So I used to work at a restaurant when I was a younger man, and recently one of my ex-coworkers asked me to tell some stories about some of the customers and antics that went on there. I guess that seeing as I was asking for some topics, and she gave me one, I have to oblige and dredge up a few memories.
That won’t be too hard, because there were some fucked up people that worked at/frequented that place, but I’m going to be changing their names so you can’t go running to them and say shit like, but not limited to: “Hey, Donny, I heard you used to dress up the sink taps with a mop head and pray to Rasta Man” or, “Yo, Kim, I heard that you never wore a bra, and every time you went into the freezer to get ice cream, your nipples would stand up in that thin, white shirt. I also heard that you never figured out why all of the male cooks kept ordering milkshakes when you were on shift.” Part of the reason is privacy, but in reality, I just don’t remember everything, so it’s safer to just make aliases. Alright, let’s rock.
I guess the first one was Ralph. I really mean the first. This guy was inherited from the previous owners, and was kind of obsessive about being there before everyone else to make coffee. He had a key to the old place, and they would let him open the doors and get the coffee on. We were not so free with our keys, but he was waiting at the restaurant every day for whichever waitress that was opening to show up.
I remnember a few times, where the waitresses would fuck with him. They would show up at 5AM to get there a little before him. For a week he would be showing up at 4:30, just to make sure that they didn’t beat him there. I guess when your life has gotten to the point where your only concern is to beat a waitress to her work so you can make the coffee for the morning rush, you have pretty much got nothing left. As sorry as I felt for the guy, he was a complete pain in the ass.
He would come in at lunch for the buffet, and he would sometimes bring his wife. She was a very heavy lady, and running a little light on the bathing sessions. She had to walk with two canes, just so her knees wouldn’t give out, and we would end up pulling the chair off of her ass when she was done. After many complaints from other diners about the body odour, I had to tell him that she couldn’t come in like that anymore. He explained that she was too big to bathe now, and that she really loved coming in for lunch.
News Flash, Ralphie. An all you can eat buffet is probably not the best bet for someone who is already so big that they can’t bathe. Talk about enabling. It wasn’t long after that, that the fire department had to chop her out of the house to get her to the hospital, and I believe she spent the rest of her days there.
Spoiler Alert: This next part is fucking disgusting. Skip it if you get queasy over bodily functions.
Now the other problem we had with Ralph, was that he would shit all over the side of the toilet. It took a lot of surveillance to catch the bastard, and he never came back after I did, but for weeks someone was actually positioning themselves asunder on the throne in order to properly spray the outside of the bowl and seat. After having to clean that mess up on several occasions,(we all had to take our turn), I started staking out the can. I would wait in the office until someone would go into the washroom. As soon as they came out, I would go in and check. Then it was Ralph’s turn. Gotcha, Ralph.
I then had a talk with him, and I was probably a little harder than is professionally recommended, but come on. That was a poor display of adulthood, and his excuse was that he didn’t like the attachment that was on the toilet to bring it up to code for handicap accessibility. He would wait until we were very busy, and then he’d bomb us. That’s not an accident, that’s first degree turder right there, and it should be corporal punishment. He was lucky to leave there alive, because if I had of told the other people that had to clean up that mess on a daily basis, they would have strung him up by the nuggets.
I guess I’m not leaving a lot of room for any of the others, so I’ll have to do a story about them on another contentless day. I suppose I could tell you about the Political Whore, or the Traveler, but we’ll have to figure that out later.
You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant,
P.S. I also want to ask you if you’ve seen these Baristas coffee shops in your travels. We could use one or two of them along the 401, couldn’t we? Man, does sex ever sell.
Seems like a moneymaker to me.