I haven’t posted in my "blog" for
several months since I was kicked out of the UK because
A) I was advised it’s not nice to write about
ass backwards immigration laws while I am trying to get back into the country
that told me to leave (fair enough since I am sure the queen is reading my blog
while sipping on gin) and
B) I have been doing something I am
sure all of you reading this will have a hard time comprehending:
WAITRESSING (which appears to not even be a word according to auto correct)…and I am not talking about bottle service to Lebron James and
friends in a fancy club and rolling in hundys at the end of the night…I am
talking about an Italian restaurant that has been in business for over 40 years
and run by an owner that likes to play a game of firing people called "Which
dumb broad is next"…are you fucking kidding me? When that shit popped out of
his mouth, I wanted to unleash my inner ghetto and be like "oh no you
didn’t"…but because I am a classy broad, I straightened my apron and continued
filling my pitcher of Ice tea dreaming about this day.
Oh, which day you ask? The glorious
day of changing my voice mail to the following: "you have reached Kimberly,
please leave a message and I will call you back at my earliest convenience…and
if this is R**H or F***K, go fuck yourself". Why you ask? Why wouldn’t I just
put in a two week notice? Oh, sit back and let’s take a journey of what It’s
like slinging sausages for an ego maniac and his "manager" that is clearly
suffering from "battered manager syndrome" #staystrongr*ch
Let's call our story: Kimberly's adventures in
Wonderland…Falling Into The Rabbit Ass Hole.
Since being back in Cleveland because
my dad decided to leave this world without a heads up, it has been quite a
challenge finding my footing…albeit perfectly manicured Ferragamo loafer
footing.
I have several projects going on, but
because I don’t have the trust fund of one of those little rich twats of Instagram, I have to fund everything myself…so I thought “I will become a
server…quick money…it can’t be that hard”. Bloody hell, fuck waterboarding…make
terrorists wait on tables with more than two children. After the shit I have
been through the past several months, I will now be donating annually to
planned parenthood.
And that my friends is the beginning to the story...to be continued tomorrow with
Chapter 2: How black olives on a pizza can truly fuck up someones day.
Chapter 2: How black olives on a pizza can truly fuck up someones day.
Perfection. Being a server is the farthest from "quick money." The majority of people are rude, inconsiderate assholes that can fuck off at anytime. I completely agree with you, AMEN sister, can't wait for Chapter 2.
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