My boss came up to me the other day and accused me of stealing. He said the other day my drawer was off and that he thinks that I’m the one who keeps eating shrimp off the line. I’ve never been more insulted in my life. He ‘thinks’ it was me? THINKS?!?!? Yeah, of course it was fucking me. Are you kidding? I’m in high school and I work at a fucking fish and chips restaurant. Of course I steal. I’m a shithead. It took me a month of working here before I realized that chips means fries. I’m dense. I’m in my own little world. The only reason I got this job is so I had an alibi on Thursday nights to leave the house when I wanted to go get drunk and high with my buddies down by the quarry. (The quarry by the way, perhaps the worst place for high school kids to hangout because the only things that ever happen at the quarry are the recovery of dead bodies, mafia deals, and plot lines from Scooby Doo.) Of course I steal. Although for the most part I’m a fucking moron, I have figured out that a large soda with tax is $2.06. And if that’s all a customer orders and they pay with cash, I can pocket that shit because it’s impossible to keep an accurate inventory of fountain soda. I steal money out of the register and I eat food when you’re not looking. And that’s nothing compared to the free food I give to my buddies on the days that you’re not there. You know I steal. We all steal. Everyone who works in the food industry steals. Bussers to general managers. I make five bucks an hour plus whatever I steal in tartar packets which I take home and can’t put on anything because the only thing tartar sauce goes on is fish, which is the last thing I want to eat after stealing and eating it at your restaurant all day. I am an awkward teenager that hates the world. You know that. You knew I would steal when you hired me. You factored that in when you agreed to give me my shit wage. I have no morals. I have no ethics. Why do I steal? I have no idea. I am a confused adolescent. I don’t know why I do half the shit I do. So far this week I’ve sniffed airplane glue, done lawn jobs in a geo metro and stuck my dick in a vacuum cleaner. I know I hate you. I know I hate this fucking job. Maybe I steal because you made me work on homecoming weekend. Maybe it’s because you keep calling me ‘Chief’. Maybe it’s because you fired that slutty hot chick that worked here thus ruining my only immediate replacement of dates with a vacuum cleaner. I work with five dudes that are worse pot heads than me, an old creepy guy with kids who’s always wanting to hang out with us after work, and one Rick Moranis looking freak who actually loves working here. So much so that you made him ‘Shift Manager’ the biggest nothing title awarded to the one person who shows up on time in every restaurant. All ‘Shift Manager’ means is that you make ten cents more an hour than everyone else to wear a bigger name tag and and do the boss’s shit job of making the schedule. Although every now and then, if the ‘Shift manager’ is a real anal uptight prick, the boss will let them handle guest complaints. Which handling guest complaints in the food service industry just means offering them free dessert. That’s the restaurant business’ solution to everything, free dessert.
“Sir our food was cold.”
“How ‘bout some free dessert?”
“We felt that our waiter was rude.”
“How about some dessert, on the house.”
“I think my wife is a having an allergic reaction to her dessert.”
“I think some free dessert ought to fix that.”
I steal. And I’m going to keep on stealing, just like you stole when you were a teenager. I’m going to steal, and I’m going to talk shit behind your back. I going to tell everyone that one of these days, during a rush, when it’s real fucking busy, I’m just going to walk out in the middle of a shift. And I’ll do it too. And while I’m doing it, the whole time I’ll be thinking how I can’t wait to tell my buddies that I just fucking walked out. Then I’ll get another job. And I’ll think it’ll be cool for awhile because it has different food, different people, and the pay is a bit more. But then after about three weeks I’ll hate that place too. A customer will order a triple cheese burger with chili cheese fries, a side of onion rings with mayonnaise and a diet soda. I’ll ask who the fuck she’s kidding ordering a diet soda. I’ll get fired. I’ll go on to the next job and the next job, hating each one more and more till before I know it’s thirty years later and I wished my job and life was as simple as it was when I worked at the fish and chip restaurant. So much so that I’ll actually say fuck it and get a job there. I’ll want to hang out with the kids that work there to get a little reminder of my long lost youth, but they’ll just look at me as some creepy dude with kids of his own wondering what the fuck I’m doing working at a fish and chip restaurant. No matter who’s working for you, they’re going to be stealing. Why not just let it be me? I don’t piss in the lemonade or do crank in the bathroom, I steal. Ask yourself this though, in the whole scheme of things, is it really going to ruin anybody to let a teenage total fucknut have a little extra money to take the wrong girl out on an awkward date. Is it really going to bankrupt this million dollar restaurant chain if a little high school piece of shit, has a three hour old dried up piece of shrimp? Fuck you! Anarchy Forever!
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