I also want to specify that I asked
@Splinty before going off on this. He said I could, so I will.
I'd first like to apologize to anyone who I have offended, but if I did that, I'd be a liar. I am who I am, and that's just the way it is. For anyone who thinks what I say is just a schtick, you're simply wrong.
I've shared the story before here, about when I was 10 years old and got my ass kicked by a guy after we were throwing snowballs at cars, and I just happened to be the one that got caught, and subsequently beaten. When I got home, I circled the block a few times knowing my father was going to ask how I had a black eye, bloody nose, and a fat split lip, but I eventually had to go in. He asked me what happened, I told him what happened, he looked at me, sipped his coffee, and said 'If you're old enough to act like a punk, you're old enough to get treated like a punk." Sipped his coffee again, went upstairs, and didn't talk to me for a few days.
That's just how I was raised: By a no nonsense, no bullshit, harley riding, former construction worker who was a pilot when he died when I was 12. The 'a handshake is worth more than a contract' 'you fuck up, you own it' type.
Anyways back in the day I worked with this older black man named 'George'. George was the calmest person I have ever known. I wish I could articulate how soft spoken he was, but that didn't matter, when he spoke to you, you listened, because he demanded respect, not only at that moment, but just from how he carried himself. Perhaps that came from his days serving in Korea. One day while we were working, I was pissed off at a lot of things that were going wrong. He grabbed me by the arm, and said 'Mike, this isn't that important'. He made a sweeping gesture at the restaurant, and said 'this doesn't matter'. Back when we got dropped in the north, you know what we said? "We do our job, and go home". It kind of became a running thing while we worked together. Do our job, and go home. Nothing more, nothing less.
One day, one fellow server, when I was about ready to kill someone with a pepper mill, said "Shit, Mike is in the dojo" (this was when I was training everyday), and it stuck. This section of the restaurant was now 'The Dojo', and it got to the point that I never had to look at the floor plan because that was just where I was. And if George was working, he was there too, probably to keep me from stabbing people with broken beer bottles. Even though the sections were divided, George and I didn't give a fuck. We had each other's back, we knew it, and management be damned if they wanted to ask why one of us were taking the other's assigned tables. The floor plan had 4 sections. Both with 2 servers. You put George and I together, that's 25% of the restaurant you don't have to worry about. We're doing our job and going home. George also introduced me to Booker's Whiskey, but that was when I used to drink brown liquor.
Anyways, I'm getting off topic a bit. At this same point in time, I was also working with a girl named Danielle. Little fiery irish lass (We know how much I love the Irish), she was 5 foot nothing and maybe 110 pounds soaking wet, and yet she could drink me under the table and could be the nicest person in the world, or the meanest drunk chick you could ever imagine. She was an awesome drinking buddy, almost nightly. We'd hit up Pizanos, get comped like mad, and just have a lot of fun. I worked with her for about three years, and the only reason we got along so well was because we shared a mutual hatred for everyone else.
Until December 27th, 2004.
We were working in The Dojo, prepping a birthday party. Polishing silverware, getting our wine, typical server shit. Then I ask 'Hey Dani (I was the only one who could call her Dani. To everyone else it was Danielle or she would get as she used to say 'murder murder stab stab', always in a cartoonish voice, so it was more cute than life threatening.) why aren't there any washing machines in Indonesia?'
-break- She totally doesn't get that this is a joke about the tsunami that killed like 300,000 people 2 days earlier. Or a day and a half, I don't get time zones. -/break-
Because everyone is washing up on the beach.
(Now before you chastise me for this, recognize that within 24 hours, I wasn't the one that made pages of tsunami jokes. I was staggered when I searched 'tsunami jokes' and there were more then you could have ever imagined.)
Now Dani is looking at me totally horrified, wide eyed and slack jawed, and if eyes could shoot knives, I would have been cut into a thousand pieces and served as tartar. After I stop laughing I realize that she wasn't amused. I had to smooth this over and fast.
So, of course, another joke will make it better. "Hey dani, what did Santa give the Indonesian kids for Christmas?" (By now she knows, this isn't going to end well) "Nothing. He just threw them a wave as he flew by."
She never talked to me again. Ever.
*Again, I had permission to post this, I've got screenshot to prove it."
XOXO. I love you all, except the countless people I have on ignore.
@Splinty before going off on this. He said I could, so I will.I'd first like to apologize to anyone who I have offended, but if I did that, I'd be a liar. I am who I am, and that's just the way it is. For anyone who thinks what I say is just a schtick, you're simply wrong.
I've shared the story before here, about when I was 10 years old and got my ass kicked by a guy after we were throwing snowballs at cars, and I just happened to be the one that got caught, and subsequently beaten. When I got home, I circled the block a few times knowing my father was going to ask how I had a black eye, bloody nose, and a fat split lip, but I eventually had to go in. He asked me what happened, I told him what happened, he looked at me, sipped his coffee, and said 'If you're old enough to act like a punk, you're old enough to get treated like a punk." Sipped his coffee again, went upstairs, and didn't talk to me for a few days.
That's just how I was raised: By a no nonsense, no bullshit, harley riding, former construction worker who was a pilot when he died when I was 12. The 'a handshake is worth more than a contract' 'you fuck up, you own it' type.
Anyways back in the day I worked with this older black man named 'George'. George was the calmest person I have ever known. I wish I could articulate how soft spoken he was, but that didn't matter, when he spoke to you, you listened, because he demanded respect, not only at that moment, but just from how he carried himself. Perhaps that came from his days serving in Korea. One day while we were working, I was pissed off at a lot of things that were going wrong. He grabbed me by the arm, and said 'Mike, this isn't that important'. He made a sweeping gesture at the restaurant, and said 'this doesn't matter'. Back when we got dropped in the north, you know what we said? "We do our job, and go home". It kind of became a running thing while we worked together. Do our job, and go home. Nothing more, nothing less.
One day, one fellow server, when I was about ready to kill someone with a pepper mill, said "Shit, Mike is in the dojo" (this was when I was training everyday), and it stuck. This section of the restaurant was now 'The Dojo', and it got to the point that I never had to look at the floor plan because that was just where I was. And if George was working, he was there too, probably to keep me from stabbing people with broken beer bottles. Even though the sections were divided, George and I didn't give a fuck. We had each other's back, we knew it, and management be damned if they wanted to ask why one of us were taking the other's assigned tables. The floor plan had 4 sections. Both with 2 servers. You put George and I together, that's 25% of the restaurant you don't have to worry about. We're doing our job and going home. George also introduced me to Booker's Whiskey, but that was when I used to drink brown liquor.
Anyways, I'm getting off topic a bit. At this same point in time, I was also working with a girl named Danielle. Little fiery irish lass (We know how much I love the Irish), she was 5 foot nothing and maybe 110 pounds soaking wet, and yet she could drink me under the table and could be the nicest person in the world, or the meanest drunk chick you could ever imagine. She was an awesome drinking buddy, almost nightly. We'd hit up Pizanos, get comped like mad, and just have a lot of fun. I worked with her for about three years, and the only reason we got along so well was because we shared a mutual hatred for everyone else.
Until December 27th, 2004.
We were working in The Dojo, prepping a birthday party. Polishing silverware, getting our wine, typical server shit. Then I ask 'Hey Dani (I was the only one who could call her Dani. To everyone else it was Danielle or she would get as she used to say 'murder murder stab stab', always in a cartoonish voice, so it was more cute than life threatening.) why aren't there any washing machines in Indonesia?'
-break- She totally doesn't get that this is a joke about the tsunami that killed like 300,000 people 2 days earlier. Or a day and a half, I don't get time zones. -/break-
Because everyone is washing up on the beach.
(Now before you chastise me for this, recognize that within 24 hours, I wasn't the one that made pages of tsunami jokes. I was staggered when I searched 'tsunami jokes' and there were more then you could have ever imagined.)
Now Dani is looking at me totally horrified, wide eyed and slack jawed, and if eyes could shoot knives, I would have been cut into a thousand pieces and served as tartar. After I stop laughing I realize that she wasn't amused. I had to smooth this over and fast.
So, of course, another joke will make it better. "Hey dani, what did Santa give the Indonesian kids for Christmas?" (By now she knows, this isn't going to end well) "Nothing. He just threw them a wave as he flew by."
She never talked to me again. Ever.
*Again, I had permission to post this, I've got screenshot to prove it."
XOXO. I love you all, except the countless people I have on ignore.
