A while ago, I saw one of those feel-good columns about a teacher that works with blind students. The headline read: "Teacher sees bright future for blind students."
I thought, "Fine. Rub it in."
Monday, April 03, 2006
Tell her it's an advant garde student film you made!
I watched the Ring Two on HBO last week. It wasn't really that scary anyway, but I was taken aback by the attempt to scare at the beginning. The premise is that if you watch the cursed tape, you'll die in seven days unless you show it to someone else, who then will die unless they show someone else, and so on...
A teenager is trying to get a girl he asked over to watch this tape because it's just so scary he has to show somebody. He reiterates that it's really scary and she has to watch it now! Phone rings. It's the guy's buddy who tells him that he made it. The clock says 10:58. When it hits 11:00 weird shit happens, girl watched video with her eyes closed and kid dies.
I don't know about you, but if it's imperative for me to live by showing someone else the death tape, I'd mail it to the person that I hate the most and if that fails, I'd tell the girl that it was a weirdo student film that my cousin wants a critique on... and I'd do it a lot sooner than two minutes to midnight! I'm sure Iron Maiden enjoyed the irony by you copying the song, but only in a movie would someone wait that late to show the movie.
Maybe he had it coming because he was forgetful.
A teenager is trying to get a girl he asked over to watch this tape because it's just so scary he has to show somebody. He reiterates that it's really scary and she has to watch it now! Phone rings. It's the guy's buddy who tells him that he made it. The clock says 10:58. When it hits 11:00 weird shit happens, girl watched video with her eyes closed and kid dies.
I don't know about you, but if it's imperative for me to live by showing someone else the death tape, I'd mail it to the person that I hate the most and if that fails, I'd tell the girl that it was a weirdo student film that my cousin wants a critique on... and I'd do it a lot sooner than two minutes to midnight! I'm sure Iron Maiden enjoyed the irony by you copying the song, but only in a movie would someone wait that late to show the movie.
Maybe he had it coming because he was forgetful.
I'm still waiting for the other problem...
At my job, people complain. A lot. Some more than others. I was sitting around working the other day when a co-worker somes over to me and says, "Hey, I've got a real dilemma."
So the co-worker explains her problem and I'm waiting for the other one to be explained, but they don't. They finish. Leaving me to ask, "So what's your other problem?"
Dilemma is one of those words that's being mangled today. It means that it's "a situation that requires a choice between options that are or seem equally unfavorable or mutually exclusive." It's like choosing to eat a piece of moldy cheese or expired yogurt as your only food choices for a meal. Both are okay to eat, but not the best tasting.
People call Dr. Laura all the time (or they did years ago when I listened to her bored in the afternoon delivering pizzas) with this same intro. "Hi, Dr. Laura. I have a dilemma." They then explain that their lone problem is something inane that is partly their fault because they're being stubborn. Dr. Laura invariably yells at the caller, but not about the misuse of dilemma. Shame...
So the co-worker explains her problem and I'm waiting for the other one to be explained, but they don't. They finish. Leaving me to ask, "So what's your other problem?"
Dilemma is one of those words that's being mangled today. It means that it's "a situation that requires a choice between options that are or seem equally unfavorable or mutually exclusive." It's like choosing to eat a piece of moldy cheese or expired yogurt as your only food choices for a meal. Both are okay to eat, but not the best tasting.
People call Dr. Laura all the time (or they did years ago when I listened to her bored in the afternoon delivering pizzas) with this same intro. "Hi, Dr. Laura. I have a dilemma." They then explain that their lone problem is something inane that is partly their fault because they're being stubborn. Dr. Laura invariably yells at the caller, but not about the misuse of dilemma. Shame...
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Taking a break...
It's been an interesting one year run. I occasionally run into people who notice that I haven't blogged much lately. It's just that this past six months has been very trying and time consuming. I started a new job in a different city and while we've been waiting for the house to finish, we've been living an a small apartment. There is no room to sit and concentrate. You are always interrupted by something. We're about to move and there's packing the old apartment, moving stuff out of storage, painting the inside of the house, hanging shelves and moving out of the apartment.
Be back in a few...
Be back in a few...
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Latest C.S.I. stretches truth like Laffy Taffy...
I love the show C.S.I. Ever since the first season when we were introduced to our favorite characters like bug-loving Grissom, ex-stripper Willows, man-hater Sara, gambler Warrick and womanizer Stokes, I liked the show for it's mini-mysteries that only science and forensics can solve. Oh sure, the lighting was brighter back then and their equipment budget now makes room for huge full-wall HDTV screens, but it's still a pretty good show.
Bill and I wrote a piece a while ago called, "You can learn a lot from life from watching C.S.I." in which we detailed things like cheating on your lover will increase your chances of dying, being into freaky fetishes increases that chance and others.
We also included this line, "Apparently, it's possible take a fuzzy, grainy surveillance video and then enlarge certain sections with not only no loss of clarity, but a huge increase of clarity!"
This episode, they take that assumption to new and ridiculous heights.
The episode, "Kiss Kiss, Bye Bye" involves a murder at the party thrown by a wealthy ex-showgirl played by Faye Dunaway. By the way, Faye looks like she's had some work done. From the chipmunk like cheeks when she smiled, to the insanely big and bright choppers in her mouth, to the big, fake breast implants, it was a little hard to see when the old Faye started and the new Faye ended. This was not the Faye Dunaway that I remember from Barfly. This just wasn't a make-up job.
That aside, Faye did a great job portraying a Vegas socialite that lived to be beautiful and had just published her tell all book.
The night begins with a dead body discovered in her bedroom. They find Faye's character in the bedroom vault scared to death that she was going to be shot.
Through their investigation, the team examines the security camera footage. One camera's footage show the murder victim being dropped off by a car near the garage. They of course bring a close-up on the license plate and put it in the state database. They find a match. That is not so unbelievable.
The victim is then handed a slip of paper. The team blows it up enough to not only see the small printing on what looks to be an airplane flight ticket, but they pull the bar code from the ticket and decode that as well! This in turn, tells them that the victim was going to fly somewhere that night.
Now it's one thing to take grainy security footage and get crystal clear face images and license plates, but it's another thing to be able to read the bar code on a plane ticket that someone was holding!
Even my wife had to blurt out, "Oh come on! Do you know how pixelized that would be!"
She ought to know. At her job, she had to capture some stills from television footage that was of someone with their head to their waist in the frame. Even those looked really pixelated!
I swear that Hollywood just can't help themselves. Be it from the political lectures you hear 38 minutes after the hour on Boston Legal or the stretching of science on C.S.I.
That reminds me.
In early episodes of C.S.I., they relied on a lot of pretty obvious science to find out who the killer was. They use liminol to turn blood stains blue in almost every episode. Likewise, they used to use GSR tests, gun shot residue, to rule out or implicate suspects as people who may or may not have pulled the trigger.
In this past episode, there are multiple suspects to this murder. Not one of them were tested for gun shot residue! And just when they still had no suspects and were baffled, they then decide to test the socialite's closes for GSR! Of course, the clothes are missing from the huge closet of party dresses, but they do find the ring she was wearing that night. That does have GSR.
I swear this team makes is harder on themselves. From examining crime scenes with flashlights instead of turning on the lights to not using the GSR test anymore, the CSI team isn't getting any pity from me when they complain.
Bill and I wrote a piece a while ago called, "You can learn a lot from life from watching C.S.I." in which we detailed things like cheating on your lover will increase your chances of dying, being into freaky fetishes increases that chance and others.
We also included this line, "Apparently, it's possible take a fuzzy, grainy surveillance video and then enlarge certain sections with not only no loss of clarity, but a huge increase of clarity!"
This episode, they take that assumption to new and ridiculous heights.
The episode, "Kiss Kiss, Bye Bye" involves a murder at the party thrown by a wealthy ex-showgirl played by Faye Dunaway. By the way, Faye looks like she's had some work done. From the chipmunk like cheeks when she smiled, to the insanely big and bright choppers in her mouth, to the big, fake breast implants, it was a little hard to see when the old Faye started and the new Faye ended. This was not the Faye Dunaway that I remember from Barfly. This just wasn't a make-up job.
That aside, Faye did a great job portraying a Vegas socialite that lived to be beautiful and had just published her tell all book.
The night begins with a dead body discovered in her bedroom. They find Faye's character in the bedroom vault scared to death that she was going to be shot.
Through their investigation, the team examines the security camera footage. One camera's footage show the murder victim being dropped off by a car near the garage. They of course bring a close-up on the license plate and put it in the state database. They find a match. That is not so unbelievable.
The victim is then handed a slip of paper. The team blows it up enough to not only see the small printing on what looks to be an airplane flight ticket, but they pull the bar code from the ticket and decode that as well! This in turn, tells them that the victim was going to fly somewhere that night.
Now it's one thing to take grainy security footage and get crystal clear face images and license plates, but it's another thing to be able to read the bar code on a plane ticket that someone was holding!
Even my wife had to blurt out, "Oh come on! Do you know how pixelized that would be!"
She ought to know. At her job, she had to capture some stills from television footage that was of someone with their head to their waist in the frame. Even those looked really pixelated!
I swear that Hollywood just can't help themselves. Be it from the political lectures you hear 38 minutes after the hour on Boston Legal or the stretching of science on C.S.I.
That reminds me.
In early episodes of C.S.I., they relied on a lot of pretty obvious science to find out who the killer was. They use liminol to turn blood stains blue in almost every episode. Likewise, they used to use GSR tests, gun shot residue, to rule out or implicate suspects as people who may or may not have pulled the trigger.
In this past episode, there are multiple suspects to this murder. Not one of them were tested for gun shot residue! And just when they still had no suspects and were baffled, they then decide to test the socialite's closes for GSR! Of course, the clothes are missing from the huge closet of party dresses, but they do find the ring she was wearing that night. That does have GSR.
I swear this team makes is harder on themselves. From examining crime scenes with flashlights instead of turning on the lights to not using the GSR test anymore, the CSI team isn't getting any pity from me when they complain.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
The first time I got fired...
I'd like to think that I was a valuable asset to a lot of companies that I worked for over the years. Oh sure, I can sometimes blow my lid and can easily be distracted by the banter of conversation, which some people (namely managers) don't like, but all in all, I'm a pretty good, smart worker.
That was lost on my boss at my second job.
Like my brothers before me, I worked at a place called the Captain's Table. This was my first job. I worked as a busboy, dishwasher and cook before finally leaving the place. I had gotten my second job through my older brother, Paul. They needed someone to help out and I fit the bill.
It wasn't a very hard job at first. The place I worked at was a steak restaurant called David's Steakhouse. Paul had a friend that we can call Ralph. Ralph had a wife named Sheri. Now Ralph and Sheri bought David's Steakhouse from the original owners. It was stuck in the middle of a nothing town outside of my hometown, but it had a reputation for serving pretty good food, so it thrived on out of town business.
My job was pretty simple. The cooler with all of the steaks was inconveniently on the other side of the kitchen door. On one side was the cooler and on the other side was the chef's area. My job was the take the orders as the waitresses placed them on the order rack, go into the cooler, select all of the appropriate steaks, take them back to the chef's area and give them the order and the steaks. It was pretty easy work. There may have been some food prep work and table busing that went along with it, but it wasn't that bad.
It was easy and I was pretty good at it. I mean, how hard can it be? You only have so many steaks to choose from and the order didn't pile up that hard. As long as the cooks were busy, you were fine.
Where things started to go wrong was my interactions with the other staff. Being a teenager and me, I probably thought I knew everything. That attitude probably didn't go over well with some people.
One of them was the bar manager. On the other side of the restaurant, they had a lounge where people could drink. It was generally not very busy, but Ralph had a lady run it and she, it seemed, had complete control over every aspect of the bar. She even was allowed to set her own rules for how many pops you could have. If she was working and you were thirsty, she allowed you to have only two glasses of pop from the bar. Now I didn't know this at first and on one particularly busy night, I came in after my second glass of pop, which by the way were long and skinny glasses so it's not as if they were breaking the bar's bank, and I asked for another glass of pop.
She shot me a glare and yelled, "I told you kid that you only get two glasses of pop! That's it!"
I was a flabbergasted. I'm not exactly one to take inane rules lying down. When someone tells me something that I find stupid, I have to ask the reason why. So I did.
"Why?" I had the nerve to ask.
She responded with "That's my rule!"
"Well, I didn't know!" I retorted.
"Well now you know!" she snapped back.
I decided to put this policy to the test. I didn't initially set out to do this, but I liked drinking my Cokes. I noticed that on the days that she didn't work, which was about once a week, I whoever was running the bar would give more than two fountain Cokes with no problem, no questions asked. I then figured that if she gives out two free ones, that I would just buy another Coke if I wanted one with my meal after my shift.
The bartender was back one night and I had already had my two Cokes. I pulled out my wallet and with money in hand I asked for a Coke. She flipped out.
"I told you that you only get two pops a night!" she said red in the face.
I was flabbergasted. Here I was, trying to pay for another Coke and she was turning me down?
"I'm paying for this!" I yelled incredulously, or with disbelief for those who don't like big words.
She said that she didn't care and that if I kept asking, she would talk to Ralph about it.
I couldn't believe it. It's not as if I was trying to bilk David's out of money by overusing the Coke gun behind the bar. Far from it. I was trying to pay for one!
My brother, Paul, told me to not worry about it, but if she was told to start shelling out the Cokes, I don't remember. I do remember having to drink water or bring my own in a little cooler for after I got off work.
If Ralph was not satisfied with my work, I really didn't get a warning. I must have been doing something right because I asked for more hours and I got them. I helped carve the prime rib during the Sunday lunch buffet, helped with prep work and even washed dishes. I was multi-talented (being sarcastic here).
Right about the time I started washing dishes for David's is when things started to go wrong.
Maybe it was my teenager attitude. Maybe it was because I over slept one morning. Maybe it was because I asked Ralph if he minded if I brought in a homework book to read while I was waiting for the dish machine to finish it's cycle.
His response: "I'm not paying you to do homework."
Fair enough. I guess he paid me to lean against the dish machine staring at the cook leaning against the prep table because when you had everything done and you had an hour left before the restaurant closed, that's really all there was left to do. Occasionally, when management had left, I would sneak in my boring homework book from English and read it while washing dished. Like I said, multi-talented...
Maybe it was because I came in one week to pick up my check and I demanded to know why my check was exactly the same as the week before. Surely, I thought, this was a mistake. What are the odds.
I went to Sheri to ask her why and she seemed a little irritated when it wasn't an error, I had just happened to work the exact amount of hours for that two-week period that I had the paycheck period before. Since they didn't use a punch clock and you wrote in when you came and left, everything was rounded up or down to the nearest 15 minutes. It was a simple mistake, I guess.
Maybe it was my increasing attitude towards the waitresses. I thought was had a pretty good relationship. They seemed to like me, but waitresses are pretty temperamental. They take shit from the customers for hours on end, the last thing they want to take shit from is a teenage dishwasher. In retrospect, I should have seen this rift coming when I snapped a few times after I thought I had gotten every dish from every waitress before breaking my machine down for the night. I was usually when I was almost done when one would rush up with a tub of dishes saying, "Sorry! Here are some more dishes!" I would groan and put the machine to together. Maybe it was the groaning. Maybe it was me slamming the machine back together. Maybe it was me slamming the dishes into machine after slamming the said machine back together. Who knows?
Maybe it was those above reasons, but I have a feeling it was because of that fateful day in the kitchen with Sheri.
Sheri was the boss's wife and as such, she had an attitude. I've worked at a few jobs where someone's wife works either in a position of power or as another worker. I don't think I've ever encountered one that didn't act like they owned the place because they were attached to the man. Sure, in this case, she did technically own the place, but that not the point! Sheri already didn't really like me because of my daring to challenge that my hours were wrong, so this last incident was the straw that broke that camel's back (not saying she was fat, which I don't recall).
Whenever I would wash dishes, people would come by me all night long to go outside to smoke. That was no problem as I understand that they are the slaves to their masters and must satisfy that fix. Sheri, on the other hand, would walk to the back door and then not go outside to smoke. She would light up literally 3 feet behind my back and stand there and smoke her entire cigarette not saying a word most times.
I don't smoke and I hate being around people that smoke. I always have. Every time she did this, I would either suck it up or move to the other end of the dishwashing machine to unload the machine or I'd put away dishes that were clean. But a lot of times, I would be trying to load the machine and she'd be puffing away, looking out the stupid back screen door for minutes on end. Finally, one day, I kind of snapped.
One one long night that I was tired, she came back to smoke and look out the back screen door like always and I just asked, "Could you please not smoke around me?"
Now what's wrong with that? I asked her as nice as I could and I used the word "please" so it shouldn't have been a big deal right? Well, it was probably because I backed it up with this sentence.
"I reserve my right to free air."
That probably didn't go over too well... Probably not.
I remember her saying something about how that as soon as I own the place, then I can tell her what to do or SOMETHING like that.
I believe it was the next time that I came into work that I checked the schedule and found that I wasn't on the schedule. I was a little confused as I had never been fired before, so I asked someone why I wasn't on the schedule. They told me to talk to Ralph.
Ralph informed me that he was letting me go. While he didn't mention the smoking thing specifically, he did mention about how I was a little rude to some of the wait staff, so he was letting me go.
I was a little irritated to say the least. I didn't even get a warning to cool it. I was just told to leave. This really didn't hinder my wage earning at all because I was also working some shifts at my previous kitchen job and my old boss was happy to have me back for any shift that he wanted to schedule me for.
So that's my fired story. I would like to say that I concocted some elaborate revenge scheme to get even, but I didn't. I even took my prom date to eat there after the fact. What did happen was what I call karma kicking in. I won't exactly say what happened, but let me point out that the restaurant isn't even open anymore and it may have had something to do with the actions of Sheri, who may or may not have funneled over to remodeling their house instead of paying the business bills, leaving Ralph with a huge amount of debt when he finally caught wind of it. (Thanks to Paul for filling me in on the sordid details, most of which I've chosen not to go into)
That was lost on my boss at my second job.
Like my brothers before me, I worked at a place called the Captain's Table. This was my first job. I worked as a busboy, dishwasher and cook before finally leaving the place. I had gotten my second job through my older brother, Paul. They needed someone to help out and I fit the bill.
It wasn't a very hard job at first. The place I worked at was a steak restaurant called David's Steakhouse. Paul had a friend that we can call Ralph. Ralph had a wife named Sheri. Now Ralph and Sheri bought David's Steakhouse from the original owners. It was stuck in the middle of a nothing town outside of my hometown, but it had a reputation for serving pretty good food, so it thrived on out of town business.
My job was pretty simple. The cooler with all of the steaks was inconveniently on the other side of the kitchen door. On one side was the cooler and on the other side was the chef's area. My job was the take the orders as the waitresses placed them on the order rack, go into the cooler, select all of the appropriate steaks, take them back to the chef's area and give them the order and the steaks. It was pretty easy work. There may have been some food prep work and table busing that went along with it, but it wasn't that bad.
It was easy and I was pretty good at it. I mean, how hard can it be? You only have so many steaks to choose from and the order didn't pile up that hard. As long as the cooks were busy, you were fine.
Where things started to go wrong was my interactions with the other staff. Being a teenager and me, I probably thought I knew everything. That attitude probably didn't go over well with some people.
One of them was the bar manager. On the other side of the restaurant, they had a lounge where people could drink. It was generally not very busy, but Ralph had a lady run it and she, it seemed, had complete control over every aspect of the bar. She even was allowed to set her own rules for how many pops you could have. If she was working and you were thirsty, she allowed you to have only two glasses of pop from the bar. Now I didn't know this at first and on one particularly busy night, I came in after my second glass of pop, which by the way were long and skinny glasses so it's not as if they were breaking the bar's bank, and I asked for another glass of pop.
She shot me a glare and yelled, "I told you kid that you only get two glasses of pop! That's it!"
I was a flabbergasted. I'm not exactly one to take inane rules lying down. When someone tells me something that I find stupid, I have to ask the reason why. So I did.
"Why?" I had the nerve to ask.
She responded with "That's my rule!"
"Well, I didn't know!" I retorted.
"Well now you know!" she snapped back.
I decided to put this policy to the test. I didn't initially set out to do this, but I liked drinking my Cokes. I noticed that on the days that she didn't work, which was about once a week, I whoever was running the bar would give more than two fountain Cokes with no problem, no questions asked. I then figured that if she gives out two free ones, that I would just buy another Coke if I wanted one with my meal after my shift.
The bartender was back one night and I had already had my two Cokes. I pulled out my wallet and with money in hand I asked for a Coke. She flipped out.
"I told you that you only get two pops a night!" she said red in the face.
I was flabbergasted. Here I was, trying to pay for another Coke and she was turning me down?
"I'm paying for this!" I yelled incredulously, or with disbelief for those who don't like big words.
She said that she didn't care and that if I kept asking, she would talk to Ralph about it.
I couldn't believe it. It's not as if I was trying to bilk David's out of money by overusing the Coke gun behind the bar. Far from it. I was trying to pay for one!
My brother, Paul, told me to not worry about it, but if she was told to start shelling out the Cokes, I don't remember. I do remember having to drink water or bring my own in a little cooler for after I got off work.
If Ralph was not satisfied with my work, I really didn't get a warning. I must have been doing something right because I asked for more hours and I got them. I helped carve the prime rib during the Sunday lunch buffet, helped with prep work and even washed dishes. I was multi-talented (being sarcastic here).
Right about the time I started washing dishes for David's is when things started to go wrong.
Maybe it was my teenager attitude. Maybe it was because I over slept one morning. Maybe it was because I asked Ralph if he minded if I brought in a homework book to read while I was waiting for the dish machine to finish it's cycle.
His response: "I'm not paying you to do homework."
Fair enough. I guess he paid me to lean against the dish machine staring at the cook leaning against the prep table because when you had everything done and you had an hour left before the restaurant closed, that's really all there was left to do. Occasionally, when management had left, I would sneak in my boring homework book from English and read it while washing dished. Like I said, multi-talented...
Maybe it was because I came in one week to pick up my check and I demanded to know why my check was exactly the same as the week before. Surely, I thought, this was a mistake. What are the odds.
I went to Sheri to ask her why and she seemed a little irritated when it wasn't an error, I had just happened to work the exact amount of hours for that two-week period that I had the paycheck period before. Since they didn't use a punch clock and you wrote in when you came and left, everything was rounded up or down to the nearest 15 minutes. It was a simple mistake, I guess.
Maybe it was my increasing attitude towards the waitresses. I thought was had a pretty good relationship. They seemed to like me, but waitresses are pretty temperamental. They take shit from the customers for hours on end, the last thing they want to take shit from is a teenage dishwasher. In retrospect, I should have seen this rift coming when I snapped a few times after I thought I had gotten every dish from every waitress before breaking my machine down for the night. I was usually when I was almost done when one would rush up with a tub of dishes saying, "Sorry! Here are some more dishes!" I would groan and put the machine to together. Maybe it was the groaning. Maybe it was me slamming the machine back together. Maybe it was me slamming the dishes into machine after slamming the said machine back together. Who knows?
Maybe it was those above reasons, but I have a feeling it was because of that fateful day in the kitchen with Sheri.
Sheri was the boss's wife and as such, she had an attitude. I've worked at a few jobs where someone's wife works either in a position of power or as another worker. I don't think I've ever encountered one that didn't act like they owned the place because they were attached to the man. Sure, in this case, she did technically own the place, but that not the point! Sheri already didn't really like me because of my daring to challenge that my hours were wrong, so this last incident was the straw that broke that camel's back (not saying she was fat, which I don't recall).
Whenever I would wash dishes, people would come by me all night long to go outside to smoke. That was no problem as I understand that they are the slaves to their masters and must satisfy that fix. Sheri, on the other hand, would walk to the back door and then not go outside to smoke. She would light up literally 3 feet behind my back and stand there and smoke her entire cigarette not saying a word most times.
I don't smoke and I hate being around people that smoke. I always have. Every time she did this, I would either suck it up or move to the other end of the dishwashing machine to unload the machine or I'd put away dishes that were clean. But a lot of times, I would be trying to load the machine and she'd be puffing away, looking out the stupid back screen door for minutes on end. Finally, one day, I kind of snapped.
One one long night that I was tired, she came back to smoke and look out the back screen door like always and I just asked, "Could you please not smoke around me?"
Now what's wrong with that? I asked her as nice as I could and I used the word "please" so it shouldn't have been a big deal right? Well, it was probably because I backed it up with this sentence.
"I reserve my right to free air."
That probably didn't go over too well... Probably not.
I remember her saying something about how that as soon as I own the place, then I can tell her what to do or SOMETHING like that.
I believe it was the next time that I came into work that I checked the schedule and found that I wasn't on the schedule. I was a little confused as I had never been fired before, so I asked someone why I wasn't on the schedule. They told me to talk to Ralph.
Ralph informed me that he was letting me go. While he didn't mention the smoking thing specifically, he did mention about how I was a little rude to some of the wait staff, so he was letting me go.
I was a little irritated to say the least. I didn't even get a warning to cool it. I was just told to leave. This really didn't hinder my wage earning at all because I was also working some shifts at my previous kitchen job and my old boss was happy to have me back for any shift that he wanted to schedule me for.
So that's my fired story. I would like to say that I concocted some elaborate revenge scheme to get even, but I didn't. I even took my prom date to eat there after the fact. What did happen was what I call karma kicking in. I won't exactly say what happened, but let me point out that the restaurant isn't even open anymore and it may have had something to do with the actions of Sheri, who may or may not have funneled over to remodeling their house instead of paying the business bills, leaving Ralph with a huge amount of debt when he finally caught wind of it. (Thanks to Paul for filling me in on the sordid details, most of which I've chosen not to go into)
Monday, January 16, 2006
Did anyone notice this on the werewolf episode of CSI...?
Last Thursday, CSI had yet another genetic anomaly show. In the past, they've had people born with both organs, midgets, fat people and other physical/genetic quirks. This time, they had a show about incredibly hairy people that suffer from a genetic quirk that makes them incredibly hairy.
The episode featured a really hairy guy who gets murdered in his house by a silver bullet. It's only after investigating that they find out that the guy's girlfriend had been trying to call him all day. You also find out that he has a sister who is 5 times hairier than he is. She lives in a hidden room off of his living room. It's about a four foot by 7 foot room that has somehow evaded any suspicion of it's existence until now. That is, until the CSI team is doing some investigating and notice a hole with a light coming through the wall. This leads Katherine Willows (Marg Hellgenberger) to discover the sister of the "vic".
Which reminds me, do the police really refer to people that have been killed as the "vic"? It's only saving them one syllable and probably the same amount of time to say it. I'll have to look into that. In fact, I think I'm going to catalog their terms for future scrutiny.
As it is in any of the episodes about genetic abnormalities, people who come in contact with the "freaks" turn into extras from the Elephant Man. They mock the hairy people as people incapable of any normal life and of course, have to take the matter into their own hands by killing them.
This leads me to the loophole of this episode. While it is kind of interesting that someone would make a hidden bedroom for his sister, it is also interesting that someone very important didn't notice it's existence, even while standing in the room.
The victim's killer was the brother of the hairy guy's girlfriend, who was also supposed to be the victim's best friend. She had just accepted his marriage proposal and her family freaked. The brother enough to take the time to melt down some sterling silver, make a silver bullet and shoot the poor guy. Now that's some drastic final solutioning! The Nazis would have been proud.
The angry brother shows up at the hairy boyfriends house. His sister is out of her room and he tells her to go in. Before she can close the door, the brother bursts in and shoots the hairy boyfriend, who collapses inside the hidden room. The angry brother then walks over the hairy victim and mutters "Freak" and leaves, all the while completely oblivious that he had been standing in a hidden room that he had failed to notice the previous times he had been in the house and that the hairy victim's sister is behind the door seeing his reflection.
That would be the first thing that I would notice. I would think, "Freak! Wait a second? Why am I standing in the middle of an incredibly girly room that is behind what I thought was a solid wall? Oh, well..."
I guess you could argue heat of the moment, but he also fails to get rid of the evidence at his house as the police find his silver bullet mold intake with melted silver all over it. I mean, that's what I would do. I'd just leave evidence lying around when I'm still a police suspect.
The episode featured a really hairy guy who gets murdered in his house by a silver bullet. It's only after investigating that they find out that the guy's girlfriend had been trying to call him all day. You also find out that he has a sister who is 5 times hairier than he is. She lives in a hidden room off of his living room. It's about a four foot by 7 foot room that has somehow evaded any suspicion of it's existence until now. That is, until the CSI team is doing some investigating and notice a hole with a light coming through the wall. This leads Katherine Willows (Marg Hellgenberger) to discover the sister of the "vic".
Which reminds me, do the police really refer to people that have been killed as the "vic"? It's only saving them one syllable and probably the same amount of time to say it. I'll have to look into that. In fact, I think I'm going to catalog their terms for future scrutiny.
As it is in any of the episodes about genetic abnormalities, people who come in contact with the "freaks" turn into extras from the Elephant Man. They mock the hairy people as people incapable of any normal life and of course, have to take the matter into their own hands by killing them.
This leads me to the loophole of this episode. While it is kind of interesting that someone would make a hidden bedroom for his sister, it is also interesting that someone very important didn't notice it's existence, even while standing in the room.
The victim's killer was the brother of the hairy guy's girlfriend, who was also supposed to be the victim's best friend. She had just accepted his marriage proposal and her family freaked. The brother enough to take the time to melt down some sterling silver, make a silver bullet and shoot the poor guy. Now that's some drastic final solutioning! The Nazis would have been proud.
The angry brother shows up at the hairy boyfriends house. His sister is out of her room and he tells her to go in. Before she can close the door, the brother bursts in and shoots the hairy boyfriend, who collapses inside the hidden room. The angry brother then walks over the hairy victim and mutters "Freak" and leaves, all the while completely oblivious that he had been standing in a hidden room that he had failed to notice the previous times he had been in the house and that the hairy victim's sister is behind the door seeing his reflection.
That would be the first thing that I would notice. I would think, "Freak! Wait a second? Why am I standing in the middle of an incredibly girly room that is behind what I thought was a solid wall? Oh, well..."
I guess you could argue heat of the moment, but he also fails to get rid of the evidence at his house as the police find his silver bullet mold intake with melted silver all over it. I mean, that's what I would do. I'd just leave evidence lying around when I'm still a police suspect.
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