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gorillas in the mists
" you become unable to use language when it stops meaning anything." andrea dworkin/ letters from a warzone

i've lost several days. as i previously only had guessed, the week before christmas was hell. it's not as if the holiday comes upon a different date every year and we have not changed our ordering rules for about 10 years but the geniuses we seem to perpetually employ to manage our stores couldn't place an order for sand in the middle of a fucking desert. they're repeatedly told the deadlines for ordering. repeatedly have it explained to them that it isn't Keebler fucking elfin frigging magic that makes cakes appear on their racks of orders everyday and that some things take several days to make and involve 3 or 4 or 5 components i.e. 3 or 4 different recipes that a human has to mix, bake and assemble. and every year without warning, without the courtesy of a call they slam on the most complicated items late the day before they need them when i am in the bakery alone and have to create, as it where, loaves and fishes from mere crumbs .

it shows a complete lack of respect for me- not bothering to ask if they can have something off the menu or that explicitly requires several days notice especially during the busiest week of the year. and what about the client? clearly they could give a fuck about them because if they did they would go out of their way a teensy bit and call the bakery to ensure that what is wanted can be provided. but they never do this because i always make whatever they want instead of disappointing the client. after all, it's not the customers fault that the store manager is a disorganized incompetent who sometimes can't identify certain fruits and other food items. not to worry-you're in the food industry- who would expect you to know what a currant of a fig is?

i've come to the opinion that , yes, apparently it IS brain surgery ...

so last thursday i went to work in the afternoon and left sometime after 10 am on friday. i don't remember much of friday save some ass-lick calling the bakery at 6 am while i was trying to magically transform cake that wouldn't roll and whipped cream into 100 dollar mousse filled buche de noels (that usually have to be frozen overnight in order to be decorated and not fall apart) under a severe time constraint.

stupid annoying cunt: " where's my coffee cake?"
mr.mittens: " excuse me?"
sac: "where's my coffee cake?"
mittens:" who is this? where are you calling from?"
sac: "XX Low Street. is it still on the truck?"
mittens:" i don't know if it's on the truck. if they already dropped your order off ,why would they leave a coffee cake on the truck?"
sac: " is it on the truck? i need it at 8..."
mittens:" i don't know if it's on the truck and there's nothing i can do about it. the drivers are coming back to the bakery and going out again. i don't know when they'll be back. you'll have to call them- i don't have their number. i will send out another one."
sac: " do you think it's on the truck.... when will they be here....?"

and on and on. i was a nano second from dropping what i was doing and personally driving a coffee cake to this bitch and bludgeoning her with it. it's one 12 dollar fucking coffee cake when i'm alone on the busiest day of the entire year as i'm trying to successfully get out 1,620 dollars worth of buche alone on top of several thousand dollars worth of specialty cakes and cookies and this dolt is whinging about a 12 dollar coffee cake SHE KNOWS she can borrow from another store that's closer to her than i am. she further knew she should call the driver herself on top of the fact that one would hope she'd have some clue how busy we were instead of expecting me to put aside 8,000 dollars or so worth of holiday desserts to rush her fucking 12 bit coffee cake to her.

i'm simply sick of dealing with stupid, ineffectual people with no manners, zip tact and who show no signs of ever being able to do their jobs properly. i am further sick to death of incredibly rude people, ' co- workers'( if you can call people that who are incapable of working with other people, can't follow directions even when they're given in their native tongue and never learn their jobs properly because they refuse categorically to admit their mistakes), who blather away in spanish all day long with no realization that it is alienating and rude. my family NEVER allowed speaking only in french around people who did not know the language. in the home they may have spoke french ,but they were living in america and always spoke english around english speaking people.i was taught it was unacceptable and outrageously discourteous to do otherwise.

i go out of my way to include everyone in conversations occurring in the bakery, making sure they understand what's being said. but i'm surrounded by ignorant people who are hostile and self absorbed. they expect unending, largely unearned respect yet give none out. several are lucky to have jobs, should have been fired a long time ago and suck at baking anyway, their bad attitudes and social/ psychological problems interfering with them performing their jobs at a level that would be reasonably accepted anywhere else in the culinary universe.

frankly, i'm sick of working in this sort of environment. in effect , i have become the coolie, the serf, the wet back who can be abused, disrespected, overworked, treated the way illegals are often portrayed as suffering at the hands of exploitative employers. i am a legal citizen of the united states. i speak near perfect english. i am a trained pastry chef and baker with over 20 years of experience. i am further the only one left in this bakery who can do everything in the bakery yet i'm feeling like the dishwasher who sleeps in the store room and came into the country in the trunk of a car and has to be grateful for any work that comes their way. subordinates pick and chose what jobs they FEEL like doing and i'm left to fix their numerous mistakes, omissions and outright fuck ups they stubbornly refuse to stop producing even when told to cease . it gives me no pleasure to relate that if i walked out the door today to join the circus or sell crack, the place would fall apart. yet i'm treated like the dispensable one while the ungrateful, untalented and unqualified are treated like the foundation of the building rather that the rats gnawing at the woodwork and eating the electrical wiring.

it's amazing now how insolent and not hard working people who are illegal and portrayed as otherwise are. now they're entitled lazy americans instantaneously. my mother's great grandfather worked as an irish, disposable grunt building the brooklyn bridge. her grandfather shoveled fucking coal in the basement of the local school and was a lowly janitor his whole life( he died, by the way christmas eve in his favorite chair, surrounded by his family before i was born). his son worked 2 to 3 jobs his entire adult life- as a cop and a groundskeeper. i never heard of them complaining or bitching or heard of them not doing the best job they could. they could have been starving to death in ireland, part of a genocide. they were grateful to be able to work, feed their families despite being lumped in with black people as barbaric white niggers( 'no blacks, no irishmen need apply ' was par for the course in america for some time) by the WASPs who still control america.

i am not dying some christmas eve in an easy chair after being worked to a frazzle surrounded by selfish greedy mini-thugs and automatons. i've got to get out of this place if it's the last fucking thing i do...

so, i lost friday. i woke up, everything hurt, i had a blistering headache and the cats were clinging to me like limpits- scared i would get up and run off to work again as i had been doing for the past 3 weeks. i have no idea what day i woke up into. i was suppose to go see my mother but i've been driven into illness- i spent christmas in bed, feverish and dizzy. this post was suppose to be about a cd i'm planning on putting together that i want to send / give to anyone who wants it who reads this journal but apparently we've been hijacked. i'm tired still, jesus certainly never wanted me for a fucking sunbeam and i still want to pound someone in the puss with a coffeecake.

on a more hopeful note i've managed to get chesty morgan's 2 most classic films ( deadly weapons and agent 73) on dvd. big screen. chesty morgan. titties.

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Because we all need to know about your adventures in porn. :P

doris wishman did not make porn films.

i take it the only word you understood completely from that entire post was ' titties' which puts you about on par with the doorstops i work with- and they don't even speak english.

so it's truer than i expected-language means nothing save for a word like titties. and i thought i was just being sarcastic.

Tell 'em Katherine and Akmed Knox did it.

everyday, in every way, i am beginning to understand postal workers and their compulsion to gun down large amounts of their fellow employees.

it's bad enough coming home to a Kitler who demands special treats or else she says she'll deport me to a ghetto....

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