OMGWTFBBQ

maybe i wasn't paying enough attention to the jackass in front of me, but tonight, just like my last car wreck, was all about the inescapable laws of physics and crunched metal.

only it had more to do with press-gainey scores and hearsay.

let's not get to wrapped up in details, shall we? the fact remains that freeman hospital's kitchen continues to "flounder," meaning our current survey scores are lower than those past. and what does this mean? absolutely nothing. except that someone has to pay.

blame it on the goddamned parsley.

she did. i'm called into the office with a fellow coworker and bombarded with a desk-sized hunk of bullshit right off the bat. "you do know you are supposed to put garnish on every tray, correct?" furious nodding. "i've heard about some problems with this recently." blank stares. "what it comes down to is our scores. we're too good of a department to be where we're at currently."

i think i may have drooled on my namebadge at this point. i'm abruptly reintroduced to the foodservice world with weighty phrases such as "let go" and "final solution." minus the zyclon-b, of course - HR would have had a hayday with that.

i bolt into action, my mind racing to keep up with this ludicrous ruse, "is this about morgan's fit over the LETTUCE this weekend? because she got all up in my face over that and i just followed suit. it's a friggin huge piece of LETTUCE. . . "

"no, no, it's nothing to do with that. mr. s*******, i realize you are looking for another job. now i wouldn't mind hurrying you on your way by making you find other arrangements,"

i know for a fact that my jaw hit the floor just then. nearly four years working my ass off for a bunch of egotistical soccer moms and former tweakers, ONE with a fucking BA, and i'm being threatened the boot for fucking parsley?! aside from that, one of the primary reasons i hate my current job so much is the inexplicable emphasis placed upon those wilted pieces of greenery that i configure on so many plates of goop every night. no way. this is insane.

fuck loyalty, fuck standupedness, and fuck that goddamned fucking kitchen. my record obviously means nothing to the cocksmokers and all the time spent there suddenly feels like a monumental waste.

then again, it could be the hand of God spurring me to action - it's not like i haven't sent out enough resumes and applications over the past three weeks, but maybe i am supposed to feel a stronger sense of urgency.

i do. i need a new job. psychos and uberbitches need not place ads in the classifieds, kkthx.