<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d3440559\x26blogName\x3dWonder+Boy\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://wonderboyblog.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://wonderboyblog.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-9208151565435014371', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Life is only what you wonder.

Sunday, July 18, 2004

Stinky Dinky

Some of the things I put up with at work, ought not to be put up with by anybody.
There's this horrible couple that come into my restaurant frequently.  Both at least eighty years old.
I call them "The Stinkies".
There's a funk that surrounds them that has to be smelled to be believed.  A mix of urine and stale sweat on bodies that haven't been washed in at least a week.   I almost lost my lunch.  I'm not joking or overexaggerating.  The only way to describe it is foul.   I can barely wait on them because of the horrible stench. 
 
Guess who's section the Hostess sat them in?

There's this old lady (who wears her hair in a huge beehive) who I used to complain about because she smelled like moth balls, but that's sweet perfume compared to these two. 
And they're not to pretty to look at, either.  The man all fat a bloated and belches and farts constantly.  Anf this man puts ketchup on everything.  He'll finish off the bottle that's on the table and then ask for another.  He puts ketchup on his mashed potatoes, his green beans,  his entire plate is covered in it.  The woman's got a humongous mole on her face with black wiry hair growing out of it and she has more hair on her chin and above her lip than I could grow in five days.

Ugh!

And they don't tip, either.  If they left me something nice, I probably wouldn't complain (as much), but the fact that they leave me nothing after haveing to endure the sights and smells of them is just too much to take.
And the worst thing is I can't refuse to wait on them.  "Everyone deserves service" is the motto at my restaurant.  If they were abusive to me I could have them removed, but they're not.
So I hold my breath when I visit my table and try not to look at then if I can help it. 
 
I said something to the Hostess about it.
"Jimmy, I have to sit them somewhere." she said plaintively.

Why me, though?  Why do I always get the loonies?