So I know I haven’t blogged in a while. I had a bunch of great blogging ideas in late August when I was back at school but without internet access, but by the time I got everything together, those were kind of old news. Anyway, I settled into the regular school routine thing, but there was just no decent material. I mean, I ran into your everyday, run-of-the-mill assholes, but they tend to be more pathetic than anything, and definitely not blog worthy. So I decided to sit back and wait, certain that some particularly obnoxious individual would pop up and make their idiocy known to me so that they could be forever immortalized in my blog. Lo and behold, today was someone’s lucky day. Before I jump into details, background.

So I have a job at the faculty club at my school, which basically means I bring crusty, snobby, incontinent, old professors glasses of iced tea and cups of mango sorbet, and then scrape the mushed up food off their plates when they finish, all the while listening to them gossip and cackle about the latest plot to screw over the students. So why do I work there? Two main reasons: 1.) good pay. We don’t get tips; we get paid a flat rate per hour which is significantly higher than minimum wage, and well worth the aggravation, and 2.) we get a free meal for every shift that we work. Free food is a blessing to a poor OC girl like myself.

So what am I bitching about then? What’s the point of this blog? It’s not about my job in particular; it’s more about a specific person that works with me. Let’s call her Molly. Molly is new at the faculty club, and is just learning the ropes. Fine, that’s cool, everybody was a newbie at some point. My problem with Molly is that she’s trying to ruin the system. See, in every workplace there’s a standard level of work done. So long as everyone keeps to that level, everyone’s happy. The problem is when someone tries to needlessly achieve by working at a higher level. If one person does it, the management realizes that everybody can probably do it, and a new standard is set. Suddenly you find yourself working harder than you did before, all because one person has some kind of overdeveloped work ethic. This is Molly. Everyone else at the faculty club understands that you work just enough to get by. They rarely fire anyone, and you get paid whether or not you refill everyone’s glass when it’s half empty. We do the minimum amount of work necessary, which may not be the way things should be, but it’s the way they are, and everyone else understands that, except for this heifer. I knew from my first day working with her that she was going to be trouble. Here’s and approximation of one of my first conversations with Molly:

MOLLY: So do you like working here?
ME: Yeah it’s ok. We get free food. And it’s not nearly as boring as working in a lab or at the library or something.

Silence. Molly fidgets, walking back and forth and staring at patrons to see if they’re done, or need refills of anything even though having just sat down, they won’t need anything for a while. I stare out the window, thinking of hot, possibly (unfortunately) gay guy that kissed me that past weekend.

MOLLY: This is driving me crazy!
ME: Huh? Oh well, we get off in an hour.
MOLLY: No, I mean, I just feel so unproductive right now.

I’m shocked out of thoughts of hot guy, and give Molly the “what kind of psycho are you" look. Molly continues unaware of said look.

MOLLY: I mean, what are we supposed to do when we’re not busy?
ME: We just kind of hang out.
MOLLY: I’m sure there’s something we could be doing.
ME: We are. We’re waiting to see if anyone needs anything.
MOLLY: Well I’m going to go ask the manager if there’s anything else I could be doing.

Ignoring my snort of disgust, Molly goes off in search of NEEDLESS work. I saunter over to gossip with co-workers.

ME: So that Molly chick is kind of weird. She just went to look for more work.
POTHEAD BOY #1: I know, that girl is driving me crazy. Every time I move to do something, she’s already there doing it.
POTHEAD BOY #2: So? You might as well let her since she wants to do it so much.
POTHEAD BOY #1: I would, except the manager’s watching, and I’m already really close to being fired. I can’t have her upstaging me.

I nod sympathetically, actively avoiding making eye contact with old hag waving a coffee mug. Molly returns with a tray of silverware and a stack of napkins.

MOLLY: Good news! The manager said I could roll silverware to help out the people doing reset today!

You get the gist of it. Suffice to say that today when I went into work today, a new rule calling for all workers to roll silverware and do other mundane tasks during the slow parts of their shift was in effect. This girl is seriously driving me crazy. She doesn’t just work her section, she works everyone’s section, which of course causes confusion. I can’t fugure out if she’s a control freak or just seriously warped. Maybe both. In any case, she’s definitely messing up the system, and I’m thisclose to strangling her and leaving her in the dumpster for the roaches to eat.

Speaking of gross job related things, if you were ever wondering why people who once worked at a restaurant never want to eat there, I can tell you: when we’re in the kitchen, bad stuff happens to your food. The faculty club may be worse than most places because all students work there. We’re not required to have any training, or any Hepatitis shots (besides the B series which we had to get anyway to be at school). Additionally, there are no hand washing rules. I don’t think I’ve seen one person wash their hands before or during their shifts. Granted, we don’t actually touch the food much being that it’s a buffet, but is that really the chance you want to take? Some horny pothead college student who was probably jacking off right before he came to work manhandling your dessert? I didn’t think so. Now this isn’t to gross ya’ll out; I still go out to restaurants to eat, but after seeing what happens at the faculty club in particular, I’m always really careful. I know what goes on. We drop silverware and roll it anyway. We find crust in the bottom of a coffee cup and pour your coffee in it anyway. If you’re lucky, maybe we’ll scrape it out with a finger before we pour. Now I’m not saying I do this stuff, or even that it happens often. I’m just saying I’ve seen it happen at one point or another. I figure it’s one of those risks you’ve got to take. You want someone else to make food for you, you risk having their nasty, unwashed hands all up in your stuff. It’s a trade off. Live with it. Now that I’ve sufficiently grossed you out, I’m going out to eat.