This is about getting in your car when it’s hot.
Do you find my car comfortable?
I bet that you do not.
I left it parked out in the sun
And now it’s hot hot hot
The arm rest, it could burn me
with a temperature so high.
And if you left your baby here,
your baby would just die
It really sucks inside this car
Just watch me agonize.
I’m fairly sure my Fiji water
is boiled and sanitized.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my car.
It’s classy, sleek and clean.
But I’m sweating with the air on blast
And it’s only 10:15!
It makes Hell feel like Alaska.
The way this car can scald.
If Satan was sitting shotgun
Even he would be appalled.
And then you have the jerkoffs
Who say AC wastes too much gas
Well you must be a masochist
And you can kiss my ass
So come along. Let’s have a ride
But enter at your own risk
You see that shiny metal puddle?
It was once a compact disc.
Chapter 14: Chaquita, Dani and a Makeshift Kangaroo
First, a quick shout-out to Dani. Okay, not quite first. FIRST, a quick apology for the term “shout-out.” I couldn’t think of anything else that worked quite as well. “Nod to?” Too subtle. “Hello to?” just slightly more awkward than “shout-out.”
Sidetracked. Back to Dani. Dani has been waiting patiently for Chapter 14 ever since I wrote about rolling my first pretzel in Chapter 1. There were many times that I considered skipping some chapters and going right to Chapter 14. For instance, did I really need to write about the thirteen seconds I spent working at Campus Colors? Now I fear that I have waited so long that hype has inevitably been built. Hype that cannot be lived up to. That will result in some sort of last-episode-of-your-favorite-sitcom-esque epic letdown.
Yes. Anticipation has been building for Chapter 14. For years, now. For nobody else but Dani.
Java City happened as if by miracle. I have no recollection of applying for the job. I think I did it online? Perhaps somebody applied online on my behalf as a prank, since I can’t think of any legitimate reason why someone would voluntarily seek employment in the school cafeteria. Although…this wasn’t just any cafeteria. This was the cafeteria at the UNIVERSITY CENTER!
University Center could (and should. Definitely SHOULD) have its own chapter. In the interest of keeping this chapter succinct and on-topic, I will describe the University Center in ten words.
Large. Sterile. Pivileged artistic types. Key cards. Also made friends.
Onwards and upwards. I was on track to work in the cafeteria at the University Center. Well, kind of. I was on track to work at Java City, the coffee annex of the cafeteria. So, apparently I applied? Yeah. Ok. Sure. But I never heard anything from them. Until…
One day I was very unhappy with the service in the cafeteria, so I did what anybody looking to better the system would do. I took to the internets and wrote a scathing letter to management. I complained about the amount of time students have to wait in line, the rudeness of employees, the disproportion between the price and quality of the food, and the bone I found in my chimichanga. Okay, that’s a lie. I only complained about the bone. Baby steps. Revolution takes time.
The next day, I got a phone call from one of the managers. I was nervous. Was this a response to my (probably too) harsh worded letter? Were they out to get me? Was my meal plan cancelled? Was I expelled from college? None of the above. They wanted to offer me a job slinging coffee.
Ummmmm…okay. What better way to make the changes I think need to be made than from the inside? Infiltrate the system. Get that revolution underway. Start with the chimichangas.
And my time at Java City began.
The people. I can’t go any further without telling you of the people I worked with. First, there was Chiquita, one of my managers/favorite people in the world. Chiquita was one ridiculius hairstyle away from being a parody of black women, and I loved her. We called eachother boo. Even after I stopped working in the cafeteria she would give me free food. “Chiquita gotchu!” she would always say. We bonded over our affinity for complaining about spoiled college students and how the man was keeping us down. OH! I worked woman named Georgia AND a woman named Maryland. True. Georgia isn’t that strange of a name. Look no further than the labial undertones of artist Georgia O’Keefe. Maryland? Less common..but it was pretty much the fact that I worked with two states that made it interesting.
One thing that people often got confused by was the fact that just because you saw me every day, it didn’t mean we were friends. Dani can vouch for this. Oh….Dani. How would I have made it through those months at Java City if you weren’t there by my side? Actually, probably pretty easily because the job didn’t require much more than a third grade education…and that’s only if you actually intended to ring people up properly as opposed to blindly pressing buttons then giving away items for free. That requires even less. That’s usually how I operated. Not necessarily because I wanted to be nice. There were plenty of jackasses who I had no intentions of doing favors for. Not necessarily because I wanted to stick it to the man (Chiquita would have loooved that) and mess up their inventory count. Too much work. Mostly because I was just. that. lazy.
Not too lazy to have fun in other creative ways, though. Dani and I weren’t too lazy to make signs to put over the menu that said things like “Smoothies make you ugly!” Not too lazy to harass random customers on chicken tender night by barking “show me your tenders!” Not too lazy to cut up cups, lids, sleeves, straws, and any other supply deemed necessary to destroy for the sake of art, in order to make various models and figures. I still have my kangaroo.
The best part of Java City was, by far, passing the time in odd yet artistic ways with Dani. We were kind of like partners in crime. We would hide the fruit in the back cooler and then tell people we were out, in order to avoid making smoothies (and in turn, avoid turning people ugly.) We would run out of white mocha mix and replace it with skim milk, then leave a note on the counter that says “this is not white mocha mix! just milk. didn’t feel like making white mocha!” We would harass our neighbor at the pizza station. And, above all, we would sit back and quietly judge every person who came to our counter while working on various project such as the aforementioned kangaroo sculpture, collages, and my personal favorite, mixing random drinks. One time I SWORE I made the most delicious drink of all time. Minty. Chocolatey. I think I put chai tea in there as well. It ended up tasting like toothpaste. Or so I was told. I never tasted it.
The worst part of Java City was, by far, the scheduling. I didn’t mind working lunch or dinner shifts, and even 6am breakfast didn’t bother me that much. Remember, these were the days when working three days a week and going to class four was considered a full schedule, so my day was sprinkled with plenty of nap opportunities throughout. It was working until after midnight that killed me. Again. College student schedule. All of your friends go out on a Friday night and here you are twiddling your thumbs and sitting on the counter (to the dismay of Chiquita) and just wishing someone would come in and order something - even a fucking smoothie, to cure your boredom. But alas, while every college student in America may not abide by the same party schedule, one thing remains constant. They do not eat in the dorm cafeteria on Friday nights at midnight.
It may not have shaped my life. It may not have been the backdrop to some life-altering coming of age story like Twist & Shout or Disney World. But Java City does stand out from most of my other jobs for one simple reason.
I had fun, damn it.
Hey, handful of people who read this that actually live in LA, what are you doing Friday night? Benderdangle, my improv team, is performing at Let’s Do This! This Friday. 11pm at Upright Citizens Brigade. Not some silly class show in a crappy afternoon time slot. Mainstage, assholes. Sidenote: Sundays 401 show was most awesomely NOT silly.
Sorry to be all Posty McTumblrslut, but I just went through some old entries and it appears I never once told you guys about the nightmare that was Shannon. In fact, I never really mentioned my previous job at all. I didn’t really mention what sucked about it, why I quit, or even when I quit.
While I will save the whole bloody affair for the official chapter, I wanted to give you a little taste of what to expect…
During my second week, I was told to draw up a budget proposal. Not only have I never drawn up a budget proposal before, but this one needed to be for a shoot in Dublin and was to include the price of hiring an English crew, a flight to Dublin for said crew, transportation of equipment from England to Dublin, figuring out exchange rates (what are we transferring to euros? what are we transferring to pounds?) and production insurance. This was on my second week. IT didn’t even have my Outlook configured yet.
Guess what. I had NO idea what the fuck I was doing. Project Manager, Shannon, lost her shit when she sees my attempt at a budget proposal for shooting in Dublin but transporting crew and equipment from England - that I made on my sixth day. What do I mean by “lost her shit?” I mean that after seeing my attempt at a budget proposal for shooting in Dublin but transporting crew and equipment for London that I made on my sixth day, she slammed her fists on her desk, stood up, and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!??!” over and over. Then she said my budget was retarded and called me an idiot. Then she said “FUCK” and screamed at me for about twenty more minutes.
Did I mention this was my second week on the job? And that it was because I didn’t know how to make a budget proposal for a shoot in Dublin but transporting crew and equipment from England?
Shannon always says she doesn’t mind mistakes, she just hates when people “don’t listen.” She gets around this issue and maintains her persona of being the most heinous, insufferable bitch you will ever meet ever by claiming thusly that any “mistake” you have made is not a mistake, but a result of not listening. Clever, right? Preach all day long about how you don’t mind if someone makes an innocent mistake, because once that happens you can just transform into dragon lady and bite their head off. Then, while chewing on their brains and picking your teeth with a shard of skull, claim that they didn’t make a mistake. They were simply “not listening.” Semantics. Evil, evil, semantics.
Also, did I mention that when Shannon tore me apart (because apparently my proposed budget for a shoot in Dublin but transporting crew and equipment from England that I made on my sixth day was flawed because I wasn’t LISTENING ENOUGH), it was such a scene that people from the office upstairs were IM’ing me asking if I was alright? One more thing…did I mention that she did this to me on the day I found out my mom had cancer?
I’m leaving out the name of the company and other names in order to remain anonymous, lest Shannon do some googling and somehow come across this page and read this story. However, part of me wants to make it as easily accessible as possible so that she does read it and find out how awful she is. In case she does, might I conclude by saying…
I hate you, you digusting human being. You are a poor excuse for a person and one day the way you treat your employees WILL come back to bite you in the ass. Also, I hope you can never have kids.
I talked to Cheryl Hines on the phone last week. I tried to A) be professional B) not sound like an idiot C) combine techniques A and B while also being casually hilarious.
Then on Sunday I saw Lorne Michaels at the Sunday Company show. Made sure to laugh extra hard at every scene, just in case Lorne watching me from six rows behind and using my reactions as a guage for who in the cast is talented enough to be on SNL. You never know.
Went to UCB last night, and surprise guest Robin Williams performed with Sentimental Lady. He clearly had no grasp of Harold structure whatsoever, but that is way beside the point because it’s fucking Robin Williams.
Once I get paid today and tomorrow, I will I won’t be this ridiculously broke again. I know I said this like three months ago when I got the other job that sucked epically and subsequently tore apart my soul, destroyed my life, and left me bruised and battered, suffering panic attacks in my car on my lunch breaks…but this time I mean it. Did I ever talk about how BAD that place sucked? Guess I’ll save it for whatever chapter that might be. (Sidenote: Chapter 14 is coming soon)
Also, I know that two paychecks won’t fix my financial problems, but I will at least be doing well enough that I won’t be skipping lunch then having croutons and hot dogs for dinner because that’s all I have.
Oh…except that once I get paid today and tomorrow I have to make a car payment, buy a plane ticket home for my brother’s wedding, pay the electric bill, pay my phone bill, and pay for two parking tickets. Oh piss.
Old friend from the industry is coming into The Massage Place tonight
How do say “Hi! Long time no see this isn’t my real job just my fun money job I help run an esteemed comedy training program at the Groundlings it is very legit Will Ferrell came from it I have a business card its totally a real job but I can see how discovering a former development assistant scheduling massages can seem that way but NO I am doing very well for myself just ask Karen seriously this is the happiest I’ve ever been DON’T JUDGE ME I HAVE WEBISODES IN DEVELOPMENT AND A BUSINESS EMAIL ADDRESS FUCK YOUR INDUSTRY STANDARDS I WON’T BE A SLAVE” in less words?
30 minutes into "I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here."
Favorite part so far is either Patti Blagojevich being swept away down the river, or when Spencer Pratt prayed to God then immediately procceeded to grab his junk and say “Gotta rearrange.”
Also, I like the two co-hosts that give us a recap between every commercial break. There are so man intricate plotlines involving Sanjaya building a fire and Janice Dickinson seeing a monkey that I don’t think my brain can hold it all in.