Oh The Douchebaggery

I'm not at work which is normally where I'd be this time of day on any average Monday.

And yet I am not utterly thrilled.

Far as I can tell, I am paying the price for some funky sushi. I'm gonna' need an exorcist to get this unholy beast out of my stomach. Oh the unpleasantry.

And this has happened to me before.
The place where I got the sushi is in the clear right now, as I took the food to go and grazed on it for well over four hours after it was prepared. I know. I'm kinda' like the evil knievel of gastronomy.

But onto another entrails offender..

People, heed my advice, never ever eat at Shanghai on Thayer.
I vowed never to eat Chinese food again following my meal and it's subsequent effects.
Oh, and the owner is a total shit head. I used to wait on him when I was working at Andrea's. He sucked so hardcore that I would literally say a prayer every time he came in that he would not sit in my section. And the almighty and I are not exactly B.F.F.'s.
Jackass would always come with about 4 women half his age, get belligerently drunk, and send all kinds of barbs in my direction. Then the tool would try to qualify his behavior by assuring me there would be a big tip in my future as a reward for dealing with his ass-hattery.
Here's a tip for you, genius...

Thirty percent is not gonna' make me write any letters home. In fact, it's kind of a slap in the face when you pull out your giant guido wad of twenties and, HELLO!, own a fucking restaraunt which , I'm assuming, employs waitresses. Waitresses talk about a lot over the course of a shift but the number one thing we talk is TIPS!
And now that we are conversing about one of my many awful customers at Andrea's, let's just go ahead and dive right in to that pool of fuckage.

They have mice. Many many mice.
But they are comfortable with that cute little factoid.
They have even given them names.

The food is so regurgitaterrific that I ate it on my first day and never again.
But my favorite part of working there was the owners. Oh yeah, they ruled!

I am a waitress, not a prostitute, so why the hell are you so concerned with my skirt's length?
Apparently my skirts were never short enough, and, not to make myself sound like a hootchie but I have been known to show a lot of leg. What can I say? I have long legs. Most skirts can't contain these stems.

On my third day of work, the randy old fart who owns the establishment comes up to me while I'm standing on a chair to write the specials on the board and touches my thigh! Hunnhh? I mean, ummm?
I whipped my head around with, what I'm sure was a "you better remove that paw right now mister before you get a smack-down" look on my face. The clown explains that he is just making certain that I was wearing nylons.
Holy fucking panty-hose.

Jesus-H., that requirement alone probably should have tipped me off that I was working for a suburban Hooters with none of the benefits that whoring one's self affords you.

I don't wait tables anymore. It was my gift to myself on my thirtieth birthday.

Please, everyone who reads this...if your waitress looks of a child-bearing age, tip the gal big time. Even if she forgets to bring you another soda. She's got bigger shit on her mind than your belly. And if you are, yourself, a food-slinger, you must check out bitterwaitress.net.

And if you are just a Providence resident who likes to eat out and knows how to tip, contact me. I have worked at almost every restaurant in this city and it would be my pleasure to serve you up some serious dirt.