Sometimes when you work a lot its hard to find the time to update your blog. Then other times you get fired from your new job and you suddenly have lots of time to update your blog. I lasted 8 days in my job as a server. This is my side of the story, entitled: lies about why I got fired.
Day 1 - Training
My life in the American restaurant world began, as most things do, with a hangover and mild depression. There's no point in doing something unless you can do it with a demonic hangover. Waking up with the familiar feeling of shame and regret, I put on some server like clothes and headed for my new job. The walk to work turned into a delicate game of sphincter chess. I made the schoolboy error of not unloading the gallons of Guinness I pumped into my stomach the night before and now that Guinness was quickly hatching an escape plan with a bag of chips and half a mars bar. Clench, clench, squeeze, wait. Every step brought me closer to disaster.
I met the manager in the doorway of my new workplace. She was a very serious and stern woman who looked like she wouldn't be too happy if I did a shit in my pants. She took me for a tour of the establishment and outlined some of my duties as a server. The Guinness convoy had altered its escape route at the last minute and was now attempting a mouth exit. At the end of the tour, I politely asked to be excused and ran for the bathroom with my hand in front of my mouth, funneling the escaping black liquid through my fingers into the air.
Collapsing over the toilet, the vomit armada began to invade the bowl surrounding my face. The vomit propelled itself from my body at such extreme speeds that it turned my head into a broken fire hydrant. Looking up from the carnage, my teary bloodshot eyes met with those of my new boss, staring at me with her arms folded.
She asked me to leave and to return tomorrow when I was feeling better. I went home and made my way to bed. Upon discovering that I had drunkenly eaten a packet of hobknobs in my bed the night before, I threw the bed out my window and slept on the floor.
Day 3 - Courtney
On my third day of work, I spied a suitable candidate to create my vast army of Dereks, the lovely arsed bartender, Courtney. Courtney's refusal to acknowledge my existent was only a minor stumbling block on our trip to Sexville, population: orgasms and cool stuff. I made a note to sew a patch of leather to my pants after seeing her bend down for a carrot in the kitchen. Vegetables always get me excited. In the end, Courtney helped me out a great deal in completing my training as a restaurant server. She showed me how to put orders through the computer, where to collect the food and how to stop staring at her perfect breasts.
Day 4 - My First Table
My training was complete and today was the day I would serve my first table. Naturally my first table was an obese man spilling onto the seat next to him and an elderly woman who played with her mustache while she flirted with me. I had nowhere to look. I didn't want to draw attention to the furry nose worm and I didn't want to make eye contact with Jaba Da Hut either, for fear he might gobble me up like the sexy piece of celery that I am.
Jaba ordered most of the starters and two burgers. I incorrectly assumed it was all for him and I asked the lovely Yosemite Sam (you'll know him when you see him) what she would like to order.
That's obviously for the both of us...
said the angry blob lord.
Awkwardly, I laughed too hard, sweated profusely and retreated to the kitchen. After the kitchen staff had killed a small petting zoo, I brought out their meals. The old woman asked for a glass of milk. I told her it was against the law to give her a glass of milk.
Day 8 - The Incident
After 8 days of work, I felt like I was getting the hang of the server thing. It was my third shift working with Courtney and I felt like it was time to throw a party in her pants. Effortlessly making a fool of myself all through the evening, I came up with an ingenious plan. Since Courtney was a bartender, I as a server, could specify through the computer system, what kind of drink I needed her to prepare. In other words, I could write her a secret love message that she would get at the bar, instantly turning her into a frothing sexual mess. With the thought of imminent bar sex running through my mind, I, perhaps, sent a message that was a little too forward. The golden message read...
One Large Diet COCK
I brought my smiling, slightly misshapen head around the corner of the bar and immediately deposited a little brown panic nugget in my pants. Courtney was busy serving drinks to a customer when my female manager picked up the love message that had just come through. I got my coat and, after a lengthy speech about sexual harassment and inappropriate leather patching, I left through the backdoor.
Courtney was smoking out the back. She looked at me and said the greatest thing any girl has ever said to any man child...
So when am I gonna see this large cock everyone's been talking about?
You're gonna have to settle for a small... but its sugar-free and you can have as many refills as you want...
replied the coolest Irish person to have ever lived.
Then I hopped in my jet and flew home. Maybe none of that last bit happened. Maybe all of it happened.