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The eighteenth job I was fired from.
Restaurant Jozu. (winter c. 2001)
These people never had a chance of understanding me or where I was at in life because they were all L.A. yuppie or wannabe L.A. actor yuppie fuck heads.
They also had fake plants in the bathroom, bad mistake, they became my piss receptacles every time the midget manager Carlos would yell at me in broken Santa Monica bro slang mixed with Spanglish, or anytime Tisha, the whorey 30 year old overweight psycho told me to work faster. She would incessantly complain that she couldn’t ever get laid to me after yelling at me like I was supposed to do something to help her with her hideousness.
I took smoke breaks in the customer bathroom, I stole tons food and candles so I didn’t have to go to the store just because they told me that it was impossible to steal from them because we were being constantly monitored.
I broke things on purpose.
I told the managers I would do things and then didn’t on purpose.
I broke and stole expensive items on purpose, and generally pretended to work for two months without ever really working (I actually never got my uniform dirty with food).
By the end I was totally alienated from everyone except for these two other employees who told me that I was an inspiration to them. But every other 30ish employee with no education, no talent, and no lives hated me especially because I told them that trying to be an actor in L.A. was a waste of time and that all the people who were here to make it big were really just going to end up as permanent servers. I wished them all luck with their acting careers and auditions anyways.
The only other person who liked me there was the old Japanese chef because he hated all the stupid people there as much as I did. He only respected me because I refused to bow to him and because I was openly rude to all the "actors."
He would make all the employees bow to him and they all would. When he told me to bow to him, I told him to give me a reason to. He told me that I should bow to him because he was the senior chef. I told him to bow to me because I was a food runner.
Somehow he understood what I meant and we became smoking partners. I used to get to work, eat food I wasn’t supposed to eat, drink tea I wasn’t supposed to drink, take cigarette breaks I wasn’t supposed to take, and then when the other people got there they would do all the sidework I was supposed to have done and complain to the managers that I didn’t do anything for the hour I was there before them.
Because all of the tips were pooled I would sit in back all night and act like I was polishing silverware so I could smoke more but never do any work.
I was really depressed at this time so in true cliché fashion I would just sit outside and stare at the ground smoking until someone would yell at me.
It is funny that this went on for two full months before they figured out I wasn’t ever going to actually work. One night Trish called me in during finals and I refused to come. She told me that a bus boy walked out and she wanted me to fill in for him. I told her I was not going to throw away a UCLA education to work at some yuppie shithole so she fired me.
Five minuets later another manager called me back to beg me not to quit. I told him to fuck off, hung up on him and came in the next day during the busiest time of the night dressed like shit to demand my paycheck.
This was probably the worst place I have ever worked. The clientele was completely comprisedd of rich kids with their parents Credit Cards that did not know how to tip and hollywood fakers trying to make you think they were the real deal. However, anyone who was anyone would never eat at a trendy dive shithole like this "American Japanese Fusion" restaurant. The food was shit.
The eighteenth job I was fired from.
Restaurant Jozu. (winter c. 2001)
These people never had a chance of understanding me or where I was at in life because they were all L.A. yuppie or wannabe L.A. actor yuppie fuck heads.
They also had fake plants in the bathroom, bad mistake, they became my piss receptacles every time the midget manager Carlos would yell at me in broken Santa Monica bro slang mixed with Spanglish, or anytime Tisha, the whorey 30 year old overweight psycho told me to work faster. She would incessantly complain that she couldn’t ever get laid to me after yelling at me like I was supposed to do something to help her with her hideousness.
I took smoke breaks in the customer bathroom, I stole tons food and candles so I didn’t have to go to the store just because they told me that it was impossible to steal from them because we were being constantly monitored.
I broke things on purpose.
I told the managers I would do things and then didn’t on purpose.
I broke and stole expensive items on purpose, and generally pretended to work for two months without ever really working (I actually never got my uniform dirty with food).
By the end I was totally alienated from everyone except for these two other employees who told me that I was an inspiration to them. But every other 30ish employee with no education, no talent, and no lives hated me especially because I told them that trying to be an actor in L.A. was a waste of time and that all the people who were here to make it big were really just going to end up as permanent servers. I wished them all luck with their acting careers and auditions anyways.
The only other person who liked me there was the old Japanese chef because he hated all the stupid people there as much as I did. He only respected me because I refused to bow to him and because I was openly rude to all the "actors."
He would make all the employees bow to him and they all would. When he told me to bow to him, I told him to give me a reason to. He told me that I should bow to him because he was the senior chef. I told him to bow to me because I was a food runner.
Somehow he understood what I meant and we became smoking partners. I used to get to work, eat food I wasn’t supposed to eat, drink tea I wasn’t supposed to drink, take cigarette breaks I wasn’t supposed to take, and then when the other people got there they would do all the sidework I was supposed to have done and complain to the managers that I didn’t do anything for the hour I was there before them.
Because all of the tips were pooled I would sit in back all night and act like I was polishing silverware so I could smoke more but never do any work.
I was really depressed at this time so in true cliché fashion I would just sit outside and stare at the ground smoking until someone would yell at me.
It is funny that this went on for two full months before they figured out I wasn’t ever going to actually work. One night Trish called me in during finals and I refused to come. She told me that a bus boy walked out and she wanted me to fill in for him. I told her I was not going to throw away a UCLA education to work at some yuppie shithole so she fired me.
Five minuets later another manager called me back to beg me not to quit. I told him to fuck off, hung up on him and came in the next day during the busiest time of the night dressed like shit to demand my paycheck.
This was probably the worst place I have ever worked. The clientele was completely comprisedd of rich kids with their parents Credit Cards that did not know how to tip and hollywood fakers trying to make you think they were the real deal. However, anyone who was anyone would never eat at a trendy dive shithole like this "American Japanese Fusion" restaurant. The food was shit.
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