The Mystery of the Green Tea.

Well, I put in my 80 hours for the past two weeks. Well, 74, technically. But Steve owes me some hours and said tomorrow would effectively be a paid day off. It’s not like he’s cheating me hours. To reiterate, I got a full 80 regular hours on my last paycheck. And 14 hours of overtime. That is consistent with what I worked.

I have Friday and Saturday off. I hear there’s some silly football game Sunday, so I talked to Mike before I left today and volunteered to work noon to close. Ah, I miss closing. Well, almost. I like closing once a week. But I think I much prefer keeping most of my hours in the morning. I love opening, I just hate getting up so damn early. The 7 AM to 3 PM I did today is one of my favorite shifts.

…Did I just say favorite shift? Goddamn, I’ve become acclimated.

*laughs*

Reminds me of a customer I had today. He was the second one I’ve had so far to ask for something on “Panera Bread”. I’m sorry, but there is no such thing as Panera Bread. Apparently, he was referring to the french bagette. He wanted (reduced fat) cream cheese on a french bagette. Thing is, there’s really no way to ring that up. I told him that we sell the french bagettes for 2.39. He told me that he’ll buy it, and asked me to cut him off a slice of it.

So I did.

After he finished eating, he came up to me and asked me what to do with his tray/trash. Before I could even finish, a lady came up and asked me where the teabags were. I had given her tea about ten minutes prior. I noted that the line was busy and.. well, just didn’t get around to telling her where the teabags were. The guy told me that I shouldn’t be on autopilot. I showed him where to put his dishes, trash, and tray. He offered me a tip, but I said we don’t accept tips. (Me and my big mouth.) He said that if I stay on autopilot too long I’ll develop alzheimers. *smirks* What really caught me attention was that he’s been alive since the Wilson administration. I would have guessed him no older than 80. I later thought about just how old that would have made him. Wilson was president from 1910 – 1918. That lovely man is ninety fucking years old. He said something about the current president is one of the biggest idiots to ever be in office.

*smirks*

I should mention Melissa’s Law, as I’ve dubbed it. Last week, Melissa was getting water for tea, from the coffee station. Somebody bumped into her, or she bumped into somebody, and she burned the fuck out of her hand with the hot water. Seriously, Angie got some first aid on her hand, and when I next saw her, she had it bandaged. As a result of that, we’ve been encouraged to put lids on the hot teas. I ignore Melissa’s Law if I’m getting hot water from the espresso machine, as there’s a lesser chance of splash damage.

Thing is, it is SUCH an inconvenience to put lids on tea water when you KNOW that they’re going to take the lids off anyway! Five bucks says somebody will burn themselves taking the lid off. It’s bound to happen.

As if the incident with Melissa wasn’t enough, a customer burned herself on hot water yesterday! Blame associate Mike on being a little careless there. She hadn’t even moved away from the counter and Mike was zooming past her. I hope she’s okay. I suppose it’s situations like that where having a lid on would reduce a hand-scalding to a drop or two on your skin.

I’ve gotten droplets on my skin, now and then. My reaction has been to quickly rub my hand against my apron. The water is moved away from my skin, and the rapid heat transfer to my hand is haulted. Winner is me.

I know Vicki is not the only one who’s been bitching about the lack of pockets for our aprons. Well, Steve ordered some pockets. They came in yesterday. I only use it for my pen, but it’s far easier than reaching around my apron and into my pocket. Besides, I’m a pretentious bastard.

I fixed the Green Tea bin today. Let me reiterate: I fixed the Green Tea bin today. I’ve seen that bin taken apart on at least three separate occasions due to it’s persistent leaking. Steve left me alone with it to see what I could figure out. I’m astonished how the liquid stays in there at all. It’s just a plastic bin with a circular openning on the bottom. It forms a seal with the surface it sits on. I couldn’t understand why it was leaking.

I noticed a long time ago that the green tea lid was snug against this black thing behind it. “Black thing” being a part of the menu. Maybe Mary knows what I’m talking about. (I should mention right now that the space between the register and the back wall is VERY tight, tighter than other Paneras, for some reason. Our back area is very spacious, and frankly, I like it like that.) So, I moved the table away from the wall, about an inch. I prayed it would sit right. I put some green tea in.

The constant drip ceased. I got a green scrubby and scrubbed of this permanent stain that had formed from the green tea constantly leaking. I mean, constantly. It would overflow the thing that catches the excess green tea, and it would get EVERYWHERE. I bothered to lift up everything on the table and clean it. I even unplugged the blender and pulled it away.

I filled up the bin with the green tea I had drained. No drip. I did fear that maybe it would drip anyway to spite me. Rest of the day, I didn’t see a single drip. I wrote a note and taped it to the green tea,

Dear Everybody,

Please don’t move the table back as the black thing causes the green tea to tip slightly and leak. Thank you.

-Timmy

Unfortunately, as I was leaving, I noticed John and Steve cleaning up green tea again. Apparently, somebody reflexively slammed the table back, knocking the bin off a little. Crazy intimate working environment, I tell you. I’ve gotten quite used to scooting between two people. I’ve even gotten a little used to somebody touching my side or shoulder to let me know they’re passing behind me, so I don’t suddenly move back. Quite handy, at times. Um, I digress. I just find it amusing that I figured out something not even Suzanne or Steve could figure out. I r teh smrt.

Hmm.

Wendi just told me something that explains a lot about myself. Well, it started with us talking about going to an Indian restaurant. She knows she can’t suggest it, because he’ll bitch all night and blame her for picking someplace so expensive. I told her I’d suggest it, as we both know he won’t say anything if I do.

Wendi says dad is such a hypocrite for watching Nanny 911. She told me that when I was three, I used to hit dad. Mom would wave her finger and tell me to stop, that it was wrong. Wendi even told me to stop. And what did dad do? He’d wave them off and tell them it was okay. In other words, he’s just like those fucked up parents.

He really is the reason I am the way I am. Goddamn. *laughs* I wonder what I’d be like if he hadn’t fucked me up. I wonder. Maybe there wouldn’t have been such a strong desire to not be stereotypically male, for better or for worse. Eh, we can only guess how my life would have gone if they had even talked to me about sex. …But they’d need to be completely different parents to even broach that topic. My mom’s Republican, and I think my dad’s a closet Republican. Being a registered democrat just doesn’t mean much to me.

I see parents come into Panera with their kids, and it is so disheartening to see the kids manipulate their parents. Like this kid that threw a fit because he changed his mind about what he wanted. Or parents that want their little three year old to choose what they drink. Uh. At that age, you know more than they do what they like. Pick for them. Nevermind how it inconveniences the people behind you. Some kids who order aren’t that bad. Ten year olds are perfectly capable of ordering their own food – but only if they know what they want. At that age, I hated ordering my own food. Being put on the spot like that, being afraid of fucking up what I was supposed to say. ..But that’s me. I just see that deer-in-the-headlights look on some kids when their parents want them to order. They look confused, unsure. I guess I see a bit of myself in them. To a little kid, that’s a big fucking menu. When I was younger, I wouldn’t try anything, out of fear of disliking things. I can’t be alone in that.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for giving kids choice. After all, I’m against routine infantile circumcision. But there’s a difference between presenting a child with a set of choices and announcing that choice once you reach the counter, and having the child pick from whatever it will throw a tantrum over if it doesn’t get.