Sunday April 21 2013

[i]

☼ ○ ▬

I’ve been employed at another Chinese restaurant. There’re multiple drivers and they do everything differently. To enter the building I have to creep through a walk-in refrigerator to get inside and talk to the boss. While on a route my dad is with me. He’s much older than he is in waking life and has walkers to help him move about. After making a stop he gets left behind somehow. I go back in search of him.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up at 11:20 a.m.

Blueberry Acai Granola Bar. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

A brief text conversation with Ana, reflecting on yesterday’s outing...

Ana: “I did feel like we were old friends catching up! Maybe because you are actually a nice and welcoming person unlike some people I have encountered recently. You know the kind that have their noses up in the air and overly confident? You’re a genuine character. That’s for sure.”

Me: “yes I know those kinds of noses in the air people. But most of my friends aren’t like that so I guess they shape me into this nice person. And maybe my mom had something to do with it.”

Today I made a mistake on the job, the kind of frivolous mistake I would never expect myself to make. But it happened. And it created quite a despicable situation for me. A customer calls and places an order for Barnacle Ct. I go out on the run. I knock on the door to 1009 Barnacle Ct. I didn’t bother to look at the ticket because 1009 has ordered in the past. A black guy answers the door. “Chinese food, right?” I ask. He doesn’t say a word, signs the credit receipt, and I hand over the food. I didn’t think much of it until somebody calls the restaurant wondering where their food is. It’s somebody at 1008 Barnacle Ct. Come to find out I delivered to the wrong people. I’m in shock. So we remake the order and deliver it to the right people. Unfortunately for me unless I convince this black guy at 1009 to pay for the food that they DIDN’T order in the first place then I have to pay for it. So I knock on the door to 1009 and confront the people that live there. I end up talking with two black guys but the conversation is dull as they both deny that I even came here. One of them pulls a slight smirk on his face as I pry into the twisted situation.

Me: “All I know is that I came to this address and gave somebody food and they signed for it.”

Guy: “Well I’m the owner of this house and nobody took any food here.”

Me: “This is ridiculous! I was just here like fifteen minutes ago. My boss is going to make me pay for this food that you’ve already eaten. That’s fucked up. Don’t you agree?”

And then he has the nerve to say I’m lying. I can’t even believe this is happening. It’s useless. I’m not getting one ounce of help from these assholes. How can you stoop so low as to accept food you know you didn’t order and then play it off like it never happened? The guy closes the door eventually with no resolve and without any genuineness in his voice says “I’m sorry.”

I slam the screen door in major offense before I march off. “That’s fucked up! You guys are assholes!”

The guy opens back up and taunts me, “Slam my door again. Slam my door again.”

I keep walking, get in my car, and drive off while yelling back to him, “You guys are fucking assholes! Fuck you!”

In the car I’m shaking. I don’t do well with confrontations like this and they make me nervous. I’m shaken up. Just breathe, Robert. Compose yourself. But it’s difficult to do when faced with the scum of the earth.

...

Back at the restaurant I call the cops. A cooperative female officer comes by for a report. According to the story I’m not technically the victim but the restaurant is. So it’s up to my boss to press charges. And of course she’s not interested in coming to court over $20. I lose today. I really lose. Twenty dollars is twenty dollars. Money is money. But it’s the whole principle behind it that bothers me. I want justice! And it requires too much work to get it. Even if I get this guy’s information and file a report myself it’s gonna take at least two months till the court date and he probably won’t show. I’ll get a default win but then what? How will I get the money? Go up to his door and ask? Send him an official letter? Hire a debt collector over $20? The whole system is ridiculous. No wonder some people might take matters into their own hands, become vigilantes, and fight for their own justice.

Peanut Butter Bagel. Goldfish Crackers. Apple. Lemon Water.

God, today has been such a shitty day. Not only do I still have to pay for those scumbag’s order ($22 and some change) but my tips aren’t proving very generous. I’m just in a terrible mood.

There’s two Filipino kids running around the restaurant while I snap the snow peas. They’re holding toy weapons from the Ninja Turtles, one of them with Donatello’s bo staff and the other with Raphael’s twin daggers. Despite all the fiascos I’ve experienced today these little guys offer a bit of brightness and relief. The younger one (with the daggers) stands by my seat and asks a million questions. Whenever I answer him he responds back with “why”. 

Finally clocking out of this God forsaken day. I head over to the Russian’s apartment in Chapel Lake. With Art, Darren, and James practicing our beer pong skills. I chow down on Fried Chicken with Garlic Sauce, Broccoli, Onions, Carrots, and Rice. For some reason my skill level is up tonight. Maybe it’s all the built up angst but I’m really killing it tonight. One cup. Two cups. Three cups. Win. Win. Win. It’s upsetting Art of course. His competitive spirit will never die. He keeps shouting funny broken English statements like, “Why it’s again?”

[Ha-ha-ha]

...

Art: “Alright, Robert. One more game.”

Me: “It’s always one more game, Art. When is it gonna stop?”

And so we play one more game. And then one more game after that. And another after that. He wins some and I win some. I think we’re matched.

I give James a ride back to the house. I’m still thinking about the delivery incident...

Me: “Man, it still pisses me off...those people. I just want to know why people like that exist!”

Tea and Alenka Chocolates.

Sleep 4 a.m.

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[i] Black Man Middle Finger. Image source unknown.