I hate my job. And here's why.
I hate it when people can't be bothered to read a sign. "Entertainment Book coupons valid Monday through Thursday"? Nope, they give me one on a Friday night and then demand to see my supervisor when I can't accept it. Or even worse. The name of the restaurant is "Zacks Hotdogs" For the love of god people, don't come in and ask for cheeseburgers and pizza. I don't have them. Oh, and when you come in 5 minutes before I close and I tell you I can only serve hotdogs, do NOT demand that I make you chicken tenders and fries. I told you when you walked in the door that my fryer is off for cleaning. And I swear to god, if one more person has a fit about "not wanting a f***ing hotdog" I'm gonna punch somebody. They walked into a specialty hotdog store, but they're not even willing to consider eating a hotdog? Oh, and we lock the doors promptly at 9 (or 10 on the weekends). Do not try to open the doors at 9:03 (or 10:03). Our hours are clearly posted on the front door. If you happen to come by exactly as I'm closing, and you see me locking the door, don't tell me to wait. I will not. Do not complain about my fountain being out of order. I told you when you asked that it was down and we were getting a new one, and that you could have a bottle out of the cooler for no extra charge. I can't magically make Pepsi come out. Or Mountain Dew. Have a bottle of Coke or Mello Yello and STFU. Oh, and if you're one of the annoying people that come in at 9:59 and want to eat your food in the restaurant, that's fine. We won't kick you out. But we will lock the doors so that you have to ask to be let out. We're not kidnapping you, so don't throw a fit. And if you don't like the music coming over the PA, I'm sorry. We don't have a radio. Deal with what's on the iPod. And if you happen to do something nice for us, like telling us when someone's trying to steal something, or cleaning up the condiment bar, we will not give you a free bag of chips. Don't cuss out the supervisor. And we are not a full service restaurant. This means come get your food when we call it out, and throw your own damn trash away.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what really grinds my gears.
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Picking up the pieces of this gory glory of it all from eve to morn for Eve to mourn
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