Can I be Nearly as Interesting as Slang?

[warch]

Well done work is satisfying. I have great respect for that, particularly when it is the least glamorous. Good job Patrick.

[xoxoxoBruce]

Warch is right.......as usual.

Our plant had a system where if I was being laid off I could choose the “labor pool” as an option to going out the door. The 50 or so highest seniority people that chose the “labor pool” would stay in the plant. Lowest pay grade, mostly 2nd shift, doing mostly maintenance (read janitor), or things like re-labeling parts coming out of the paint shop.

The reason for the “labor pool” was if they needed help in one or more of the shops due to poor planning or sudden customer demands, I was already in the plant with my tools and I knew the ropes. In 8 hrs they could have me where they needed help, ready to work.

In industrial setting's the men’s toilets are usually called the “shithouse” for a very good reason and not the most pleasant ambiance. Cleaning them means spending enough time in there to be considered cruel and unusual treatment by my nose. I figured if I had to be there I’d make it as pleasant as possible, so I scrubbed and sterilized places people don’t even know exist. Having been a plumber I knew things could be worse.

It’s funny how people you work with a month before look down their noses when you’re doing that work. Some would say, “Oh yeah, I was in the labor pool back in....”, but most avoid eye contact and hustle away. But after a couple weeks I started overhearing things like, “It don’t stink no more” or “It ain’t never been THIS clean.” Strangely, after a few weeks, when I’d come in at the start of my shift there would be less paper towels on the floor, less soap on the wall and mirrors and less general filth.

So even if you’re cleaning “shithouses”, if you do a good job it’s noticed and appreciated.

[Elspode]

In my "real" job, I'm a manager, and have long known the worth of a good job done, and positive reinforcement given out. In particular, my current job seems to require it as a means of self defense, but I've told those stories before.

[wolf]

Have you guys considered being a barrista at the Barnes and Noble, or even *shudder* Staryucks?? Lame ass tips and minimum wage, but it's indoor work ...

[Elspode]

Too wonky. Delivering pizza is honest work, and I'm not trapped in a building full of stuff that I lust for and cannot afford to buy.

I applied at Barnes and Noble but never heard back from them. Same old song - too old, over-qualified, and hole in my work history. Plus in my case, I'm in this "all or nothing" situation. It's very important that I continue with my medical treatment, but if I earn more than $200 a month, I will be dropped off SSDI and have no medical insurance. Most minimum wage jobs don't offer medical benefits, so I have to make the jump into a "real" job again. Anything less will only hurt me more than help.

[Elspode]

My son has to deal with that. Earn too little and starve to death in the cold. Earn too much and starve to death in the cold.

[lookout123]

Originally Posted by marichiko

Most minimum wage jobs don't offer medical benefits, so I have to make the jump into a "real" job again. Anything less will only hurt me more than help.

Starbucks and American foodstores* do.

*Jewel
Albertson's


Hey Patrick - when do you work again? I really appreciate the humor you inject into what must be a stressful situation for you. i hope the rain clouds move off your doorstep soon.

[Elspode]

Tonight, actually. Just got home a bit ago.

I'm starting to see the rhythms of the place. Obviously, dinnertime is crunch time, so when I walk in the door around 6:00, the joint is rockin'. Twenty bucks for change-making is stuffed into my hands, and I'm "routed" almost immediately. That's fine by me, because the more time I spend delivering, the less time I spend standing next to the evil Baal of a pizza oven, folding up boxes. Oh...and I'm also making more than minimum wage.

There was a whole boatload of drivers tonight, so the pickings were slimmer than I would have liked. Once 8:00 hit, things died totally, but I squeezed one more double run out of it. One of those runs was a no-charge delivery to a woman who had bullied the manager into a free pizza for some reason unknown to me. That delivery was in the lowest-rent part of Lee's Summit, a sea of fourplexes that are pretty much held together by the most recent coat of paint slapped on them. You know the kind of place...crackerboxes meant to generate income for landlords who would sooner have surgery without anaesthesia than to have to fix a dripping faucet or rebuild a deteriorating staircase.

Apparently, when they painted them the last time, they neglected to replace the frigging addresses, because I could *not* find this place. I finally used the last-resort technique of calling the customer (on my own cellphone...I am constantly impressed at the cleverness of the people who thought up the criteria for pizza deliveries - any worse, and I'd be paying *them* for the privilege). The call was illuminating, not only due to my being apprised of how to find the right apartment, but because the background noise explained to me *why* the woman who called the pizza in was such a bitch. It was because she lived in a rotting fourplex with three kids whose only method of communication with their mother was by screaming at her, she apparently having recently emerged from her rust and dent ravaged 1980-something Mustang parked in the street. I'd be a bitch, too, if that were my lot. In the end, Grandma (who was babysitting the wild beasts...er, children) stood outside and flagged me down as I drove slowly by.

Lee's Summit is quadrasected by two major highways; US 50 running essentially East-West, and Missouri 291 doing the North-South chores. Any of you who live in a suburb similarly divided will be familiar with the hodgepodge constructs that are produced by such an arrangement. Businesses cluster along the highway itself; set back from this is often a layer of light to medium industry. Get back several blocks, and suburbia begins. There is, of course, some variation to this theme, but you get the idea. My store is fronted right on 291, about a half-mile from that highway's intersection with 50. Therefore, I can get pretty quickly to any part of the city. Whoever picked the site did well. Consequently, in the course of my runs, I see a little bit of everything that this little slice of the Midwest has to offer.

One of my frequent routes takes me through the light-industry/Home Depot layer near 50 Highway as I make my way back to a residential area. Located in this industretail area is an anomalous piece of artwork. I'm sure most of you Cellarites are familiar with the "fiberglass critters decorated for a good cause" thing that has spread across the nation these past few years. Cows, bears, and Mickey Mice are decorated, displayed for a period of time, and then finally sold to benefit some charity or other. The KC Metro has been through all of these manifestations, and one of those products has found its way to a curb that I pass frequently. The artwork in question is a bear that has been decorated like an orange and white striped safety barrel, arm raised and holding a warning sign in its paw. It reflects quite brightly as I approach it, and it is altogether distracting. It is sited in front of a gymnastics studio which is in turn located next door to what looks like a warehouse of some sort. I don't know if the reflective fiberglas bruin is a permanent feature, or if his presence has something to do with the relative state of incompleteness and ongoing construction in the area, but it does qualify as "something different".

The Captain was a lot more jolly this evening. Sometimes he seems like a self-important Manager type, and sometimes he seems just a goofy kid. Tonight, he was the latter, as we discussed various computer geek things and how those things related to the obtaining and playing of games at no charge. Merle had started us on this conversational path by mentioning that his computer had been seized by a piece of evil spyware, and we were trying to explain to him what to do. I think I see a visit to Merle's crackerbox fourplex some evening soon. Robbie the goofy kid driver has paired off with a 17ish year old order girl. They make a cute enough couple, although she is almost dwarfishly short. She tried to con me into swapping "Happy Chores" (can you believe someone named all the scummy work "Happy Chores"? Sheesh) with her, but fortunately someone else stepped up and did it for her while I was on a run. I got to stock the pop cooler again. This is rapidly becoming my favorite non-delivery task as it is quite clean and very, very easy. Rufus was his usual killer self...I don't think the place could function without this guy, so excellent is he at what he does. In fact, I think every place like this needs at least one person like him.

My fellow workers were in a bit of a tizzy tonight. It seems that the printer which spits out our order/delivery summaries was toast, and it made the preparation for our runs rather cumbersome. I found myself writing down the pertinent info on the colorful box ads that we have to stick on with glue pens before the folding commences. Needless to say, the technological failure did not enhance our speed, accuracy or attitudes. In fact, I hosed the disagreeable woman who got the free pizza because of it...I forgot to give her the 2 liter she was supposed to get. So I brought it home and gave it to the kids.

And so it goes.

[wolf]

Probably much like slang's cow orkers at the shitjob, these folks would have a hard time operating a computer and reading what came up on the screen if they blundered into it accidentally.

There aren't enough pictures for them.

Speaking of which ... any chance you can get a shot of the warning bear, Els?

[lookout123]

cow orkers

is that what you call a practitioner of bestiality?

[wolf]

Actually, it's a little something that I adopted from vsp, whom I first noted to use this many years ago.

I thought it was funny.

It stuck.

[Elspode]

No, no...bestiality practitioners would be cow *porkers*...

Bruce: no, I'm not really planning on making it general knowledge that I write about these individuals. If I did that, I'd feel obligated to be a bit less...um...interpretive about my views of them. I don't need trouble. As Wolf mentions, few of them have spoken about any particular facility with or addiction to computers and online hobbies, so I'm not real worried that someone will Google themselves and end up here.

I was actually thinking of getting a pic of the bear, Wolf...but before I do, I need to modify my description. Apparently, pizza fumes cause hallucinations...I assume it is the mushrooms (which we actually ran out of tonight...egad). The bear has both arms at its side, and no sign. Don't ask me how I screwed that one up. I'm guessing my weary brain just made its own artistic modifications and reported back to my typing fingers the end result. It is, however, definitely barrel-striped, and it is definitely a fiberglas bear, standing at the side of the road.

Tips have been *awful* the past two nights, as have my routings. Still and all, with my hourly wage and route fee thrown in, I'm probably averaging about $9.00 per hour right now, over the course of my three-week employment history. While that isn't much, it is $9.00 per hour more than I make sitting here typing about it. Extrapolating my earnings over the course of a month, it looks like I should bank about $400 extra after taxes. This is probably worthwhile.

It was a fairly typical evening of pizzary, tonight and last night. All the personalities I have previously described were strutting in spades. I continue to be astounded at the positive, friendly, helpful attitude displayed by my namesake Patrick (aka Rufus). I quizzed him a bit tonight, and found out that he has been doing this in one form or another for *18 years*. It is obvious that he absolutely loves the pizza biz, and it is impossible to avoid being caught up in his enthusiasm. Although he is technically a driver, same as me, he functions much more on the level of a manager, and does everything there is to be done in the course of business with skill, professionalism and joi de vivre. Whether taking a phone order, making a pizza, cleaning a scummy floor or training a new kid, he is utterly enviable, a peson to be admired. I can't even believe I am as impressed as I am. It isn't like I give that much of a care about the whole gig, but working with him, you simply *have* to care. He has an uncanny ability to make you feel equally good about your screwups as he does about your triumphs. This guy should be conducting seminars, not making pizza.

I made my first pizza tonight...for myself. We're allowed one small pizza to eat while at work, although most of us make them and take them at the end of our shifts. Because we were almost out of small regular crusts, I made large thin loaded with sausage, onions and olives. It is damn fine, if I do say so myself. While it cooked, I was treated to a brief study of the Operations Manual, because I have received virutally no training so far. There is much to be learned, and reading about it really doesn't cut it. Learning to make a large variety of pizzas requires hands on experience, as does the entire order-taking routine. While I am (IMHO) highly skilled at customer handling, it is very easy to seriously hose an order being taken if you are unfamiliar with the computer system into which it is input. Even experienced people screw up, as evidenced by an order I was delivering last night.

When someone calls in, they are first asked their phone number. This, if they are a previous customer, results in their information and last order being pulled up. The next thing that one is supposed to do is confirm the customer's address. Unfortunately, this did not occur last night (a new girl took the order...Patrick's niece, as it turns out), and I found myself attempting to deliver a pizza to some seriously confused individuals. A couple of phone calls revealed that the customers who ordered the pizza had moved, keeping their old phone number, but changing their residence on the complete opposite side of Lee's Summit, about as far from their old house as they could be, and still be in Lee's Summit.

The whole episode cost me 45 minutes of jerking off during peak business time, excess driving of about 12 miles (in my Explorer, getting about 13 mpg @ $1.75/gallon), completely eating up the $1 route fee, and preventing me from taking other deliveries during that time. I got a $1 tip out of it in the end. Coupled with lost potential other deliveries, I figure that little fiasco cost me at least $5.00. Pretty disheartening, but then everyone makes mistakes. It is just that this one cost me, and no one else, money.

And so it goes...

[404Error]

Hey Els, here's a topic related article from USA Today. Just something more to think about while you're delivering those pizzas. Great stories by the way, keep up the good work! I've been working at a Sbarro Pizza restaurant since retiring from the prison and it is interesting work. There's a few unique characters working there too, just wish I had your writing talent to explain them the way you do. No delivery at this place but it is fairly busy, especially nights and weekends. Making the pizzas is the most fun I've ever had at a job in my life, I actually look forward to going in every day.

Companies that ban guns put on defensive

[Elspode]

I've actually found myself enjoying the delivery job, 404. Even most of the "Happy Chores" aren't too bad, for the most part. I don't have any immediate plans to carry a weapon, though. I'm not real sure if Papa John's forbids it or not.

It was an interesting day overall, actually. It started out with a trip downtown to report for jury duty at the Jackson County Circuit Court. I have been a registered voter for 30 years, and a licensed driver for 32, and I have only been called for jury duty one other time, about five years ago. Despite having spent five hours sitting in the Jury Room today, I *still* have yet to be selected to serve. I was selected as a Reserve Juror before being sent away today, but the chances of me being recalled before Friday are virtually nil (they have only called on Reserve Jurors twice in 30 months).

For my service, I received a certificate and a check which exceeded my costs of getting there, parking and eating lunch by about 34 cents. My boss was pretty happy, because they weren't keeping me. He essentially ordered me to get dismissed ("Do whatever it takes to get out of it..."), because I am responsible for our year-end inventory, which takes place on Wednesday/Thursday. Unfortunately, there was no way I was going to be dismissed prior to the selection process, so had I been selected, I would have had to go all the way to the voir dire process before I could have said or done anything to get me dismissed. That would have been a tough nut for me, because I'd actually like to have a chance to sit on a jury sometime. I'm at least that patriotic.

After leaving our Art Deco, 75 year old courthouse (dedicated by then-Senator Harry Truman), I went on to work for three hours. That was interesting, after having been gone since midday Wednesday, when I went home with the flu. Fortunately, we've been so slow lately, that I really wasn't all that far behind, and I should be completely caught up by tomorrow noon.

I actually went back to work on Saturday night, delivering pizzas. I did pretty well, all in all, although had I been able to work Friday, I probably would have made a killing. According to all accounts, it was a complete madhouse, with the manager calling in drivers and kitchen staff from other locations due to the volume of business. At one point, they apparently had *16* drivers on the clock! By Saturday, though, things were steady, if not entirely crazed.

Merle has become more conversational again, although his topic doesn't vary much. On Saturday, and again tonight, he shared some of his notions for making his ex wife's life more, um...interesting. Suffice to say that his ideas for doing so mostly involve fairly pedestrian, juvenile sorts of things ("Patrick, do you know if it is illegal to dump shit on someone's front porch?") When he said he might just send some dead roses, I told him that he was probably asking for trouble, since these days, all someone has to do is *claim* that they feel threatened, and one could be branded a stalker or something...especially a male; most especially an ex-spouse. Besides, I told him, if she's as big a scumbag as you've made her out to be, she probably won't know if the dead roses and/or shit weren't already there.

As Merle mused about sending his wife a box of chocolates with Ex-Lax in them, he thumbed through a catalogue featuring numerous imported "fantasy decor" items. You know the type...cheapass swords, dragon sculptures in resin, feng-shui rock garden indoor fountains...that sort of thing. I asked him where he got it, and he told me that Wes, one of the newer drivers, was selling things out of it. Apparently, Wes is quite the entrepreneur. The first night I met him, he was trying to fix up Merle with some Hispanic hookers he claimed to "know", and he's told Merle that he also has a highly lucrative Internet porn site.

I find both of the sexually oriented enterprises to be dubious claims at best, as Wes' outward intellect seems to be stretched just delivering pizzas on most nights. A man of unremarkable appearance, Wes is ostensibly thirty-something, with hair thinning on the top, and a bit of a hickish edge to him. He has a sort of soft, mumbling manner of speaking, making him both difficult to hear, and not very convincing as a potential 'Net pimp. I suppose it is possible that he's just working a delivery job in order to have some outward form of legitimate enterprise, but frankly, I believe that selling imported crap out of catalogues is probably as risque as this guy's life ever gets.

My runs were easy breezy tonight, very little backtracking or screwing around. I didn't get stiffed once, and ended up making the best total tips so far. While the job doesn't have a whole lot of benefits in the way of perks or cash (well, free small pizzas), there is the whole "eye-candy" aspect to fall back on.

People can be fairly unrestrained when they answer the door for the pizza guy. A couple of weeks back, I made a delivery to a slumber party of high school cheerleaders, all dressed as young girls dress these days, and all terribly bouncy and boisterous. Tonight, a young woman answered the door in about 2.5 ounces of some incredibly tight, vanishingly thin material which covered only the most critical areas of her jaw-droppingly appealing frame. And she tipped me $2.50 to boot! At another stop, a cheesy apartment building, the door was opened by a kid of about 20, revealing several very nice guitars hanging from the wall. I said admiring things, and was quickly invited in to give them the once-over. I also got tipped $2.00, for a delivery that was less than two minutes from the shop. On the downside, the apartment smelled pretty strongly of ether, so I hope the kid isn't a tweaker - although the Strats, Les Paul and Epi 12-string, plus the Schechter bass would tend to make me believe that he probably was.

It was unreasonably cold tonight, and very windy to boot. I have to find a way to keep warm while delivering, without being too hot when I'm in the store itself, standing next to the pizza oven from Hell. I'm sure most of you will say, "Wear a coat, dumbass!", but I'd rather have something a bit easier to deal with. I don't want to have to take it off and put it on over and over and over...

And so it goes...