance that this dim-witted but gentle man happens to be a regular reader of this blog, I will save him some future embarrassment:

MP3s also spin when you play them.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

The Vest Lady

The Vest Lady comes in at least four time a week and, as you may have guessed, is invariably clad in a vest.

She wears vests of denim, she wears vests of leather, she once wore a vest made of Flam-Flimmer feathers.

Her love of Japanese cuisine is so great that she has been known to boast that her refrigerator contains a bottle of gyoza sauce.

The employees all find this manner of dress to be most puzzling.  Until one evening, curiosity got the better of one of the servers.  He just had to know the reason behind this peculiarity of wardrobe.

"Excuse me," he said.  "If you don't mind my asking, what is it with all the vests?"

"Elementary," she replied.  "You're never fully dressed . . . without a vest!"