Sir Archy [Journal 8-8-17]

Unknown source – primarily throat-singing.

More for continuity than psychological need, I continue the saga of this fucking job. I assume that, if I every create a social engineering section of the blog, I’ll draw from this as an example. Plus, I’m getting to like having a journal around for personal reference – pretty damn convenient.

Anyway, in our last installation, I was getting blamed for the rest of the kitchen’s incompetence. Or I’m a megalomaniac. Since then, I’ve continued being extremely competent while simultaneously and inexplicably being idiotically submissive. That these morons don’t easily perceive my doing this, speaks to their deep and inalterable stupidity. Fuck my life.

So, the Mexican sous chef has eased up on being a cunt, and is moving toward the opposite end. He’s actually starting to be helpful, appreciative, and not sneaking the empty-eyed, slack-jawed stares of a savage, at me. He finally worked the position most reliant on my support, and thus his limited attention span encompassed my awesome might. Plus, the other Mexicans fucking love me, and they’re tight-knit.

The American sous is also being less cunty, but is still a cunt. I suspect he actually knows he was wrong to call me slow. But I also doubt he would ever admit it. Which is unacceptable; I have no desire to work with a fucking man-child as my superior: done far too much of that, it never works. You’d think a black guy would be less of a little bitch. But, hey, this is America, where everyone has the right to be a little bitch.

On a side note: one of the Mexicans has a hard-on for me. He’s regularly skirting discussing homosexual activity, and amusingly tries to converse when he puts on his gay-nightclub music. I’m almost certain he said “I love you” under his breath while I was next to him. I don’t really care that it’s happening, just funny to mention. If he crosses the line, I’ll just tell him I’m tragically not gay – which is true. I genuinely wish I were. But man, have you had pussy? So good. Oh my god.

Oh, the same guy told me that he makes four times as much money here, in America – as a fucking line cook – than he did in Mexico City, as a banker. I’m sure he was just one of those dudes who walks you through setting up accounts and such, but it’s still a very telling fact.

Rather explains the entire illegal immigrant thing. And the “Mexi-packing” of rentals: they come here to stockpile cash before returning home. Since it’s a popular topic, I suppose I’ll give my opinion: I’m for fatal penalties for illegal immigration. Not because I don’t sympathize with their situation, but because they genuinely have a negative impact on the job market and society at large.

The majority of the jobs I’ve worked had native Mexicans at them. People whom willing work under the table, below cost-of-living, don’t need to be paid unemployment, benefits, etc. Basically, Mexicans allow the existence of businesses run by complete and total fuckwits, and immoral dirtbags.

Indirectly, they’re bringing the corruption and socioeconomic instability of their country with them: they allow imbeciles and sociopaths to financially succeed, and thus gain more influence over society at large. Again: indirectly; I don’t think they, themselves, are shitty people; this is just a coincidental side-effect of their under-bidding.

They’re usually pretty awesome guys, from my experience. Like, way better than most Americans. Way better. But, way I see it, it’s not my job to pay for their country’s failings; mine has plenty for me to deal with. Plus, second-generation Mexican-Americans, raised in American culture, are usually as shitty as Americans from families generations in-country.

That was a hell of a tangent. What the fuck was I saying, anyway? Ah, right, the fucking servers. They’ve figured out their stupid games don’t work on me. Fucking filth. I have to admit that I absolutely love scaring servers. I don’t do anything harmful to them, I just don’t indulge their manipulations. Oh? Are you attractive? I don’t care. Are you talking in a sexy voice while wiggling your tits? I don’t care. Are you nice/submissive? I. Don’t. Fucking. Care. Do something helpful, you useless little shits.

It’s so funny to watch their confusion as I completely ignore their pathetic attempts at social engineering. And even funnier when they realize I’m essentially treating them like children, and there’s absolutely nothing they can do about it: they get in the fucking way constantly, and while I brusquely maneuver around them – forcing them to stay still – or near-violently aid in whatever task they’re doing that’s in the fucking way, I do it while apologizing and thanking in a gentle but curt voice – and only when my task is more important than their’s [always].

But remember: servers that give 80% of their tips to the kitchen, and stay out of the fucking way, and don’t stand around half the fucking time, are decent people. They don’t exist though. Much like decent people. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Fuck my life.

Ah, before I forget: since I started this job, I’ve mostly been eating once a day, at work – not counting the odd tidbits. Usually just a double cheeseburger with fries. I mention it because it’s a relatively large shift from my previous intake. I think I’m eating half the quantity I did before, maybe less. Feel fine. It’s just all this god damned stress forcing my mind and body into overdrive, which always leads to me getting fitter.

Another note, as I keep forgetting to mention it: I haven’t played Dota 2 in weeks. I’ve probably played at least an hour a day for the last decade or so, and I presume a much higher average. I’m not making an effort to stop playing, I’m just sickof the match system forcing me into garbage rounds. Otherwise, my gaming habits are relatively the same, I just play less, since Dota 2 was my go-to. Haven’t missed it til now, that I gave it thought.

Journal Hub



~ by Louis Naughtic on August 9, 2017.

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