When we last left off I was working at a chicken rotisserie called Tanner’s and loving life. It eventually went under but before it did I worked at . . .
(8) Regazzi’s-Quit-This was a polished-looking Italian joint that was located in the same strip mall as my beloved Tanner’s, so one week when I wasn’t getting enough shifts slinging chicken I walked across the parking lot and got a part time gig here. This place was nothing special so it wasn’t too much of a shocker when it closed. The owner was an asshole, though. He didn’t tip for shit. Ever. Anywhere. In my opinion if you own a restaurant you shouldn’t be a 9% tipper. Karma, motherfucker. Karma. Now he’s just an asshole who doesn’t tip. I’m pretty sure my reason for quitting had something to do with a hangover and my intense desire to sleep it off. Saved again by my immigrant-like over employment.
(9) Applebee’s (FOH)-Fired-When Tanner’s imploded I went back to the Applebee’s where I had worked as a line cook. This one was notorious for its ghetto-assed customers, one of whom denied that they had left a tip on their credit card which resulted in my getting fired for allegedly changing the tip. Oh well. There was a new Chili’s opening up in a couple of months so in the interim I got a job at . . .
(10) Longhorn’s –Fired-Back of the house work there sucked bad enough as it was but the assistant kitchen manager was a dick. He was a dick when I worked with him at Applebee’s and he was a dick at Longhorn’s. The schedule had a bad habit of getting posted the day before it went into effect. I called the store to find out what time I was supposed to come in the next day. This assclown’s exact words were ‘Negative, Ghostrider. The pattern is full. Yeah. um, you don’t work here anymore.’ It was one of the oddest shitcannings I’ve ever received, notable also for the fact that I still to this day really don’t know exactly why it happened. Just in time to open up . . .
(11) Chili’s (opened it)-Fired. This was my very first corporate restaurant opening and it was quite the experience. We worked like immigrants and partied like rock stars. Every. Night. Every night. I mean, the very first night of orientation this guy who would later on become one of my best friends wound up throwing a party. Day one-‘Let’s get fucked up!’ Day two: repeat day one. I remember very well (the first part) of the Fourth of July, 1997. It had been a very long and slow and boring double when I said these exact words to exactly ONE person: ‘Hey, maybe we should try to throw a party.’ My mistake was in telling those words to my friend the notorious party instigator. He told two people who in turn told two more people who told more people and so on and so on like some kind of Amway business plan until eventually my two bedroom guest house was crammed with drunken, stoned, and in several cases-mine included-naked revelers. I was living in a nice guest house in a nice neighborhood that had a pool. Pools are great if you want to have a bunch of drunk chicks get naked. They are not so good if you like living in your cool guest house. This particular party was so off the chizzain I was still catching shit about it from the police more than a year later. I was at another party which happened to get busted by the police sergeant who lived across the street from that nice guest house we threw the Fourth of July party at. He said ‘I remember you. You’re the little sumbitch who threw that party that time time. I was still cleaning up my yard two days after. You know one of YOUR friends pissed on my swing set?’ Oopsie Poopsie. Even though I went out and got part time gigs at other jobs I kept this one from April 1997 until November 2002. One of those part time gigs was performing standup, which is fodder for a whole other blog.
To be continued . . .
Dignity and Respect
Me, The JerBear