Work, My Clothing Breakdown, and The Red Market

I was awoken this morning by my mom telling me that my crazy manager called MY HOUSE! because I wasn’t picking up my cell phone. She was smart and said she’d “try to find me” not giving away the fact that I was sleeping. She said, “she sounds really panicked, maybe you should go in.” Lets think about this:

a) This woman is certifiably crazy. She is literally always panicking. She called me five minutes before the opener was even scheduled to be there, meaning a full 35 minutes before the restaurant even is open! Psycho.

b) I offered to come in early today and was specifically told not to because then they’d be short a person.

c) I’m already at 27 hours after 3 days, so since I’ll probably be stuck there at least 10-12 hours today I’m already going to run out of hours and not be able to work my shift tomorrow.

d) I’ve been told by management not to listen to this woman. Ever.

e) I’m not a frickin doctor. I’m not your bitch, Bitch! I’m not on-call despite the fact that you think I am. Your company pays me $5/hr before tip out so you can go suck it.

f) You’re using me for my amazing hosting skills and won’t promote me to server because then your hosting staff would be fucked so you can go eff yourself. I’m sitting home watching tv right now and you’re just going to have to accept it.

Otherwise, I still love work. I walked in the other day and two guys were like, “oh speaking of Tits and Ass.” So there’s that. And then another host, who literally has an afro, looked at me and said “Look at me. I love you, you’re gorgeous, but please go fix your hair.” It was 95 degrees and really humid, I’d come from the pool and I obviously had a huge hair problem.

Then I was getting drinks for a table (which I do when shit is absolutely crazy- which it has been all week) and I kept waiting for the Coke bubbles to go down so I could fill the cup up all the way. So my friend who at one point told me to stop eating so much because I was getting a double chin was like, “Don’t you know you’re supposed to fill it up on an angle?” And I said no. He was baffled. “You mean your whole life you never heard that you have to fill it up on an angle.” And I said, “No, sorry, I never took Soda 101.” I got a good collective oooooooooooh! from the kitchen for that one. My whole life until now I never drank soda so how would I know?

Another guy I work with said to me, “Yo, why they ain’t make you a server yet?” So I said, “Racism.” That went over really well and I felt really funny. It worked because I’m literally the only white host and everyone is always talking about how white I am both in skin tone and behavior. But I’ve been trying to assimilate. I did the Dougie the other day and instead of using my typical “What?” response because I can’t understand a damn thing these people are saying, I’ve started to use, “Wha happened?”

Hmmmm things besides work. I had to go to a graduation party yesterday and I literally had a clothing nervous breakdown. I must have put on twenty different things and everything made me look like a blimp. Finally I settled on a nice white skirt but the back had a weird bubble where the fabric wasn’t sitting right. I was so late that I was like, “fuck it” and I just went. But as soon as I had to wear real clothes that were not black for work I had no idea what to do. I really thought about putting leggings on. I even touched them. I’m more comfortable wearing a bikini or those hideous non-slip shoes than real clothes at this point.

I’m really pleased with my decision to join the pool this summer and I go almost every day. Since I stay but the adult pool, I’m pretty confident that all of the senior citizens are giving me dirty looks. They probably think, “oh here comes that little slut again.” I can only imagine what they think while they’re doing water aerobics and I walk by in a string bikini top and a cheeky bottom where my butt kind of pokes out and my crack is probably always showing. That and you can see a lot of tattoos when I’m not wearing clothes. Oh, and the belly button ring. I must have been a strange sight yesterday. With my boob job and my tattoos and my leopard headband and my hello kitty phone…. reading a book about global trafficking of body parts and tissues. It’s a great book called The Red Market: On the Trail of The World’s Organ Brokers, Bone Thieves, Blood Farmers, and Child Traffickers by Scott Carney. I’m 3/4 of the way through and I’m having a hard time believing that there was so much I just didn’t know- because I know a lot of random stuff. For example, almost all of the skeletons in American classrooms come from stolen bodies in third world countries. People even kidnap and kill children for child skeletons. A lot of third world adoptions to the United States are actually of children that are kidnapped, either actually snatched from the streets or by tricking their illiterate parents into signing away their rights. Also, in China you can buy a kidney or other organ for a very minimal amount on demand because they have a prison full of political prisoners that they execute when they having a matching recipient who needs an organ. There are also blood farms in other countries where people are kidnapped and perpetually drained of blood to the point where they’re so weak that they can’t even stand up let alone try to get away. It’s totally fascinating. And even though in the United States you can’t pay for tissues, you essentially are paying for tissues because you’re paying a fee for the procedure. I highly recommend it. I’ve burned through almost the whole book in probably two hours while these stupid recent college grads yapped away around me about who was dating who and who was blackout drunk.

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One response to “Work, My Clothing Breakdown, and The Red Market

  1. Best. Rant. Ever.

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