Rudeness is inexcusable.

A burger of epic proportions

So I take a burger out to this lady tonight, right? And it's burger perfection. It's got cheese and all the other heart-attack inducing ingredients you can think of on it. It was a good looking burger. Not so much the Brad Pitt of burgers, but a more classy good looking, like George Clooney. Nevertheless it was attractive in a food-type-of-way.

I take this perfectly crafted burger out to this woman, so proud that I can serve to her ravenous hunger with the most delicately crafted meat patty, enveloped in a golden bun accompanied by all the classics; cheese, lettuce, kosher pickle slices, tomato, and grilled onions, all straight from the garden of God himself. So I mustered up the biggest smile I could. In slow motion, the tray lowered to the space in front of her that she had already prepared for this feast to begin.

I didn't even get the tray halfway down between the distance of where the tray was carried by my arm to the table before I heard her awful, grating voice exclaim,

I specifically asked for NO cheese. Take this away. I don't want cheese. Get it right next time.

 Ok. This is what bothers me. I was so excited to give this dumb lady this burger because I made sure everything about it was awesome. No where on the ticket did it say "no cheese". I went through every stinkin' ingredient to make sure the whole table got everything they asked for. It was even a little kid's birthday, and I was about to offer to make him an Oreo sundae just for being a cute kid. That's how nice I am. I am a fucking angel. But no, this little bitch had to ruin it. 

I get it. Some people don't dig cheese, or any dairy products for that matter. I know people who would blow if they had a sip of milk. But don't you agree that there are nicer ways to bring to my attention that there wasn't supposed to be cheese on your burger?

Here, allow me to offer some responses:

1. Oh, I'm sorry there wasn't supposed to be cheese on here!

2. Oh, hun, I asked for no cheese.. 

3. This looks like a great burger, but I asked for no cheese!

4. I'm sorry but I wasn't supposed to have cheese..

Obviously, there were other ways to approach this situation. I am not the bad guy. I was just trying to make your day by stuffing your face with a really tasty burger. But you had to be a bitch and go and ruin it, because apparently you have a problem with cheese, which so happens to be a main ingredient of a CHEESEburger. Idiot.

Rudeness is just inexcusable. Just because I am about 30 (probably 40 because rudeness adds about 5-10 years on your age) years younger than you, and not yet started in my professional life doesn't mean you have the right to take advantage of your "superiority" to me. It's people like you that push me harder to get the best out of this education so that the next time I have to deal with a person like you will be in an executive office telling you that your work isn't good enough for our company. And yes, I will have on a pencil skirt and 5 inch heels and that's when I'll tell you what's up, lady. A Smashburger uniform doesn't make me any lesser than you. At least my Smashburger uniform is giving me the chance to learn that people like you exist and that I'll be dealing with you for the rest of my life, but I can handle it with class and a little thing my generation likes to call "swagger". Thanks for the motivation for me to work harder and get somewhere so I don't have to be rude to a nice girl at a burger joint to feel better about myself one day.

Again, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed your cheese-less, boring burger.

Dreams

So we've all seen "Inception", right? It comes down to the idea that sometimes we can't find the line between our subconscious and reality. And maybe our subconscious is our reality, or maybe our reality is just our subconscious, and maybe I'm starting to get a massive migraine trying to figure this out. 

I guess what I'm trying to say in a philosophical way is that I woke up to an awful dream this morning. It was one of those dreams where you try and try to tell yourself, "This isn't real, don't stress, this isn't happening to you," but every single detail, down to the way your childhood bathroom was painted, is spot on. You look around and you can navigate yourself through your parents' house knowingly, and it is all painstakingly real. 

I don't understand why our brains do this to us. It's almost mean in a way. The subconscious is dangerous, and it knows it. It uses every detail we've ever acquired in our lives and sets up scenarios that seem as if they are more like memories that actually occurred. And in my case, my mother-effing subconscious went down deep into the secret parts of my brain that require passwords and official identification to enter and found my confidential folder of deepest fears and made them into a nice little dream; like a Saturday morning special gone wrong. 

You'd think in times of psychological suffering, through emotional pain, that your own brain would want to comfort you. You'd hope that it would do it's job to keep your mind strong so that you could continue to survive. Well my guess is that my subconscious is defective and I would end up going bat shit crazy if I ever had to survive with what it's giving me.

I'm trying to figure out if my dream was a warning for me or if it was a real look into the future, or if it was just something to get my day started off wrong. Maybe this was meant to be a sub-par day and my mind knew that and thought to itself, "Damn, it's December 3rd. Shelby isn't allowed to have a nice start to her day. Let's rile her up in her sleep so that she wakes up to her heart having a metabolic seizure and a feeling of discomfort that rivals even her most uncomfortable moments."

It's funny though, because since I've started writing this, I'm less and less bothered by the dream itself. As time moves on I'm realizing the details weren't so spot on after all. And that I don't really care anymore. Sometimes I feel like because what used to be my biggest fear came true, that I don't really have anything else to be afraid of anymore. Especially not some stupid dream from a defective subconscious that couldn't even get the shape of his head right...

I fear Christmas.. for one hairy green reason

Don’t get me wrong, Christmas is one of the happiest times of the year. Free presents, shit tons of food, and your whole family getting drunk on some fruity drink your mom makes; what could be better?

For me, the sight of lights going up, tacky red velvet ribbon and decorations involving an obese bearded pedophile involve feelings of intense terror.

Some people are lucky. They’re afraid of spiders or snakes, and occasionally you’ll find a nut-bag who gets a little tense around something really strange, like Styrofoam. But me, no. I had to have one bad experience as a child and suffer the consequences every holiday season for as long as I can remember.

The mother-fucking Grinch

 

 

Ok, HONESTLY, who could love a face like that? Have you ever wondered why he lives by himself on a mountain? I know why! Because that is literally a face not even a mother could love. He looks like a walking, talking furry booger. And you people are all obsessed with him. I don’t understand. He wants to fucking steal Christmas! He wants to CREEP into your house, take all your possessions (Let’s face it—you know he’s going to take ALL the presents and whatever other valuable shit you have laying around. He has a deformed heart) and ruin the best holiday of the year. And you all revere him. To this day I don’t understand and I am highly upset.

Some of you might argue that he changes in the end. SO fucking what?! In the criminal justice system, this “thing” is a felon. Lock him up! He stole millions of dollars of those crack snorting Whos’ junk and he just gets away with it, because his heart “grows” (um, physically impossible) and he returns everything. So you’re going to tell me that if some 6 foot tall, hairy, green, wrinkled creature stole a bunch of your expensive stuff, all the while laughing in a creepy way that literally makes me want to pee myself, and upon seeing you were blatantly upset, returns it all, that you would just FORGIVE him?

Aw, hell no! I am willing to do what those dumb Whos should have done in the first place. Beat the crap out of that thing. That is, if I could even look into those jaundiced eyes long enough for me to initiate a fight.

What about the stuff you broke, you stupid Grinch? How are you going to replace the gifts you ruined? It’s not like there’s jobs available for fucking hairy green hermits. Unless you want to work at a car wash and be attached to the device that scrubs the cars off you’re out of luck. You ruined Christmas.

Don’t even get me started on the baby Grinch either. You think he’s cute, huh? When’s the last time you saw a baby completely bite through a ceramic plate? You ever go up to a baby and offer it a bowl or a mug for a snack? NO. You don’t. That’s fucked up. Obviously if its teeth and jaw were that strong at such a young age, he could bite through bones and probably kill me. And you know I’d be the first target because I love Christmas and if my nose was about 5 times bigger I would look just like Cindy Lou Who.




I would give anything to just be afraid of spiders.

To the random customer tonight: You may have changed my life

I knocked a stack of cups over and clumsily said, “Oh, it has been a long day.”

“Has it?” he said, not in a polite oh-I-should-respond way, but in a caring and thoughtful way. The same way a mother would become immediately worried at the sight of her sick child and ask, “Let me feel your forehead, honey. Are you feverish?”

It wasn’t a fever that was plaguing me, but I still felt his words reach out to my forehead, just to check.
“I’ve been here since 6, and I had a full day of class starting at 8 am,” I said with a smile.
“Wow, I couldn’t do that!” He said and his eyes lit up. I could see his college days burst through the expression on his face, and I knew he had once been a working student too. “You are doing a great job.”

“Thank you,” I said and beamed. It always means a lot when one of the petty adults that demands me to serve them food realizes that I have a lot more on my plate than they do on their 15 inch metal Smashburger tray.

He looked at me again, and as if he heard my heart screaming out, he consoled it.

“Just remember to be patient with yourself. Life isn’t just here,” he pointed to his left, “and here,” and pointed to his right. “It’s here,” and he made mountains and valleys and swirled his hand in every which direction. “Don’t forget there’s a lot of living going on around you. Patience. Forgiveness. And don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said.

“It’s all right there baby,” he said and pointed to his heart. “I’m so proud of you.”

There was so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to ask how he knew.. How he knew exactly what to say to lift a burden that rested on my soul. I wanted to ask, who sent you? Did God himself whisper in your ear? Did you get some kind of email from my guardian angel, setting up this meeting? Or was it simply just fate?

The only words I could muster up out of my awakened soul were a slow and metered, “Thank you, thank you so much,” but I know he could see every word I wanted to say in my expression. The lines on my face were shouting, “I’m grateful for your words!” The wetness in my eyes was nodding its head graciously and my smile was exclaiming, “You have no idea what your words mean to me!”
No matter what it was, fate, a sign, or an angel looking out for me, sir, my heart is a little less broken and I have your kind words to thank.