Full Credits

Stats & Data

October 04, 2010

This is the second and final verbal reprimand an Arby's manager delivered to his underperforming employee, Ganon.

I’m going to skip the bullshit management tactic of beginning with a compliment, because I can’t think of something you’ve done right since you started.

I hired you because you said you wanted to start over, work your way up to management, maybe even open your own franchise.

 Your resume sucked.

 Tyrant of Hyrule?  Cruel overseer of the black arts?  I hire sophomore burnouts with more applicable experience than you.  And it’s not like you even did those jobs right.

 You had no references, because some skirt-wearing pansy with stenciled UGGs killed them all.

 You necromance leviathan demons, 20-story-tall spiders whose hideous visage rends the concept of reality.  Then this sissy prances out with a slingshot and sends them sobbing all the way back to the Nether Realm.

 Where the fuck are you scouting this bench?

 Beasts whose black hearts course with the blood of inequity got tossed up by some teenage fairy.  You had sky-piercing castles, living booby-traps, ghosts and fuming dragons that bathed in lava.  Then you watched some pointy-eared fruit play whistles and ride ponies all the way to your nut-sack.

 It should have called into question your decision-making.  I should have thought, “Maybe this guy doesn’t make good life choices.  His glaring judgmental deficit could reflect poorly on the Arby’s brand.”

 But, no, I gave you a shot.

 You said you wanted a fresh start, and I even thought that maybe, just maybe, some of that time spent commanding skeleton armies could translate into leadership skills.

 I guess it wasn’t enough.  It was never enough.  You couldn’t be content to play emperor in your own little fiefdom of magic mirrors and talking redwoods.  You wanted it all.

 Well, I got news for ya, you green shit:  I’m the boss in here.

 You want my job?  Start by getting some common sense and changing your attitude. 

 Customers don’t want to dungeon crawl for two hours to acquire the “necessary tools” for a meal.  They want a fucking roast beef.

 And if you can’t handle that, then let me know now, so I can hire someone who wants it.

 Half the time you come in here looking like a strung-out, red-headed pervert and the other half you lumber in transmogrified into a frenzied bull mutant.  It freaks out the senior citizens in the morning and I’m getting tired of making you new nametags.  Ganon … Ganondorf … whatever the hell it is today.

 We need consistency in our associates and guests need consistency from their servers.

 You can shoot lightning from your fingers, so tell me, Dark Lord, why you can’t keep curly fries down during lunch rush. 

 Is it that I’m not speaking your cursed tongue?  Well, maybe you can understand this:  Summon a goblet of ketchup for that Roast Burger, slap it on some Deku bread and top it off with a fucking Triforce of pickles.  There’s a customer waiting to give you a fistful of rupees for it.

 This is your last warning.