Monthly Archives: July 2009

Most awkward co-worker encounter ever. EVER

 

One thing that comes along with every job is weird co-workers.  No matter where you go, or where you work..there is always going to be that batch of lunatics.

At our job we get to deal with people from every different culture imaginable.  It is pretty cool.  I get to learn about other countries customs, and even pick up a few new words in several different languages.  I can swear and call people a homosexual in about five languages.  Just call me educated.

Anyways, there are so many people from so many places it often gets hard to keep track.  Plus we are all dressed identical so sometimes its hard to tell one person from another.

This lack of recognition is especially evident when you run into some co workers out side of work.  They will follow you or approach you and you won’t recognize them right away, then you finally throw out a “Oh…hey…you!” Having forgotten their name without their gold plated name tag to help you out.

Anyways, this was one of those moments.  I was in a department store shopping for some lingerie.  My sister was getting married and I was buying her hot things for her bridal shower that evening.  So my cart was piled high with unmentionables, for my sister.

I turn around and was looking at something on a rack.

When I turned back…there was a man, holding this tiny cheetah print thong I picked out, and tenderly stroking the crotch of it.

I gasped.
 
Side note-I just threw up remembering this moment.

So, with sly eyes and a thick accent, he muttered…

How you husband?

What?! Who was this strange man stroking my cheetah thong?!  And how does he know my super awesome adorable husband? eek.
 
Oh….it hit me. Co-Worker.  Got it.  I know you.  Hey there…person I can’t remember your name and don’t recognize you if you are not wearing a tux. Hey how you doing…..now get your nasty fingers off my lingerie. BARF.

Seriously, comment and give me a more awkward co-worker encounter, and I will give you five dollars.  The worst part is I still don’t know who who he was.  I go back to work and jump into the sea of tuxes and everyone blends together.  But every time he sees me he probably thinks of that underwear and the feel of it between his nasty digits.  fsdkljfklsdjfljsdklfj. Gross.

EW. End of story. Ew.

No, sir. I don’t want to smoke pot with you. Would you like some caviar?

Networking is a skill that we all have learned to improve working in such a high end area.  You never know the contacts you can make.  Many times you don’t even know who you are talking too.  I will have full on conversations with guests, only to have my supervisor tell me that person I was talking to was the prince of Africa, or a has been celebrity.  These people are to be regarded at a different level then the rest of us normal folks..these people are ‘somebody.’

This attitude of people falling into class systems does not sit that well with me.  Yes, someone may have more money then me, or be more well known.  But in the wise words of my friends lunatic father:

Everyone poops the same way.

So true, so wise, so gross but so right.

Therefore…it takes a lot for me to be impressed or intimidated by you.

ANYWAYS…networking.

My actor husband was doing his polite conversation thing thang at work.  A man asked him what he did, and my husband explained he was an actor.

Oh!  The man said.  I have  a house in New York City!  I know a lot of people in the business, yadda yadda, I am really rich, you want to know me.

My husband was like great!  The man gave him his business card.

It was such a nice, professional card.  It had his little nice name on it, and the locations of his two lovely homes.

Manhattan, and Palm Beach.

Balla. 

The man was a big shot and my husband was happy to take his card.

He came up and told me how nice the man was, and showed me his card.

Hmm…interesting.  A friendly Palm Beacher…how odd. 

Anyways, the night goes on and the men continue chatting.

The Palm Beach man says to my husband

Hey!  Do you work tomorrow night?

No, my husband replied.

Oh!  Well I am having a party at my house on the island. You and your wife should come!

Sahweet.  Invited to a Palm Beach party, thrown by a old rich man.  I can only imagine the delicious snacks…

My husband said Oh!  Thanks!  He kept on serving or whatever B.S. thing our job entails.

He told me about the mans offer….

I thought- sketchy.  But intriguing.

My husband again was at his table and the man again brought up the party.

Oh, we may come…yadda yadda awkward conversation.

The man pulls my husband in close, throws him a wink and says in a hushed tone.

Do you smoke a J?  Come over and we can smoke some pottttt!

Of course.  Why did we not see this earlier.  A classy, Palm Beach business man wanted us, young, youthfulcollege kids to come over and be his drug buddy.  Clearly the first thing you think of when you see a respectable, pulled together Palm Beach man wearing yacht clothes you instantly think of STONER!

No.  It really does not come to mind.

My poor husband had to politely decline his request, in the overly polite, professional tone we use with guests.

No sir, I do not um….smoke J’s.  But…thanks for the offer?

The most awkward question a guest has ever asked us.  No thank you rich man, I don’t want to come to your undercover drug party and chill with Bernie Madoff.  Maybe when If I become a mulit-millionaire then I too, will partake is such shady ways. Or maybe I will become a philanthropist? Option 2 please.

Check back!

Check back soon to read what happens when an elderly Palm Beach socalite….asks you to smoke pot with him. Yikes.

Love.

Weird Watch: Just because you live on an island, doesn’t mean its not weird: The Poodle.

I love dogs. Love them.  But lets be honest…those large poodles with their afro puffs of hair where there should not be afro puffs…are downright frightening.  I don’t know why these animals are associated with class… I associate them more with a nightmare. 

I once met a lady with her two poodles in tow…both of them had their overgrown claws manicured….and painted bright red. That is just weird.

Below are some examples of the poodle in its prime.    

 

 

And this one wins the award for sickest dog hairdo to ever roam the earth!  How couture. Roar.Just nasty.  Nothing more.

Womens Heaven Discovered: Wall to wall free makeup.

Every woman in the world dreams of a situation like this.  Well..there may be some ladies who have no desire for this situation…but those are the ones named Betty that change their name to Bill at age 35. 

My dear friend and onetime roommate rocks the serving tuxedo along side me.  She just has this way of …schmoozing?  Lets just say she is the friend that you love but always find yourself saying  “whatever!’ in jealousy when she gets tipped 200 dollars for getting a few cocktails, or a free haircut from a celebrity stylist…just because she is cute and awesome.  Whatever.

Love her…but she is that girl.  And I am not.

Anyways…this is one of those ‘woo hoo I was born with lucky magical dust coming out of my butt’ moments.

She was sporting her tux and white gloves, hair a mess from the sweaty reception outside.

It was a week long convention that comes just about every year to the hotel.  All the national big shot companies that stock the shelves of drug stores are there.  Every single drug store beauty product is represented.  The whole week is one big self promoting networking sucking up how much money can we spend fun fest.

All the product reps try to get the different drug stores to buy their goods.  They do this by throwing ridiculous, overly expensive banquets for the buyers.  I am talking HUGE ballrooms filled with Circ de Soleil performances or hit singers to provide very expensive background music.   This year we had Jewel, Seal, and Styx perform.  But that is another story.

Anyways…my friend and her magical butt dust.  She was chatting, as we five star servers are known to do.  One guest got a wiff  of my friends enchanting lucky scent, and fell under her spell.  This guest…was a celebrity makeup artist.

Hey!  Why don’t you stop back tomorrow before your shift.  I will do your makeup for you!

Ok! my friend replied.  Sweet.  Maybe this woman just felt pity on us for the manly nasty outfits we had to wear in front of famous people….or maybe she just was nice.

So my friend goes and meets this woman the next day.

She walks in the small ballroom and gasps.

Wall to wall tables set up, piled high with…

FREE MAKEUP.

Everything new, in fashion, or just plain sweet covered the entire room in mounds.

My friend just discovered woman’s heaven on earth.  Who knew it was in a tiny conference room in a hotel on Palm Beach Island?  Who knew…

So she got her makeup done and looked stunning in her man suit that night.

But before she left…the unthinkable happened.

The makeup artist said

Here is a bag!  Go around the room and take whatever you want.

Excuse me? Excuse me?! Did she really just say that?

Oh she did..and she meant it. 

My friend took the bag and with awkward sideways glances just started shoving loads of makeup into it.
 
She looked like a homeless woman at an unattended sidewalk hot dog stand.

Taking her arm and sweeping the entire contents of Covergirl’s latest nail polish shades and Maybelline’s newest lip stains into the bag, basically clearing off the tables.

Please note: we are still college students.  We freak out when Chick-Fil-A gives away a free sandwich.

There was little time to be classy in this situation.  My friend went. to. town.

She showed me what she got after the shift that night.  No lies she had about 25 different shades of lip gloss.  Everything from brown to hot pink to orange to nude in more flavors then a smoothie shop.  Heaven.  BAH!

But before I had time to oh so jealous…my tuxedo pal came through.  She shared.

Love her.  Love my glossed lips. Over and out.

 

Breaking News Update as of 980 B.C.: Jewish People Don’t Eat Pork

This was a fundraiser function.   It actually is pretty cool…they raise money to buy ambulances in Israel.  They bring in one of the actual ambulances and illuminate it out on the lawn.  The most random party decoration I have ever seen.
Anyways, every Jewish person in South Florida basically shows up for this thing.  We have the event every year…it is nothing new.  Which makes this story even more ridiculous….
There I was, dressed in my black polyester finest, complete with my black mens tube socks sagging at the ankle.  My mickey mouse serving gloves already had a stain, and I was ready to serve.
It was reception time, and my job was to pass cold horderves.  I had a whole tray of asparagus wrapped in boison cheese and brochutto.
Brochutto…hmmmm. That is pork.  Kinda like raw, slimy, weird pork. Oink.

THIS JUST IN…BREAKING NEWS.
Jewish people don’t eat pork.  They basically never have. This is nothing new. Yet still…this happened. 
I looked at the pork slime wrapped around the green stems and I thought…hmmm.  Should I say something? I don’t think this crowd is  going to be big fans of the still squealing horderves.
I asked my supervisor what to do.  ‘Just serve them.  The party planner ordered them.’
Who exactly was this so called ‘party planner?”  My best guess is a Palestine undercover trying to sabotage the Israelites snacking pleasures.  Horderves can get quite political if your not careful…
So, I shrugged and did what I was told.  I ventured out into the sea of yamakas with my pork in hand.  I put on my best ‘I am at work and supposed to be smiling’ smile and did my thang.
I offered one person an horderve.  I got a funny look and a no thanks.
I offered someone else…I got a ‘What is that?’
“Brochutto…It’s pork.”  I just wanted to cover my bases…
They responded with the whole ‘turn my head, nose in the air, I am so rich, don’t respond and pretend like the server does not exist’ no thank you.  You are so welcome.
 
Another person asked…I told them, pork!  They threw sneaky sideways glances around to see if there was a Rabbi lingering in sight.  The coast was clear. They stuffed a couple into their mouth and a few more under their yamaka for later. Gave me a wink. 
Moving on.

Then…there was this overly aggressive, and apparently hungry man who was mid conversation.  He gave a half glance at the food , grabbed one and shoved it into his bearded mouth.
His eyes got wide.  His side curls started quivering with anger.
Is….this… PORK? the man stammered.
Ah….yes. It is.  I replied.
Crap hit the fan.  He went nuts. 
We are JEWISH!  We don’t eat pork!  How could you! What was this place thinking?  This is a JEWISH fundraiser!
Yadda yadda, yell yell yell.
Oh dear.
So I walked back to the kitchen and explained to my supervisor the situation.
Ok..into the trash they go.  No exaggeration, I probably threw away one hundred of these things. And…just because we work on Palm Beach Island..hourderves are priced at…$5 a pop. I threw away hundreds of dollars of asparagus and weird bacon. Goodbye oh overly priced snack…
But I must be honest….I am not Jewish.  And I love brochutto… and asparagus.  Before I tossed them all…I tossed a couple in my belly.  I thank you, ancient Jewish traditions…I thank you.

Shark Infested Ballroom…

I don’t know who makes the schedule at work…ok I do know but I do not know what they were thinking on this one.

My husband, a handsome young chap, snagged a shift.  It was just him and one older gentleman who always makes us chuckle with his borderline senile comments and odd sense of humor.

So, there the two men stood, in their tuxs, ready for a night of dishing out five star quality service.

While setting up in a smaller ballroom, they learned it was going to be a birthday party.

Oh how nice…it was a smaller function, probably low key.  They wouldn’t have to tune out the wedding band blaring yet another version of Justin T-Lakes Sexy Back in their ears for the thousandth time.

So, they stood at attention, ready to serve, and the guests started piling it. 

Hmm….something is interesting about these guests.  They are all men, they are all wearing expensive tuxedos, Italian shoes and look impeccably groomed with foofy nice hair, Prada black framed glasses, pearly whites and bright colored ties.

And…where are all the Gucci gowned lip injected women? Absent.

My husband began overhearing the conversations….it drifted from exchanging passions for Elton John to a bits of:

-Oh my gosh where did you get that pocket square!

Its Armani!

They…were all gay.

A whole birthday party of homosexual middle aged men, and my young stunning husband right in the middle of them as their source of eye candy.  I won’t add another awkward turtle link….but I will throw out the term again. Awkward turtle. (please see previous post: Beware: Jealous Wives Have Happy Hands.)

My husband felt like a raw chicken thrown in a tank of sharks.

Or a single picture of a young Brittany Spears on the wall at an all boys juvenile delinquent center.

Or a renegade Twinkie discovered at a fat camp.

Of all the servers we had to choose from…they picked the young stud to serve the party of men on the prowl for some Brokeback love.

Irony?  Or the hotels planned out scheme to make every shift as weird as possible….hmmmm. Option 2.