"Laverne and Shirley" have known each other for years.
They go way, way back to their time at The White Hen.
Laverne made the sandwiches. Shirley brewed the coffee.
Like peas and carrots, those two.
Laverne has been working for me for a couple of years. The lady is "good people". If you're familiar with the phrase-you know what I mean.
When the cashier with the sticky fingers gave her notice last fall-Laverne knew one thing. Her friend Shirl was perfect for the job.
And, there you have it...Shirley was our girl.
Things have been rosy ever since-until today.
Today Laverne and Shirley got into it in the dish-room.
Dishpan Dan is on vacay. And Laverne has "had-it-up-to-here with the fucking dishes".
Every goddamn time she turns around-it's another goddamn dish.
Is it not enough that she has to cook all the goddamn food-now because Dishpan Dan has a timeshare in the Dells-she has to pick up the slack in the suds and sanitize station.
And-what she really wants to know-is what the frick is wrong with Shirley. Why can't she wash a dish because she sure doesn't seem to have a problem dirtying them.
Shit-she'd be happy if Shirley would have the decency to even rinse off the crap before throwing it in the sink.
The sink full to the brim with the sudsy, hot water.
And, let Laverne tell ya-that shit doesn't get hot and sudsy by itself.
No, it does not.
You want to know the quickest way to make a sink full of suds not sudsy?
Too bad-you're finding out anyway.
Apparently by tossing in dishes that have not been pre-rinsed.
And, she is tired of the ignorance. Sick and tired. What does Shirley think? Really. What is she thinking?
Laverne wants to know. Laverne wants to know right goddamn now...or maybe in another fifteen.
Because, right now, more than anything, Laverne needs a smoke-and she's going on a break. And so help her, God...there better not be any more dishes piled up when she gets back.
Laverne means it.
I can't be the only one surrounded by whack-jobs...what is the most ridiculous thing a customer or an employee for that matter has asked you?
You can email me @ email@example.com with a crazy-ass customer story--go on--get it off your chest--with your permission I will feature it here.
If you want to read more about this kind of ass-hattery, type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button.
My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.