When I started taking my new meds, one of the side-effects is that I could have uncontrollable hostility. I think it is safe to say that this is the exact side-effect I am having. Without the influence of PMS, I have successfully reached full on fury today.
Today was a day I knew would be hell. It was a day that I needed to make sure everyone within the walls of Fantasia, aka the Glass Palace, had pizza. It always makes me crazy. Why? Well, let me tell you why. First, you can never get the right pizza. You can never appease everyone. Not everyone wants pizza. Some people want a salad. Well, friends, bring your own salad like I did. I didn't say it was an open freaking buffet with all of your favorites that were also gluten free and not made out of God's creatures or any of aforementioned creatures bi-products by people that may or may not have been wearing leather, with make-up and perfume on that was tested on baby bunnies or that don't shower because it is consuming our natural resources. I didn't say that, did I? I recall saying "pizza." I didn't say, "pizza and a beverage." I didn't say, "pizza, a beverage and dessert." No, I said, "pizza." I can see how that could be misleading. I didn't say that every mother-trucking pizza known to man would be served. So, when you come up and say, "Oh, there is no anchovies on this pepperoni pizza, I can't eat it," I say, are you freaking kidding me? I didn't promise you a rose garden, pal. I promised you some pizza. I didn't say it was gourmet pizza. I didn't say it was the best pizza you ever had. I specifically remember saying it was going to be Pizza Hut. You don't work at some freaking hoity-toity, moist towelette in the bathroom with a butler in there to wipe your ass kind of place. You work here where people shit on the floor and walls. As magical as that would be to have a bathroom butler, I don't think anyone would sign up for that fucking job wiping the asses of the Glass Palace. But. I. Digress.
I'm trying to shake it off....breathe., And, yes, there are rules around the pizza. Rules like, come on your assigned lunch time, because if you don't then I won't have enough pizza at EVERYONE's lunch time. I don't know if you people consider how I order pizza. I don't just call up the joint one hour before the lunches start and say, "hey, can you bring us some pizza." No. I have to look into logistics, how many people have lunch at each scheduled time, how many lunch shifts are there, where is the best place to put the pizza, etc. I don't just wing it, people. So, when you bring your testosterone filled, cocky ass, male fucking metabolism over to the table on your break so you can pork out an then you want to come back on your lunch and do the same, I don't just hate you because of your metabolism and selfishness, I hate you because...wait, no that was it... that was the reason. I stand corrected. And then when you mock me about the aforementioned rules, I want to say, you know what, you little piss ant, you plan this lunch. But you know what, they would suck at it because they wouldn't care. And then next thing you know, some random person is all crying in their top ramen because there was no pizza for them on their lunch. I have lived through this nightmare, I know the drill. I've seen the carnage and the fall-out, the hissy fits, the anger, the resentment, hunger in their bellies, fury in their eyes demanding that you make this right...right fucking now. I've lived through combat. You people don't know. You will never know the pain of pizza day. NEVER!!!
I had a small glimmer of hope today as some of the newer people approached the table like Bambi coming out of the woods after a fire. Slinking up to the table and asking, "do you need my employee ID before I take any pizza?" These people...these people were scared. These people wanted pizza, but wanted to follow the rules. They could smell it, they were hungry, but they would not take it. Like a dog with a biscuit on the nose waiting to be told, "okay." They were obedient. I felt a sense of satisfaction, but then also a little guilt as they seemed scared. Pizza shouldn't be scary, but the snarky admin on the other side of the table, that is another story.
Look, ultimately, I don't give a shit who does or does not get pizza. My main incentive is to not hear anyone bitch about not getting any. Because those people will haunt you. They will bring it up every time a luncheon comes up. That one time in the winter of 1996 when they didn't get any pizza. That one time they went hungry. That one time they didn't even have time to go to McDonalds because they had planned their whole day around getting that pizza. And when they went to the table, it wasn't there. And they were angry. They say they have moved on, but they haven't. They never will. Forever, a void in their life. You can't fix that. You can't undo that. You don't know. You haven't seen what I've seen. The horror.
When I left today, there was a buttload of pizza left. Those working the late shift will be snacking into the night. And why? Because I rationed them when it mattered and now the feast will be their reward for patience. The only people I have disappointed are those that wanted a salad today or something gluten free. To them, I say, refer to the paragraph above where I outlined what would be served today. Pizza.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm exhausted. I need some rest. With any luck, tomorrow will be uneventful. Maybe tomorrow Four Feet of Fury will stop calling me Miss Snarky Pants. I guess I'll have to stop being snarky to make that happen. One battle at a time, people. Pizza battle over, for now.
Today was a day I knew would be hell. It was a day that I needed to make sure everyone within the walls of Fantasia, aka the Glass Palace, had pizza. It always makes me crazy. Why? Well, let me tell you why. First, you can never get the right pizza. You can never appease everyone. Not everyone wants pizza. Some people want a salad. Well, friends, bring your own salad like I did. I didn't say it was an open freaking buffet with all of your favorites that were also gluten free and not made out of God's creatures or any of aforementioned creatures bi-products by people that may or may not have been wearing leather, with make-up and perfume on that was tested on baby bunnies or that don't shower because it is consuming our natural resources. I didn't say that, did I? I recall saying "pizza." I didn't say, "pizza and a beverage." I didn't say, "pizza, a beverage and dessert." No, I said, "pizza." I can see how that could be misleading. I didn't say that every mother-trucking pizza known to man would be served. So, when you come up and say, "Oh, there is no anchovies on this pepperoni pizza, I can't eat it," I say, are you freaking kidding me? I didn't promise you a rose garden, pal. I promised you some pizza. I didn't say it was gourmet pizza. I didn't say it was the best pizza you ever had. I specifically remember saying it was going to be Pizza Hut. You don't work at some freaking hoity-toity, moist towelette in the bathroom with a butler in there to wipe your ass kind of place. You work here where people shit on the floor and walls. As magical as that would be to have a bathroom butler, I don't think anyone would sign up for that fucking job wiping the asses of the Glass Palace. But. I. Digress.
I'm trying to shake it off....breathe., And, yes, there are rules around the pizza. Rules like, come on your assigned lunch time, because if you don't then I won't have enough pizza at EVERYONE's lunch time. I don't know if you people consider how I order pizza. I don't just call up the joint one hour before the lunches start and say, "hey, can you bring us some pizza." No. I have to look into logistics, how many people have lunch at each scheduled time, how many lunch shifts are there, where is the best place to put the pizza, etc. I don't just wing it, people. So, when you bring your testosterone filled, cocky ass, male fucking metabolism over to the table on your break so you can pork out an then you want to come back on your lunch and do the same, I don't just hate you because of your metabolism and selfishness, I hate you because...wait, no that was it... that was the reason. I stand corrected. And then when you mock me about the aforementioned rules, I want to say, you know what, you little piss ant, you plan this lunch. But you know what, they would suck at it because they wouldn't care. And then next thing you know, some random person is all crying in their top ramen because there was no pizza for them on their lunch. I have lived through this nightmare, I know the drill. I've seen the carnage and the fall-out, the hissy fits, the anger, the resentment, hunger in their bellies, fury in their eyes demanding that you make this right...right fucking now. I've lived through combat. You people don't know. You will never know the pain of pizza day. NEVER!!!
I had a small glimmer of hope today as some of the newer people approached the table like Bambi coming out of the woods after a fire. Slinking up to the table and asking, "do you need my employee ID before I take any pizza?" These people...these people were scared. These people wanted pizza, but wanted to follow the rules. They could smell it, they were hungry, but they would not take it. Like a dog with a biscuit on the nose waiting to be told, "okay." They were obedient. I felt a sense of satisfaction, but then also a little guilt as they seemed scared. Pizza shouldn't be scary, but the snarky admin on the other side of the table, that is another story.
Look, ultimately, I don't give a shit who does or does not get pizza. My main incentive is to not hear anyone bitch about not getting any. Because those people will haunt you. They will bring it up every time a luncheon comes up. That one time in the winter of 1996 when they didn't get any pizza. That one time they went hungry. That one time they didn't even have time to go to McDonalds because they had planned their whole day around getting that pizza. And when they went to the table, it wasn't there. And they were angry. They say they have moved on, but they haven't. They never will. Forever, a void in their life. You can't fix that. You can't undo that. You don't know. You haven't seen what I've seen. The horror.
When I left today, there was a buttload of pizza left. Those working the late shift will be snacking into the night. And why? Because I rationed them when it mattered and now the feast will be their reward for patience. The only people I have disappointed are those that wanted a salad today or something gluten free. To them, I say, refer to the paragraph above where I outlined what would be served today. Pizza.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm exhausted. I need some rest. With any luck, tomorrow will be uneventful. Maybe tomorrow Four Feet of Fury will stop calling me Miss Snarky Pants. I guess I'll have to stop being snarky to make that happen. One battle at a time, people. Pizza battle over, for now.
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