Preempted snippiness…

…from the one (straggly-bearded) (thin) (white) (stoner) cook at the one (Irish-y) burger joint in the first floor of a historic hotel where I work, now:

At the end of the night, I put the soup on the back kitchen counter and turn to go get the container that you dump it into, and he’s like, “Hey, don’t leave that there…!”, and at that I say truthfully but hyper-innocently that I was just going to get the container to take care of it, and he catches himself, and he says that he just wanted to let me know that you can put the lid on askew so it looks like a Star of David, that’s the best way to put the soup in the refrigerator to cool.

An evening of a storm, at my new job.

1) “Fucking lipstick,” I start saying as a schtick to my one (affable) coworker who was in the (military), pulling up dirty paloma glasses with the red spice still around a bit of the rim in a big blotch that somewhat resembles a gigantic lipstick stain.

2) Before I’m set to clock out as the restaurant is closing, the storm alerts go off on all of our phones, and then the sirens start, and the one (quiet) (introverted) (tatted) (white) manager asks me if I want to leave right away to get ahead of the storm and she can call me an Uber because she knows that I take the bus, but I think and I text the nearby bus stop for arrival times and there’s no reply and so I say it’s better to wait in the basement breakroom and I just have a few more minutes of work so I can finish it up and clock out and go wait there.

And, I do, and I chill out for like 35 minutes and do shit online on my phone as I eat some macaroni-and-cheese and Southwestern corn salad that had been left over from a reception and that they put out in 2 big trays for all of us.

Some of the building residents from the upper floors are in the basement social area, too, and I see the one (older) (Latina) (hostess), who turns out to live in the building, which I did not know.

She says she never knows when we have food “back there” (i.e. in "the server alley" when she's working), so I promise the next time there’s food, I’ll come up to her host-stand and let her know, I didn’t know that that was happening and I would have come up earlier that night and told her if I had known that she didn't know it was there.

3) When I come up and text info for the bus, it still doesn’t return info and I wonder if the bus lines shut down during a tornado alert or warning or whatever, so I walk over to the nearby transit terminal and what do you know, busses are running and mine comes soon, and the driver says wind might have made their system at the bus garage go out, and when that happens it cuts out stuff like the texting and this app that they use for paychecks or schedule or whatnot, too, so that's probably why I couldn't get arrival times on my phone.

A dream from this spring:

This spring, I dreamnt:

I’m doing all of my laundry completely in the basement laundry area in the basement of the front house and so I'm nude while I'm doing it because I have to wash all of the clothes that I"m in, too, and while I'm in the middle of this I realize that there’s all these black socks left in the bottom of the huge white-and-blue canvas laundry bag, and as I’m pulling them out to put in the washer, I hear voices, and so I quickly pull the bag over me to cover myself as the one (big personality) (redheaded) (Irish-American) owner and the one (quiet) (introverted) (tatted) (white) manager walk by and glance over at me, confused, like why am I there, nude.

. . .

(. . .)

(I like never have nudity dreams.)

Two events, one day…

…at the (Irish-y) burger joint in the first floor of a historic hotel that I now work at:

1) A(n old) (white) lady says her grilled chicken breast is too tough and that her knife doesn’t cut well and when she tries to cut it her tray shakes.

2) My one (blonde) (make-upped) (college-age) coworker’s (young) (tight-bodied) dad is in to see where she works one more time before she transfers schools and leaves next month, and as I pass through “the server alley” my one (make-upped) (Eastern European last-named) (master’s student) coworker is “girl talking” with my one (younger) (plumpish) (hair streak-dyed) (mid-Southern) waitress coworker and she’s whispering that he doesn’t look like her dad, he looks like her boyfriend or brother, and I hear the word “hot,” too, as I pass by, it's like everyone wants the hot dad.

Some ribbing…

…to my one (half Asian) (just-graduated-college) coworker, when I see him at a coffee shop where I’m postering for an event:

“So unfaithful!”, I’m like, and he’s confused at first, and then is like, “Because I have a job here?”

. . .

(Like a week-and-a-half later, I realize that I don't see him anymore at the one [Irish-y] burger joint in the first floor of a historic hotel, and I realize that I must have just randomly showed up at his new job and ribbed him, thinking it was a second job, and not a job that he quit us for.)

Some pickiness and confusion from all of the different people at a large (South Asian from South Asia) table...

 ..at the one (Irish-y) burger joint in the first floor of a historic hotel, where I work now:

- Says to bring out water, then water is brought and decides on no ice.

- Says wants all vegetable toppings, then says no tomato, next says all 3 sauces, then says just mayo.

- Request to substitute special salad from different entrée, then nixes that idea.

- Special request for grilled onions, not raw.

. . .

($6 tip on a $60 bill – not bad.)

Questions and theories (2 of 2): Killer.

The one (young) (heavyset) (blonde) artist who I know from around town was telling me that her (Brazilian) (soon-to-be ex-) husband was in town like his second week here and was drinking vast amounts of "garage beer” IPA on a third floor open balcony that went along the sides of apartments between stairwells, the kind of walkway that you have where you enter the individual apartments from it, and he was out there with people when he fell off, and he swears it felt like someone pushed him.

And, he fell like a story-and-a-half onto some bikes that were all chained up onto a bike rack, and somehow he was sore and able to get up and walk home, and he never filed a police report, nor was he seriously hurt, somehow.

Only later did they find out that this notorious local guy who later abducted a woman and killed her lived there at the same time, like two apartments down from where he was.

Now, he thinks he got pushed.