Do you ever play drinking games? For example, there's Monday Night Football. Watch Titans at Chargers, for instance, and every time Joe Buck or Mike Tirico or whoever, says, "First down San Diego!" everybody takes a drink. Then there's Fox News, where every time one of their resident douchbags says "Democrat" when they should have said "Democratic," or disses President Obama, your whole crew has to down a shot. I think it's safe to say that either of these drinking games will get anyone playing it fucked up pretty quick, and there are a whole lot of other variations out there.
I don't play drinking games, even when I'm hanging out with people who are. I binge at my own pace and get wasted just fine, thank you. Neither do I advocate drinking games. I think they encourage individuals who already like over-consuming alcohol to get even more hammered than they would if left to their own devices. But if folks are going to play them anyway, I want some of that market share! So here's an awesome new drinking game called These American Servers™. Play at your own risk.
Everybody get out their internet-connected device. Log onto your favorite search engine. I like Starting Page because of their privacy claims, and Google works pretty well too. Have someone call out a phrase or a title from These American Servers. The first one to find a reference to my internet column gets to make everybody else take a drink. Or you can deny the others a drink and have one yourself. Remember, and this is very important, you have to actually click on the link to These American Servers or your win isn't official.
Try different search engines. If you want an easy, fast-paced game, go with Google Blogs. If you're trying to not get too blitzed too early, see what Yahoo or ixquick have for ya. They're not as friendly to These American Servers as some of the others are. Maybe you could see what Chinese Google has to offer.
Whatever alcohol you imbibe when playing These American Servers is up to you. Perhaps the Ruby Tuesday's crew in Dothan, Alabama enjoy the game with 40 ounce jugs of Schlitz® Malt Liquor after work and you might have a good time with those. Watch out though. That shit is way more powerful than the weak-ass "light" beers that so many people are into these days.
Please don't operate a motor vehicle if you've been playing These American Servers or while you're playing These American Servers. If you run across any rumors that poor, talented-yet-troubled British singer Amy Winehouse was playing These American Servers on July 23rd, please disregard them because they're probably not true.
"But Joe," I might be asked if anyone actually read this, "I really want to play These American Servers, but ever since I read your excellent post from December of 2010 entitled "A Righteous Proposal," where you advocate a boycott of adult beverages until America ends its fucktarded "War on Drugs," I've given up drinking. Is there anything that I can do?"
Well thanks for joining me, my hypothetical brother or sister. Just so you know, I haven't consumed any alcohol since that post went up either and I applaud you for being part of the solution instead of the problem. Together, we can make a difference. As a matter of fact, I do have a couple of suggestions about that. Instead of using Colt 45® say, or bourbon, you could substitute dankity-dank bong hits! Or maybe swap the booze for Caffeiene-Free Diet Pepsi®. Of course, if you go with that last one, you and your friends are probably some irredeemable wusses.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
I Am Joe's Job Search ©2011 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved
There's not much to tell. Some of you might know that I went to a training store in West Virginia and spent most of April there. A day or two before I was asked to make the trip I went to a chain restaurant location near my crib and picked up an application.
Turns out, I knew Courtney, their hosting professional. She'd worked with me as a server at my day job. She's a nice person but a shitty server, so I'm glad she's got a gig she looks to be better at. "Joe! Great t'see ya! Application? Sure thing. Bring it back tomorrow and I'll make sure you get to talk to a manager," she enthused, "I'm sure they'll hire ya!"
I didn't want to work at that store. It's in a part of town that isn't all that prosperous. I wanted to work at the location over in Ashcroft Heights, where the clients tend to have money. But all that was going to have to wait awhile. The next day I got the call to go to West Virginia; I'd leave in a week.
So I made the trip. I was there for three weeks. The money I get for the training gigs is pretty sweet and this one was the best yet. When I got back I found that I still had all my days but it was going to be tough to get many nights, which is cool 'cause I hate nights there, but I'd need more money again soon.
I worked my days and a few nights. I sold beer at a couple of concerts. I denied myself Fritos® corn chips, opting instead for the Piggly Wiggly brand. I was careful with my cashish and was OK into July. But I had to do something soon or August was going to hella suck. So I filled out the application I'd gotten from Courtney and made the short, easy drive over to Ashcroft Heights.
The hostess took my app, told me to wait there a minute. She reappeared and took me to see Dale, assistant manager in charge of the waitstaff. He and I sat at table eleven and did the interview. It was OK that I was only available nights. He asked if I could come back the next afternoon and talk to the GM. I could.
My interview with the GM went pretty well. He asked me back to the office computer to fill out the real application. He told me what my training schedule would be the following week and asked if I could work that out with my other job. Again, I could.
Turns out, I knew Courtney, their hosting professional. She'd worked with me as a server at my day job. She's a nice person but a shitty server, so I'm glad she's got a gig she looks to be better at. "Joe! Great t'see ya! Application? Sure thing. Bring it back tomorrow and I'll make sure you get to talk to a manager," she enthused, "I'm sure they'll hire ya!"
I didn't want to work at that store. It's in a part of town that isn't all that prosperous. I wanted to work at the location over in Ashcroft Heights, where the clients tend to have money. But all that was going to have to wait awhile. The next day I got the call to go to West Virginia; I'd leave in a week.
So I made the trip. I was there for three weeks. The money I get for the training gigs is pretty sweet and this one was the best yet. When I got back I found that I still had all my days but it was going to be tough to get many nights, which is cool 'cause I hate nights there, but I'd need more money again soon.
I worked my days and a few nights. I sold beer at a couple of concerts. I denied myself Fritos® corn chips, opting instead for the Piggly Wiggly brand. I was careful with my cashish and was OK into July. But I had to do something soon or August was going to hella suck. So I filled out the application I'd gotten from Courtney and made the short, easy drive over to Ashcroft Heights.
The hostess took my app, told me to wait there a minute. She reappeared and took me to see Dale, assistant manager in charge of the waitstaff. He and I sat at table eleven and did the interview. It was OK that I was only available nights. He asked if I could come back the next afternoon and talk to the GM. I could.
My interview with the GM went pretty well. He asked me back to the office computer to fill out the real application. He told me what my training schedule would be the following week and asked if I could work that out with my other job. Again, I could.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Don't Say Words That Hurt ©2011 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved
I worked Curveside™ at lunch today. I was pretty busy PLUS I get $7.50 an hour for doing it, so not such a bad shift for me. I had a few corporate picnics, including one that was really hard to put together. It was all one check fortunately, but I got totally stiffed on $139. I didn't like that of course but oh well. The couple of coworkers I casually mentioned it to were way more upset about it than I was. There was something else happened that really pissed me off.
Some lady with a real Minnesota-sounding accent called in an easy to-go order. She just started yapping about what she wanted, but we've got a script and I went with it. I got the idea she wasn't digging it, but you've gotta do what you've gotta do, right? I quoted a very favorable pick-up time, a mere twelve minutes into the future and she informed me she'd arrive in three. I assured her that we'd do everything possible to get her chow out quickly.
About five minutes after our convo, she pulled up. I stuck my smiling face out the door and told her it'll be ready in just a sec.
"You guys aren't on your A game today, are ya?" she said.
"What do you mean, ma'am?" I responded pleasantly.
She alleged that she'd called earlier and been put on hold interminably, which is possible but unlikely. Then she told how she'd called a second time and been hung up on, she thinks by me. Hung up on is even more improbable than that first scenario and if it happened, I promise I ain't the one. Then she repeated her mantra, "You guys aren't on your A game today."
I went back in and quickly checked her order and bagged it up. I brought her food and her ticket to her. Even though to-go works out of a till, I had cash in my pocket and made her $11.50 change out of 20 right there. I quickly stepped back; I didn't want a tip from her since she felt so compelled to keep harping about how bad my store and I suck.
Somehow through it all I managed to channel the spirit of author David Hayden, who's wise advice is to never turn it back on them (no matter how richly they deserve it!) and remained calm, courteous and professional through the entire exchange. Of course, if the sign outside said Joe's Rib Crib™, I'd have told her, "No Charge. Now please get the fuck out of here and don't ever come back."
I'm not sure why I let this little ordeal bother me more than I'd normally expect it to. She's probably not really evil and doesn't deserve the colon cancer I spent a few minutes psychically wishing on her fat ugly ass. She's from another part of the United States where people tend to be more rude than they are here, which isn't to say we're better people; we're not. We just tend to demonstrate a little more superficial surface politeness than y'all do.
She was smiling through the entire few minutes she was there. I detected no cruelty or even displeasure in her voice. Other than the content of her comments, she might have been literally exclaiming pleasantries about the weather instead of figuratively plunging a knife into my gut and twisting the fuck out of it. I might have felt differently, maybe worse, if she'd been young and pretty instead of old and ugly. What clients say and do that bothers me might not be a problem for you, and vice versa. I tasted some anger for a minute but I believe I handled the situation pretty well. I'm totally over it now of course and I'm only bringing it up because it kind of ties in with something that went down a little later.
In spite of a couple of stiffs, I made nice cheese today. I was feeling pretty good as I pulled into my neighborhood Shitty Mart™ after work to get a newspaper. That's where I saw my former coworker Jannica and her three kids. She'd been a pretty good server and I got along with her fine, but most of the employees didn't like her. I'm vaguely aware that she had a lot of drama in her life that she brought to work sometimes. She'd eventually been fired, by GM Brenda B, who's a good manager but a great person, so I'm sure there was justification, but that's not my business or my problem.
Jannica and I chatted for a couple of minutes. She seemed genuinely glad to see me again. Come to think of it, I was probably the best friend she'd had at that job. At the counter, I paid for my media fix, and looked behind me to say "see ya,"or whatever, to Jannica. I noticed she was purchasing a shitload of high-carb snacks. She had Little Debbies®, candy bars, Doritos® and two liters of Pepsi®. With absolutely no malice in my head or my heart, I said, "Glad to see you're feeding your kids so healthy."
Jannica's smile turned to a look of sadness. "Well... They don't get this stuff every day or anything..."
"I know. I'm just kidding," I replied weakly. I've got no reason to think Jannica's a bad mom. I believe she loves her kids and tries to do right by them. For all I know, those nice children were getting a very rare treat. Nobody's overweight or unhealthy-looking. Even though I (regretably) judge people all the time and maybe you do too, I wasn't doing it then. Had she been splurging on Brussels sprouts, I'd probably have said, "The kids are going to love those!" which might have been slightly funnier. Jannica'd never done me any wrong, yet my careless attempt at a lame joke had hurt her feelings.
Some lady with a real Minnesota-sounding accent called in an easy to-go order. She just started yapping about what she wanted, but we've got a script and I went with it. I got the idea she wasn't digging it, but you've gotta do what you've gotta do, right? I quoted a very favorable pick-up time, a mere twelve minutes into the future and she informed me she'd arrive in three. I assured her that we'd do everything possible to get her chow out quickly.
About five minutes after our convo, she pulled up. I stuck my smiling face out the door and told her it'll be ready in just a sec.
"You guys aren't on your A game today, are ya?" she said.
"What do you mean, ma'am?" I responded pleasantly.
She alleged that she'd called earlier and been put on hold interminably, which is possible but unlikely. Then she told how she'd called a second time and been hung up on, she thinks by me. Hung up on is even more improbable than that first scenario and if it happened, I promise I ain't the one. Then she repeated her mantra, "You guys aren't on your A game today."
I went back in and quickly checked her order and bagged it up. I brought her food and her ticket to her. Even though to-go works out of a till, I had cash in my pocket and made her $11.50 change out of 20 right there. I quickly stepped back; I didn't want a tip from her since she felt so compelled to keep harping about how bad my store and I suck.
Somehow through it all I managed to channel the spirit of author David Hayden, who's wise advice is to never turn it back on them (no matter how richly they deserve it!) and remained calm, courteous and professional through the entire exchange. Of course, if the sign outside said Joe's Rib Crib™, I'd have told her, "No Charge. Now please get the fuck out of here and don't ever come back."
I'm not sure why I let this little ordeal bother me more than I'd normally expect it to. She's probably not really evil and doesn't deserve the colon cancer I spent a few minutes psychically wishing on her fat ugly ass. She's from another part of the United States where people tend to be more rude than they are here, which isn't to say we're better people; we're not. We just tend to demonstrate a little more superficial surface politeness than y'all do.
She was smiling through the entire few minutes she was there. I detected no cruelty or even displeasure in her voice. Other than the content of her comments, she might have been literally exclaiming pleasantries about the weather instead of figuratively plunging a knife into my gut and twisting the fuck out of it. I might have felt differently, maybe worse, if she'd been young and pretty instead of old and ugly. What clients say and do that bothers me might not be a problem for you, and vice versa. I tasted some anger for a minute but I believe I handled the situation pretty well. I'm totally over it now of course and I'm only bringing it up because it kind of ties in with something that went down a little later.
In spite of a couple of stiffs, I made nice cheese today. I was feeling pretty good as I pulled into my neighborhood Shitty Mart™ after work to get a newspaper. That's where I saw my former coworker Jannica and her three kids. She'd been a pretty good server and I got along with her fine, but most of the employees didn't like her. I'm vaguely aware that she had a lot of drama in her life that she brought to work sometimes. She'd eventually been fired, by GM Brenda B, who's a good manager but a great person, so I'm sure there was justification, but that's not my business or my problem.
Jannica and I chatted for a couple of minutes. She seemed genuinely glad to see me again. Come to think of it, I was probably the best friend she'd had at that job. At the counter, I paid for my media fix, and looked behind me to say "see ya,"or whatever, to Jannica. I noticed she was purchasing a shitload of high-carb snacks. She had Little Debbies®, candy bars, Doritos® and two liters of Pepsi®. With absolutely no malice in my head or my heart, I said, "Glad to see you're feeding your kids so healthy."
Jannica's smile turned to a look of sadness. "Well... They don't get this stuff every day or anything..."
"I know. I'm just kidding," I replied weakly. I've got no reason to think Jannica's a bad mom. I believe she loves her kids and tries to do right by them. For all I know, those nice children were getting a very rare treat. Nobody's overweight or unhealthy-looking. Even though I (regretably) judge people all the time and maybe you do too, I wasn't doing it then. Had she been splurging on Brussels sprouts, I'd probably have said, "The kids are going to love those!" which might have been slightly funnier. Jannica'd never done me any wrong, yet my careless attempt at a lame joke had hurt her feelings.
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