May 17, 2012 § 19 Comments
I’ve been having problems with my new job. I go home after every shift and feel like ripping someone’s head off, and usually C needs to put up with be being not my usual bitchy self, but mean nasty, “fuck you and your little dog too” attitude. The worst part of my job is this thing called “on call”. For those of you who do not know what this is (lucky shits), it means you call in a couple hours before your shift starts to find out if you are needed. What this means is if you have an on call at 5 o’clock on a Saturday and you get invited to a barbecue, you can’t drink until after you call at 3 o’clock to find out you may be working. These are considered “scheduled shifts”, even if you don’t work them. So when your boss promises you 3 or 4 shifts a week, half of those or more, you may not be working.
But back to my barbecue at 3 o’clock. I call in, no work. Part of me was pissed off as I would like the hours, the other part was happy to hang up the phone and grabbed a beer. Then 4:30 hits, I get a call, my “on call” is back on. Uh, no. Sorry, drinking an hour and a half in the sun. No, I am not fit to work. My boss was being a real dick, so I hung up the phone.
So last night I went in for my shift to find it cancelled. No call, no nothing. “You know you still have to pay me for three hours,” I told him. He told me he left a message, I went into my received calls, nothing from him. He just shrugs and said he must have dialed the wrong number. “Then you still have to pay me for three hours.”
“No, I called the number you left, if you gave me the wrong number that is your fault.” I fucking snapped. “Dude, you managed to call me on Saturday for the on call you told me was off.”
He “suggested” I re-evaluate how much I want this job. So basically, I shut up and not get paid for the three hours for the cancelled shift I showed up for, or I have no job. Fuck that. I may be able to small that big shit eating grin while customers treat me like shit, but to pick up a dozen hours and have a boss treat me like shit, I think not.
But the oh-so-childish part of me wants to just not show up for my shift. I want to just send a big “Fuck you” to him. BUT I probably will not and give a whole two weeks notice and all. Not for him, but because I don’t want to be that guy.
January 21, 2012 § 14 Comments
So out I go to the vegetable market, I was going anyway as I was getting stuff for Nonna, which is what put eggplant parmesan in my head to start with. So I pick up everything, get home, start cooking. Okay, while I will say that it may not be the toughest thing to cook, it is very time consuming. So he gets home and I take it out of the oven.
“What’s that?” he points at the eggplant.
“That’s not eggplant”
“Yes it is”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes it fucking is.”
So he explains slowly, like he is talking to a moron. “No, eggplant is the long skinny vegetable that looks a bit like a cucumber.”
“No, that would be a zucchini. Eggplant is a big purple thing.”
“Oh, okay. Then I don’t like eggplant.”
“And that is when the gun just went off officer”
Anyway, we ate, he picked around the fucking eggplant, ate the pasta anyway, and the garlic bread. After dinner he says, “Sorry about the eggplant thing.”