They Said to Just Pedal

Just Pedal

That’s a whole lot fucking easier said than done. Part of the Bike Ride Poem, the gist is, when life gives you shit, just pedal, you’ll eventually get through it. 

I can think of a very few times in my life when I’ve been so angry, that every single time I think about the situation, I cannot speak, all I can do is cry. 

When I get to that point… 

Have you seen the movie or read the book titled, Carrie?

Okay. So now you know. There ain’t no apologizing. No reasoning. No nothing. Get the fuck out of my way. 

Do you even understand that when you sit around talking about people, the people who you’re talking to are talking about you too? Do you even understand that talking about people says more about your boring no-life self than it ever will about the person you’re talking about? I don’t care if you talk about me, I am nothing to talk about and there are precious few people who know a lot about me. My personal journals don’t even know all there is to know about me because mother fuckers can read. Okay? So for anybody to  be able to say anything about me, it would almost have to be totally contrived bullshit. If I need you to know something, I will tell you but due to the nature of a Pongid Hominidae, even if I profess my undying devotion to you, you still won’t have the glory of knowing too much about me. That whole notion of can and will be used against you is utter bullshit. It WILL be used against you. YOU. Not me. It isn’t keeping secrets. It’s called “none of your fucking business”.

So then. I don’t really want to get into it because I will cry again and tears on my keyboard is a no-no. Last Sunday was the Superbowl so my boss closed his shop for the day. The last time I worked was that Saturday prior. I talked to him that Sunday, had a grand old conversation, and then I went  home. So then this Saturday, the first thing out of his mouth was, “I heard complaints about your cleaning…”. 

So just so you know. That’s one of the worst lies anyone can tell on me. I clean that place like I clean my house and I’ve been known to scrub my baseboards at 3am. You can ask anyone who knows me or has ever known me. I didn’t just wake up one day with OCD- literally been this way for as long as I can possibly remember and there again, anyone who knows me can also tell you, “as long as I can possibly remember” is painfully long. That’s not what pissed me off- it was a bad lie. I told him so- “That’s bullshit, Chef. Pure bullshit and whomever told you that story, lied to you.” That was the end of it.

What truly pissed me off was at the end of the night, he said to me that “he heard…” people telling him that I tell the girls they can leave without cleaning. “You can go. You don’t have to clean.” I lit right into him. Something changed. He isn’t open on Mondays; he wasn’t open on Sunday. The last time I worked was Saturday one week ago, I talked to him on Sunday so if it was something that happened the day before, I am sure he would’ve said something then. Something changed between Tuesday and Friday. A former waitress, Queen Fat Ass Two Face Back Stabbing Bully Cunt-bag Bitch came back. That’s what changed.  

The thing of it is, Chef won’t fire anybody. He has a big heart, can’t say no to people, and will give you every chance in the world to improve yourself before he will just stop calling you to come in. Oh but he will make your life a living Hell to make you quit. I have seen him do it more times than I care to remember. Enter the bully. If you are any good at your job, that means you are 100% better than her and she will do whatever she can to make your life a living Hell so the Chef will have reasons to go after you. But if you suck, she will love you forever because you are no threat to her. I don’t know what kind of deranged relationship they have but he knows she steals from him; steals from us, lies to him, stabs him in the back- stabs us and lies to us, yet he continues to put up with it. And believes every fucking word she says even when he knows it couldn’t possibly be true. 

Aside: a few weeks back, there were three of us working, one of which was having personal issues and wanted to leave early. Pongid #2 asked me if it would be okay if Pongid #1 left- which I didn’t care. I just wanted to know what had or had not been done so that if it needed to be done, the remaining two Pongids could do it. I wonder if that’s where that story came from? For that to be true, it would literally have to mean that Pongid #2 mentioned it to the Bully, completely leaving out the part that the whole thing was her idea, and then the bully subsequently relayed that information to the Chef. OR Pongid #2 went and told the Chef herself without ever mentioning it was HER idea. When I spoke with #2 Pongid, she kept telling me that #1 Pongid had to be the one because the bully wasn’t even there. So let me get this straight- #1 Pongid goes to Chef and states, “Jeri lets people leave early without cleaning and I know that because she said I could leave”. I’m that stupid, right? 

Aside #2: The skinny on #1 Pongid is this. She’s a bitch and I didn’t like her but she was a good waitress- acted like the world wasn’t run properly until she made her debut and carried that attitude right into that restaurant. So New Year’s Day with the seating chart and wine list- she was standing there when the Chef told me to get that stuff done because I “knew what was going on”. She bee lined it up to the book to make the chart and had that wine list. There are three pages to that list, I noticed she had two pages but kept it to myself. We ran out of wine- well who ordered the wine? That seating chart was fucked nine ways to Sunday, nobody could read it, shit was fucked up, and she got frustrated with us because we made her stand up there and deal with it. You were determined to be the boss, you got it, enjoy the headache. But, hey, how bout that wine? Go on and fuck with me. That’s the kind of bitch I am- I will step out of the way to let you fall into the depths of Hell and I will not help you out once you hit the bottom. Ibid: fuck with me. 

Anyway. So Pongid #2 kept defending the bully by stating it just had to be #1 Pongid with that story because she didn’t like me almost as much as I didn’t like her. Pongid #2 also purportedly hates working with the bully, but is a pretty good friend to her outside the workplace. What are the odds… just what are the odds that since she and the bully both know that I don’t need that job and will quit to keep from dealing with shit like that, that they decided that would be a cute story to tell the Chef so that he would bring the heat on me? These mother fuckers are trying way too hard because this is the Commonwealth of Virginia- an at-will state. That fucker doesn’t need a reason to fire me. I don’t need a reason to quit. So tonight when he asked me to put myself into his shoes, I told him I do every single day. And then I burst into tears and he kept telling me to stop crying. I looked up and noticed that he was saying that because my crying was causing him to cry. goddam wimp. But I did tell him that if the end result was being fired, he could fucking save it and in terms of that Valentine’s Day book, fuck it. Let one of those back stabbers work it out. Fuck that wine list too. 

I am, however, going to make up the most fucked up story of all time and tell them. Each person will have their own personal version of the story and when it comes out of somebody else’s mouth, BOOM. That’s how I differentiate two face mother fuckers. Works every time. Carrie? Did I mention I am a bitch? Fuck with me. 

Yeah, I’ll pedal. Pedal my ass right to my witch closet. I used to have a boss who previously owned a Voodoo store in Richmond. Talk about a mad discount- you know those plastic rolly bin thingies with three deep drawers? I have one of those filled to the rim with witchy shit that I’ve never used. Until now…

I’m pedaling.

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Crazy Bitch

 I wonder if, while my mother was pulling all these pranks on her children, she ever stopped to consider that they might backfire on her? That’s a rhetorical question because the answer is, “obviously not”. What the Hell, man? I could never possibly fit all this stuff into one book, not even one set of books…

So. I needed my shot records. Everybody has shot records, right? I mean, they do, don’t they? The university told me I could go to my high school to get them no matter how long it’s been since I graduated because those are files they have to keep. Well, okay. I should have known- any time I have to journey back through my past, I find some tidbit of information that purely enrages me and the fact that I do everything the hard way anyway, why in the world did I think this was going to be easy?

Silly me. Turns out, no I don’t. There are notes all over that file depicting times and dates the school called my mother pleading for those shot records and apparently, in 1978, she made up a story over the phone and they accepted it. Knowing my mother, though, it is more likely she manipulated them and they didn’t even know they got duped until after the fact. She is good at that.   shotrecordorlackthereof

As soon as I received the email from the Courtland High School Registrar, I called the Radford University Health Center. You see, that was a big to-do also because I went slam off when they told me I needed my shot records in the first place. They sent an email on October 30 at 3:49 pm stating that I had until October 30 to comply with the request. Really fucking convenient since they close at 5pm and I saw the email at 6pm. If you know me at all, I don’t even have to tell you how that next phone call went. Anyway, so, the email from Courtland stated, “I don’t know how she got away with this, not sure what the rules were back then but, this is all I have…”. Jesus Fuck, I tell you. J-e-s-u-s F-u-c-k!!

I said, “I just got this email, I am looking at… actually, I don’t know what I’m looking at, but it isn’t my shot record. I don’t know what to do, by the looks of it, I don’t have a shot record.”  The doctor in Fredericksburg was hunting for them and with that one email from the Registrar, I replied back for him to stop looking, he wasn’t going to find them because there is a good chance they don’t exist. The implications of that go farther past my wildest imagination. All those mysterious little illnesses I had in the 90s when no one could tell me what was wrong with me and go one step beyond that. What if… just what if… measles? mumps? rubella? Shit that’s highly contagious, a bitch to treat, people die from, but can be avoided altogether with one fucking shot??? Lord have mercy, I would be haunting that crazy bitch if that were the case.

Standing in that Health Center, filling out paperwork, admiring the buckets of condoms all over the place. I started to take some just because, you know, free shit is free shit, even if it’s a condom.  Anyway. I kept shaking my head, “I can’t belie… yes, yes I can believe this. I just can’t believe… yes… yes I can… I can’t belie…  just, WTF dude?”

And I seriously still can’t believe that shit.

Radford fixed it but I still want to call that crazy bitch and ask her simply, why? No way in Hell will she tell me they messed up or they must have lost the records or this, that, or the other thing because no one who should have those records has them. They didn’t throw them away. There was no some mass conspiracy to get rid of my records. They don’t exist and I simply want to know why.

I also find it very difficult to believe that she would have vaccinated her other children and not me. I mean, it is no secret that I was the hated one since I made my grand entrance on Sunday, October 3, 1971. (I was also conceived on a Sunday also- if that crazy bitch would’ve just carried her ass to church, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now) She did everything in her power to make sure I knew she did not like me, did not want me, and was just genuinely not nice to me but with that said, it doesn’t fit her modus operandi. My mother didn’t take care of any of us, I was not special in that situation, but where her love was concentrated, it was certainly not on me, at all, ever. I have made peace with that- I had no choice but to. My sisters and brother have always hated me and that used to tear me up until one day it hit me like a ton of bricks. They will never want me. Neither will my mother. It’s beating a dead horse- done with this shit. I was 30 when I made that revelation and I’ve never been happier. I still get mad and rant about past stuff but it doesn’t consume me like it once did. On that note- there is a good possi… you know what? This whole paragraph is full of cliches and adages. Anyway, there is a good possibility that my brother and sisters are not vaccinated either. As we get older, immune systems break down and become more fragile and with all the anti-vaxxers running around procreating human petri dishes, that would be some shit for one of them to get sick with something that was eradicated but making another appearance only to find out they were never immunized against it.

Here’s a disclaimer for you: I am not an anti-vaxxer and I am not an anti anti-vaxxer but some shit like polio and stuff have no place in our society because they were already eradicated and those shots can take all that credit. Flu shot? Not so much. I know a lady whose husband got a flu shot and was dead a week later. Not saying that shot did it but, okay yes I am. I’ll take my chances.

And the most uber-fucked up thing about this whole situation is, I think I should tell my brother and sisters the position in which they could potentially be. There is a test that can be done to find out what your blood has immunity to- I think they should have that test. Here’s the thing- they don’t speak to me, why should I care what they die from? Sooner the better, right? But I think they have the right to know that.

Tweedle dee…

I sent my niece a message, maybe she’ll read it, maybe she won’t but it won’t be my fault if she doesn’t… right?

Who am I kidding? Find my nest of salt, everything’s my fault. I’ll take all the blame, aqua sea foam shame.

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Sarcasm Level: Expert

Long about, January 20, 1981, Ronald Reagan promised to faithfully execute the office of the President. He solemly swore it. According to Article II of the U.S. Constitution, the president does have the right to affirm or swear that oath depending upon his beliefs. He swore it and then about an hour later, he freed those hostages. When he did that, my exact thought was, “why couldn’t Jimmy Carter do that?”

Okay so the truth is, Jimmy Carter actually did try to break them out- that’s where the story of “Blackhawk Down” comes from- but in terms of negotiating with terrorists, he refused and mainly because this is Murica, we don’t negotiate with terrorists, no matter what is at stake. Your favorite news station didn’t tell you that part… did they?

Did they happen to mention that while the presidential campaigns were going on through the months of 1980, the Shah of Iran and Ronald Reagan were in negotiations to not free those hostages until he became the president? I know for a fact they did not.

I hated Jimmy Carter from that point. I don’t give a shit how many peanuts he digs up or how many houses he builds for poor people, I will always hate him for not freeing those hostages. I will always love Ronald Reagan for freeing them. Ladies and gentlemen, you can’t get more “Sheeple” than that.

But I was 9 years old. What the actual fuck is your excuse?

Ronald Reagan was a good talker, that’s how he fell into politics to begin with. He used to speak for Barry Goldwater because he was a famous and handsome actor from Hollywood- ZERO political experience. But he hated a Commie Pinko Fucker just as much as the next person and add that to the fact that he was a smooth talker, how could you not vote for him? So, tell me again how much you hate Obama because he has no political experience? At least he was a Junior Senator, that’s WAY more political experience than Reagan had when he was elected governor of California. And when he became president, he was doing what he could to get rid of medicare and social security and robbing the social security fund to pay for arms in trade for hostages in Iran. Remember the Iran-Contra Affair? Tell me again how this country does not, under any circumstances, negotiate with terrorists. Would not you call a “trade” a “negotiation”?

The whole time he was sideswiping your medicare and social security, out of the other side of his face, he was telling you he would never do that. Cause Republican politicians don’t lie, do they? Obama is clearly the only politician who has ever lied.  (by the way, that’s sarcasm)

I’ve always been a politics freak- Republican to my core and the only thing I can say in hindsight is, Thank God I was not old enough to vote. So funny how the same Republican Fucktards on my Facebook profile are the same Democrat Fucktards from high school who made fun of me for being a Republican Fucktard back then. Maybe, thank God that none of us were old enough to vote because clearly, we were all a little fucktardis.

I think the thing that gets me the most is that I was a Republican for all the wrong reasons. I grew up in a house, now… wait a minute… need to throw a disclaimer here. I was a product of my environment, I am not saying it was right, I am just saying that’s the way it was in that house.

My mother and step-father were both staunch Democrats. Very racist. Very holier than thou. They are also child molesters and my step-dad claims to be part Cherokee Indian. So, you can imagine my disdain when I found out that my real dad’s maternal side was also Cherokee Indian. My step-dad could not stand to see white women with black guys. I was not allowed to go to the mall because that’s where they purportedly hung out. So just so you know, all those times I skipped school, don’t you dare think that I didn’t say it was because I thought since white girls hung out with black guys there too, it must clearly mean that I’m not allowed to go there either. Hence, I never got into trouble for skipping school. Ever. And OH, all those times I said, “can’t be any worse than shacking up with a nasty Indian”. I assure you, I am a little shocked I am still alive.


That’s mainly the reason I was a Republican and Christian to boot. I could not be like them on any level however, and here’s where the disclaimer comes into play, I also wasn’t a big fan of interracial relationships. Truth hurts but it will also set you free.

I swore I would never knowingly, soberly, or willfully vote for a Democrat. My own room mate called me, “the most liberal conservative” she had ever met. That’s when Bill Clinton was in office and I promise you, it was all I could not to clean her clock for putting my name in the same sentence with the term, ‘liberal’.  Though, I wasn’t too far and away from the first election in which I was old enough to vote and I was still a little cross about the whole Ronald Reagan thing. I couldn’t vote for Bush the First during his first election for the age thing and our little thirty-day stint in the Persian Gulf stopped me from voting for him in his second campaign run but I was damn sure not voting for Clinton. I recall throwing a lot of protest votes back in those days and it was more for voting against the Democrats but not for the Republicans. Make sense? I suspect that’s how a lot of voting goes on right here today. They didn’t vote for their own candidates more than they were just voting against Obama.

I get it. I really do.

I am sarcastic by nature. It is my way of helping people see the light without actually saying, “the light is over there, do you see it?”. With this Affordable Healthcare Act or “Obamacare” as it is commonly referred to, I hear a lot of people worried about what it will do to their taxes. That we shouldn’t have to pay for other people’s healthcare, or welfare benefits, or anything else for that matter. In keeping with the very foundations of this country, since people love going down that road too, we are a nation of people who take care of each other. Whole communities coming forward to help their fellow man. That’s where this country came from. So tell me why does the government actually have to tell people to help their fellow man? You know what Jesus would have done? Since you profess to know, you don’t even know what you don’t know, so let me ‘splain it to ya. Jesus was the first Socialist. He fed the poor and then taught them how to fish so they could help someone else in need someday. He clothed them and then taught them how to make clothes so they could one day help someone else who needed clothes. What have YOU done for your fellow man that the government did not make you do against your will? Before you speak, shut the fuck up cause I know what you’re going to say and you’re full of shit. Before you even speak. ha!

But if you have truly been paying your taxes all this time, you would know that you’ve always been paying for other people’s healthcare, welfare benefits, etc. Obama didn’t invent welfare, that was that old Democrat named Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The New Deal- look that shit up. Lyndon Baines Johnson set forth a program that had been in the works since the days of FDR but was spat upon every step of the way. Wanna know what it was called? Medicare.

So, you didn’t just now start paying for that unless you just now got your first job in which case, I’ve been paying for you all this time and if you don’t want people to have healthcare, you can give me back my fucking money in pennies for all I care. You shouldn’t get a ‘free ride’ either.

Apparently, you have to spell that out for people because they don’t realize when you’re being sarcastic. You see- I talk of my grandmother a lot. She was the only person in my entire family who even acknowledged that I was something more than a punching bag. She was also a goddam Democrat- LORD have mercy, say something bad about a Democrat in front of that woman and step the fuck back cause she was going to hum some shit across the room at you. So, I thought she was a little nuts at best. But she told me of her struggles through the FDR years to get social security and medicare reforms in place. It wasn’t until LBJ came into office some thirty years later that the medicare actually did go through. She hated the sight of that man, Democrat and all, she hated him. JFK was her guy, she hosted many parties inside her house with him present when he was working on his Senate campaign. Ted Kennedy, Chappaquiddick Boy, in fact, sent flowers to her funeral when she died in 1998- that’s big. I watched when my grandfather died, her social security check got cut clean in half. A program that which she fought for- screwed her over under the Reagan Administration. As much as I loved Reagan, I loved my grandmother more and to me, that was nearly unforgiveable.

She would roll in her grave if she knew that some of the very same people who bitched and moaned about social security and medicare were collecting it now and bitching and moaning about everybody in between Medicaid and Medicare trying to get some affordable healthcare. How much sense does that make? If I have to pay for your asses, I should be allowed to pay for everybody’s asses. I’m just sayin’…

I was also born a Christian. I am not a born again Christian. I have been through my struggles- through Hell and back, really, and when I get into my contemplative modes, I realize that when I had no reason to believe in God, I believed in Him. That abusive childhood, half of what kept me partially sane was the fact that I knew that through God and money, I would eventually get out of it. That’s why I have worked every day nearly since I was ten years old. I knew that God was going to get me through it but I also knew he wasn’t going to come down here and write me a check. Do you see? Still more struggles- nearly killed by a drunk driver, lived in my car, ate candy for dinner many nights, several miscarriages, several stillbirths…

There is a profile on Facebook called, “The Christian Left”, so I thought, man, that’s new. My parents, the racist, Left, totally UnChristian people they are, let me check this out. So one day they posted a Bible verse that miscarriages were God’s way of punishing people who went against Him. I said that I took offense to that because I didn’t feel like I was being punished through my miscarriages but definitely through my stillbirths. They blocked me. So I left their page. Funny how they will block people but won’t kick them off their profiles because the more ‘likes’ they have, the more appealing they are to marketers. It is also funny how they have these public profiles all over Facebook for anybody to ‘like’ and ‘share’ but the moment somebody posts something they disagree with, the name calling, blocking, and banning starts. Maybe they should say something like, you can only be on my profile if you agree with me. I think that is knee-high bullshit. You’re obviously going to encounter people who don’t agree with you. I think that creates commentary and healthy debate. Help me to see why you don’t agree with me and perhaps we can come to a middle ground. But that’s just me.

I will never call anyone names during a debate. I think that is very childish. I also might think your opinions are fucking out of this world stupid but I don’t think YOU are stupid. Such was the case that happened to me on yet another one of those fake ass Democrat Christian profiles. Seriously, if these fuckers are trying to sell me the plight of being a Democrat AND Christian, honest to God, they’re doing it wrong. That profile, “The Democrat National Christian Choice”, posted something about the ACA. Some dude commented that it might be saving you money but other Americans are left holding the bag to pay for it. Sure. I’ll give ya that one because that is true. But guess what? That’s what taxes are for- helping the community, the common man, helping each other. Anything you have that taxes pay for is Socialism. I suspect a whole lot of you fuckers don’t really know what that word means but that sidewalk you walk your ass upon is Socialism to its very definition. Just so you know. So anyway, I was sarcastically telling that dude that I’ve been holding that bag since I was 15 years old (legally- I didn’t pay taxes before that time) and if we do a little math and I retire at the age of 72, I will be holding that bag for 30 more years. Okay? So add that up- that’s 57 years of holding a bag full of shit that has nothing to do with me and if you got a problem paying for ACA, kindly when you cash your social security check, give me back my fucking money, I’ll take it in pennies but you better get choppin’ dawg cause that’s a piss ton of money.

And somehow the admins on that profile thought I was defending him. I don’t know how the HELL anybody could have read what I wrote and not gotten the sarcasm. Then they called me stupid.

Yes indeed, I have a hang-up about that shit. A big one. I’m not stupid- I never claimed to be smart but I am goddam sure not stupid. I would never call anyone stupid because really, I don’t think people are stupid. Their opinions may be a little misinformed but that doesn’t make them stupid. And.. I am still stunned by that… they have been apologizing all over the place to me but no. nonononono. My toes have been stepped upon. I will not accept that apology but I will agree they are a bunch of sorry mother fuckers. I do stupid things all the time. I have thought stupid things. I have been very ignorant to facts but I am not stupid. No harm no foul, it’s a long story that maybe five people in my circle of friends know about but, if I was stupid, I would be married. Okay? By contrast, though,  if I was smart, Joe and I wouldn’t even be together right now. Exactly 22 years after the fact.  You see how that works? And HE thinks I am the stupidest person to ever walk this Earth like he isn’t but he is at least smart enough to never say that to my face. You see?

I am many things. Goofy. Silly. Lucy Logic to the core with plenty of stupidity abounding but I am not stupid. All the same, I see people doing and saying stupid shit all day long but I don’t think they are stupid. If you don’t want to be my friend, that is fine. I have gotten this far in my life by myself. With not even a family to go running off to if I needed something, don’t think I can’t get 42 more years by myself cause I absolutely can.

But don’t call me Stupid.

Don’t call anybody stupid.

Don’t call people any names at all. Ever.

Because you’re no genius.

Carry on.

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Marriage Isn’t For You

Seth Adam Smith

Having been married only a year and a half, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that marriage isn’t for me.

Now before you start making assumptions, keep reading.

I met my wife in high school when we were 15 years old. We were friends for ten years until…until we decided no longer wanted to be just friends. 🙂 I strongly recommend that best friends fall in love. Good times will be had by all.

Nevertheless, falling in love with my best friend did not prevent me from having certain fears and anxieties about getting married. The nearer Kim and I approached the decision to marry, the more I was filled with a paralyzing fear. Was I ready? Was I making the right choice? Was Kim the right person to marry? Would she make me happy?

Then, one fateful night, I shared these thoughts and concerns with my dad.

Perhaps each…

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Damn You, Paula Deen!

My opinion of this situation is just that, my opinion. But mine comes with a double-prong tongue because I used to work in the restaurant business. Not because I had to as so many clueless people think, but because I wanted to- I actually like being a waitress- and I have seen a thousand Paula Deens in my day.

There are advantages to working in privately owned restaurants. Of them- your sections are bigger, you don’t have to tip out as much, you get to know just about every person who graces the threshold and you can get away with a lot more crap. It is very difficult to get those types of jobs because the waitstaff never leave and so when you see a job opening, it is best you jump right on it because it will be gone before day break. Yes- I have interviewed for jobs at 2am.

The downside is that very often the chef is the owner of the restaurant and if he or she isn’t, then they are the very least best friends with the owner. So, if you have a problem with the chef, owner or manager, guess what? You have a BIG problem because there is no one to go to. No open door policy. No grievance hotline to call. Which could bring me to the only advantage of working in a corporate restaurant. You do have a chain of command that won’t tell anyone you filed a complaint. But bet your ass, they will systematically destroy you. Cut your hours, give you all the crappy money making nights and reduce your section.  This will either run you broke or make you crazy but either way, they will have accomplished their goal the day you quit.

In a collective 25 years of restaurant adventures, I can honestly say that I have only had about two or three major problems. In corporately owned restaurants and privately owned. The only thing that separates Paula Deen from any of those people is that she got caught and they didn’t. Although, one of my former bosses, Sam, got into so much trouble, he left the country. Abandoned his restaurant, his home and everything he had in this country and didn’t tell a soul. Richmond had to pretty much figure it out that he wasn’t coming back. We’ll talk more about him later.

I say I have only had two or three major problems but in hindsight, I think it’s mostly the fact that I have such a good sense of humor because any number of things could have pissed someone else off to the point of a lawsuit. One time I was leaning in the food window trying to grab a towel to wipe the plate and the Sous Chef said to me ‘Jeri, be mindful of your scabs and don’t burn them’- it took less than two seconds to realize he was talking about my non-existent boobies and I busted up laughing and told him to shut that shit up and hand me a towel. If I had been anyone else, that would’ve been trouble. If he had been anyone else, that would have been trouble.  But if I or he had been anyone else, that conversation would’ve never happened because he only said it because he knew I would laugh.

Let me throw a disclaimer here, senses of humor or not, that provides no excuse for racism, bigotry and sexual harassment which is why the law is written the way it is. What offends me, might not offend you and visa versa so it is best to leave it to yourself because having fun at someone else’ expense could land you a nice long day in court.

Case in point- In a corporate restaurant, there was a fellow server who looked, walked and talked just like Alan Jackson. Only Alan Jackson was way cuter. This dude referred to me as ‘Blondie’ and it bugged the wee dilly shit right out of me because I didn’t like him. I think that was the major factor in the issue. He wasn’t saying it as a term of endearment- I have lots of nicknames for coworkers as they do me but that’s not why he was saying it. He said ‘you have blonde hair, therefore I call you Blondie’ and I would respond ‘well, you are an overweight cow punching oaf, does that mean I get to call you Oaf?’ Countless times I had to remind him that my name is Jeri, he straight ignored me. So one time, I went and got a manager, had him by his hand dragging him to the back room where I stated to Mr. Oaf, right in front of that manager ‘the next time you call me Blondie, you will be explaining to little blue people with badges why your ass just got smacked by a girl, got it?’ — Richmond City police wear blue uniforms, just so you know– and I never had another problem.

One of the first privately owned restaurants I ever worked in was an Italian Restaurant out at Innsbrook- no, not Pasta Luna. I cannot rightly explain the goings on in that place- it was always something. There were a total of 19 tables in the whole place- it is the restaurant right beside the Dairy Queen that used to be a coffee shop. Just to give you an idea of how small the joint was. The owner was mafia, actually KICKED out of NYC and he was highly paranoid so, no one was allowed to talk, not to him or our fellow coworkers. If he spoke to us, that was all fine and dandy but we had to provide the answer, he was not about to get into a conversation with you. We had a series of managers- a series of waiters/waitresses and it seemed each week, one of us was his baby who could do no wrong. The rest had to walk on eggshells. He hired a guy from India who was the most hateful human on this planet. I can’t blame that on being Indian because I know lots of people from there who are funnier than the funniest comedians and would give you the shirt right off their backs. It became a situation where it was almost impossible to work there- the stress of never knowing if you will have a job five minutes from now or if you walk out to your car and there is that manager with a kitchen knife.

You just never knew- that manager sucked up to the owner and they were really good friends. So- all of us with the problem had nowhere to go but the Labor Board. Now, let me tell you something about them, IF they write down your complaint, they will put it in the crazy people file. It is the same as people calling you up threatening to call the Better Business Bureau- go right the fuck ahead. You will get nowhere. On one of those weeks that I was the owner’s baby, he asked me what was wrong. Side note- I have horrible OCD, usually a half hour early to an hour early for work and school but when my soul and gut are finished with the situation, there is nothing I can do to be on time.- I had started being very late to work and not being able to handle my sections. A 19 table restaurant with five servers can become chaotic beyond words but an outsider looking in would just see 19 tables, 5 servers and wonder what the hold-up is about.

Anyway- so he said that I used to be able to handle that whole restaurant with ease and now I can’t handle three tables, late all the time, never smiling, genuinely not happy. Is everything okay at home? I sized that up pretty quick in my head thinking it was a set-up, if I said anything bad about his manager, that could be bad for me when he found out or he could just flat out fire me. So I told him everything was fine at home, just a lot on my mind. It wasn’t until all of us, unbeknownst to the each other, had collectively decided that we were just never going back. A Saturday night and he had no waitstaff and he was MAD. Then we told him. It is best we keep on truckin’ until you find a new manager or waitstaff, whichever comes first. When you have to come to work and be so stressed out that the thought of working makes you physically ill, it is time to go. I don’t know what happened to that manager but we never saw him again and the owner never wrote him a last paycheck so… make up your own mind on that one.

Now let’s talk about Sam. He was from Pakistan but had been in the United States a good twenty years at that point. He bought Sal Federico’s- I don’t know whatever in his bag of brilliant logic ever possessed him to do that because he had no inkling of how to run a restaurant or how to cook Italian food or how to talk to people. Some kind of way, I had a really good rapport with him. I mean, I have good rapport with most people but there was something different about him. He could ask six people the same question, all give him the very same answer and there I would be giving the very same answer yet again but explaining why and he would suddenly listen. Everyone told me all these horrible things about him- sex with underage girls, stealing money, selling produce out the back door. Now, the latter two, I saw no problem with because it was his own money and produce he was stealing and I never saw him do anything out of the ordinary with anyone. So, I really didn’t pay much attention to those stories. Although, there were times when I would catch him being very negative and I would remind him that we don’t do that in this country. There are laws and you WILL get into trouble, okay? And he would stop.

I had seen a Navy SEAL training video a while before then- no big deal- it was just something with which to while away the time. He asked me one time what my boyfriend did for a living and that video went through my head and so I said to him “you know, Sam, I don’t know but I am pretty sure you could tie him up, fold him up into a fetal position, shoot him at 60 mph into 100 feet of water and he could still kill you.” He never asked me again. Never spoke to Joe again and poor Joe thought he did something wrong so I told him that I was pretty sure Sam was terrified of him and had nothing to do with doing something wrong.

That’s when the rest of the girls would come to me with these totally random, totally bizarre stories about Sam travesties. I told them to stop being meek around him, if he even thought you could defend yourself, he wouldn’t do that. He has never come out of his face sideways to me and I am convinced it is because of that story I told him. Little did he know that I could break that man in half myself, I don’t go to Joe with my problems for the simple fact that he would try to reasonably solve the situation and when I have gotten to the point where I am asking for help, I am not looking for reasonable solutions. So, they started doing that and it didn’t seem to work. So I would tell Sam that if he kept that shit up, somebody would be in there scrutinizing his paperwork looking for wrongdoing and even if he is legal, the fact that he is not native to this country, would have them barking up trees that he hasn’t even planted yet. And he would stop.

Again with the rapport- he had a catch phrase ‘pick up your God damn food’ which came out more like ‘pick up you gut dumb foo’ and it used to crack me up. One night after a particularly long and busy shift, all of us were in the back sort of decompressing, rolling silverware, folding napkins, paying people out and what not. We were engaged in a very lively, if not extremely funny political conversation. He said to me: “Jeddy, you should become Senator so you can change the law to allow foreigners to become president.”

To which I responded “now Sam, that law is in place for a reason and it is to keep you Pakistani mother fuckers from coming over here, standing on top of the White House hollering, dis is my gut dumb country.”

The entire room exploded with laughter.

One of the other servers came in right on the cusp of that, everyone still laughing and shaking their heads, and says “I have a photo of Sam’s car” and then she pulled out a pack of Camel cigarettes, with the camel on the front of the package. She was calling him a camel jockey. I sort of froze because it pissed him off. So I explained to him that she was just messing around, having a little fun because we all were and she wanted to be in on it.

But it serves to prove some things- rapport and what might offend me might not offend you but it all boils down to who is saying it. We were all being just as racist and bigoted. And those who say they aren’t racist or bigoted are nothing but liars because we all have it in us. I’ve seen posts defending Paula Deen while slamming Muslims and swearing high and low that our President is a Muslim. Well, who gives a shit if he is? We do have the freedom to practice any religion we want and I know a lot of Muslims and truth be told, I would rather be stuck in a plane full of Muslims before I would be in a plane with ONE Mormon. But that isn’t bigoted at all is it?

It all boils down to this- just because you don’t perceive it as racist or bigoted or harassing, doesn’t mean it isn’t. But just because someone else does perceive it as such, doesn’t mean it is. A hostile work environment is just that and we do have rights in this country and that is one of them that happens to be inalienable- and no one should have to go through that stuff in pursuit of a paycheck, you might be making a ton of money but after a while, it isn’t worth it. Paula Deen and every other chef/owner corporate or otherwise, do not have the right to trample on the rights of their workers just because they think they ‘got’ them because they incorrectly assume they can’t find other jobs. Again, some of us actually like restaurant work. That ought to tell you right there that we aren’t operating with a full tank of gas because anyone who likes waiting on ruthless, rude assholes all day has got to be knee walking crazy. It is my understanding that this woman put her hands on another human being whilst telling him “screw your civil rights”– that would have been the end of it right there for me. Yeah, screw my civil rights… after I punch you in your God damn face. Don’t put your hands on me- you think I’m crazy now…

No one is trampling on your rights by saying that you can’t be a racist bigot, I guess you do have the right to be what you want but if you don’t want trouble and you think it just might be offensive, leave it to yourself. And for the love of all things holy, please stop saying “The N Word” because you are putting that thought into someone else’ head for them to think it, sort of subliminally planting your racism. That’s just a pet peeve of mine, “ohhhh, she said the N word…” well, kindly explain to me which N word because there are a lot of them. Oh, I know which one you are referring to but don’t put that shit in my head, be a man/woman and say it. Because you know, you’re not racist or bigoted and all, you have black friends. I get it.

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This Crap

Today, May 29, 2013, marks the first birthday of my son’s first child. Today is also the day his new girlfriend is set to be induced labor on his second child. The first girlfriend was 19 years old at the time. The second girlfriend is 15 years old. My son will be 18 years old on Sunday, June 2, 2013. Two kids before the age of 18. How lovely.

Why do people like that get to have babies?

In my mind, if God is allowed to have the credit for all things good, then he should hold the same credit for all things bad.

We thank God for good things after tragedies. Should we thank God for the tragedy and if God didn’t create the tragedy, then who did?

I have a daughter who would have been seven years old on Friday, May 31, 2013 had she been allowed to live. I also have a son who would have been twelve years old on Sunday, June 9, 2013 had he been allowed to live and another son would have been five years old on Sunday, December 15, 2013 had HE been allowed to live. So maybe all these milestones hold the key to why I am stuck in the depths of Hell wondering about it.

I have a nephew born to a 17 year old mother and 15 year old father way on back in 1987. That’s a pretty funny story no matter how you look at it. Before he was ever conceived, his parents cooked up a story that if my sister ever did get pregnant, they would just say our step-dad was the father because he was a child molester. That story went in one ear and out the other. So, when social services were called and everybody was mad, somehow I got blamed for that. Again, in one ear and out the other although, I was a little confused by the story of the father being on the phone with social services with his father listening in on the other phone. I wondered why he would be on the phone with them at all. My parents made me quit my job to babysit that kid. Then, along comes 1989. I turned my step-dad in for the molestation which, I did not mean to.

A horrible fight broke out at my house between my parents, my sister and me which resulted in the Spotsylvania County SWAT sitting in our yard. Let me tell you about that fight. I remember it detail for detail from start to finish but I will spare you those details and try to sum it up as much as possible.

I met a guy at my job the previous week and he asked me out for that Friday, March 31, 1989. I knew going into it that I wouldn’t be allowed to go out with him firstly and secondly, I knew the minute I walked out the door that I would be in trouble upon my return so, I went all in. It has long been my belief that you should go big or go home. So, if you are going to get arrested for protesting, might as well strip, burn your clothes and punch the cop while you’re at it, cause you’re going to jail anyway.

So yeah. He asked if I had a curfew and I told him I had it like that. No curfew, it’s Friday, just got paid. Who you talkin’ to? ME with a curfew, don’t be silly.

We went to a benefit dance for some girl who had been involved in an automobile accident (MVA in the EMT world) and had very extensive brain injuries so they were raising money for her. Somehow, I kept winning whole gallon bottles of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels. My man wanted some. I told him to go win his own damn bottles.

I was beyond shitfaced when I got home.

When I walked in the door, my mother said ‘you’ve been out smoking cigarettes, haven’t you?’ Um. In a psychology class, they would call that a specific level of denial.

My step-dad walked in the house, drunk as fuck himself and told me he wanted to see me out in the garage. He told me he wanted me out of the house. No worries. I went back to my room. He came in and told me he had changed his mind, he wanted me out right then and there. No worries. Touch me and I will kill you, get the fuck out of my room rapist and I will pack my shit and be on my way.  He changed his mind again and told me I could be out by the time he got home from work the next day. Jesus fuck, make up your mind, I thought.

So that next day, my sister came in bright and early, physically dragged me out of my bed and told me we don’t get to sleep all day when we have been out all night drinking. Cause her fat ass is my boss, right? But that’s the way she was. Any time I did anything, she took it upon herself to be the Judge, jury and executioner. It is my theory that my parents thought that she wouldn’t get into trouble for anything that happened because she was a minor. So, the time she showed up at my job and beat me in my face while my car was rolling, if they had done that, they would have been arrested. Anyway, I spent the whole day systematically finding reasons to go outside and put my stuff in my car and then when I got in to start it up, it wouldn’t start. Sabotage.

I spent the whole rest of the time taking all my stuff back into the house.

When my step-dad got home, my mother told me to come and put ice in the glasses for lunch. He wanted to know “what the fuck is she still doing here?”

So he came into my room and asked if I had all my shit packed. I told him indeed it was and so he told me to get it and come on, he was driving me away from there. My sister came in and beat the shit out of me for even having it packed. My step-dad conveniently left. If my sister killed me, they never touched me, so they wouldn’t be in trouble. See how that works?

When he got back home, they literally tag teamed me. Each one of them methodically taking turns beating the shit out of me. I just wanted to be in my car. My sister took my keys and when I say ‘took my keys’, I mean I had a grip on them so tight, each and every one of those key chains I had popped off the main ring and she threw that into the yard. To this very day, I will come absolutely unglued if I can’t find my keys.

The police were called. My neighbor told me that she was going to tell the police everything. Everything. And she did.

A social worker was on the phone asking if ‘all that stuff back in 1987 was true’ and I knew no differently so I told her it was true. She was asking about the step-dad being the baby’s father part. That’s what my sister told me so, she would never lie, it must be true.

This started an entire year long court battle which resulted in absolutely nothing. I was told that since my step-dad was the father of my nephew, then they were going to take the child and put him in foster care and arrest my sister for the horrible fight and my mother for allowing every bit of it to happen at all. All I could think about was my nephew and how none of it was his fault. So when the court asked me why, if things were so bad, was my sister still living in that house, I told them I had no idea why. But the reason was because my step-dad was her baby’s father so why would they throw her out and why would she leave? She had the benefit of a free place to live. Welfare paid for her education. Welfare paid all that child’s medical expenses and baby formula and all that crap. She had a free babysitter, why WOULD she leave?

So they threw it out of court.

My family was at first mad that I took him to court. My oldest sister’s exact words were “you don’t take your family to court for things like this.” and baby mama sister told me if I mentioned her name in court, she would find me and kill me and well, I did mention her name but not for the reasons for which she would have killed me and because she wasn’t there, I am still alive. Neener neener. Oh but now, they are all mad because the man isn’t in jail for his crimes. Because that makes so much sense, doesn’t it?

My sister spent her life telling on me for the littlest things. Little things that were big things in my house because she knew that I would get the shit kicked right out of me for things like washing my hair and what not. Digress: my step-dad had a mini heart attack which resulted in his being admitted to the hospital. My sister and I showed up and do you think she asked him how he was feeling or anything? No. She ran right to the head of his bed and said “Jeri washed her hair.” I spent my whole life finding ways of keeping her out of trouble for BIG things like saying she was going to work but really having sex with boys she worked with. So, one of the last times I got into a fight with my parents before that big fight, they called me out on something I did that my sister told them about, I rolled her secrets from beginning to end. To this day- I am considered the one who can’t keep secrets when in fact, I will keep your secrets and even play along but if you take me to the point of no return, I assure you, you will be sorry you ever met me.

So to fast forward a little- years after all that mess, I was on the phone with my sister-in-law boo-hooing about what they would tell my nephew as he got older. I wouldn’t want to be in that position if it came with a million dollar pay out. She responded, well, you know she came clean about that don’t you? There I was still babbling because I really wasn’t listening and then my brain rewound the conversation and I stopped. ‘Came clean about what?’ And that’s when she told me the 15 year old boy was really the father of the baby and our step-dad had nothing to do with that.

Enter brakes screeching on a car right here. Ohhhhhh, that would make sense as to why he was on the phone with social services and oh yeah, he DID tell me that they would just say my step-dad was the father of that baby. Ohhhhh. So, that must be the reason why my sister thinks I am the one who called social services. He must have told her I did it because he was so bent on getting his name out of that baby equation. Ohhhh.

Well now they are friends on Facebook. In fact, he is friends with that entire side of my family. I wonder if that means his whole family now knows the truth? I hope so because of DNA and all this crap he talks about welfare bitches and Obama’s ‘thing’ of a wife- I  hope that means his own ‘thing’ of a wife knows about her 26 year old step-son and since they are all friends and everything is so cute and cool, maybe they could put their collective single brain cell together and come off of two years of babysitting money, compounded with interest over the duration of 24 years and add to that wage increases and inflation since we hate welfare so much.

I truly hope so because I am almost at the point of no return where secrets will get told at the expense of human sanity.

And people like that are allowed to have babies but people like me and countless numbers of my friends have gone to great expense to have children either via pregnancy or adoption and have come up zots. People who would move this Earth if it meant having a baby but irresponsible people get to go out and be irresponsible and have all the babies they want. How does that make sense?

There again- if God is responsible for all the good stuff. Then he surely can be responsible for all the bad stuff and I am not too far off my rocker for demanding God tell me what I have done so wrong in this life to first have to deal with an abusive childhood, then a torturous early adult life and then years upon years of heartbreak and sadness due to the losses of so many babies. And maybe he can tell me why one of my dearest friends has to watch as her son’s girlfriend fights daily for her life with cancer and people like my step-dad get sick, go to the doctor and get well and that man doesn’t deserve the air he breathes. I wish I had the answers. It all makes me so mad and of course, I rail at God. That is my right. I was told to give all things to him. Turn it over as they say. So I turn everything over. Even though I don’t have the same relationship with him that I once did, I still give everything to him. Everything. If he made this Earth and all things in it, then he made these tornadoes that toppled schools full of children. He made these cancers. He made these irresponsible people.

And I have the right to want to know why.




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