The Boy has been working at a family owned pizza parlor in the backwoods burg quaint hamlet where he’s spent his freshman year. It’s been a growth experience for him in many ways, as he’s been there from the day they opened. Definitely enhanced his business skills.
Friday was his last day. Seems The Boy has learned something about working for someone with a lack of integrity. Never mind the fact that the married pizza-shop owner has relentlessly pursued one of his female employees, he stole the tips from the employees, and then lied about it.
Stole tips. As manuel as my witness, is there anything lower than that? It’s a call-ahead or order-at-the-counter restaurant. They have a tip jar by the cash register, and since all employees are paid the same amount – whether they are working in the kitchen or waiting on customers – the tips were to be shared by all workers.
My son was only going to be working there through the end of summer, as he’s transferring to the main campus of his university in the fall. Since the boss hadn’t coughed up the tip money – even though the restaurant had opened in February – The Boy asked about it a few weeks ago. The boss said he’d do the payout at the end of the quarter. Staying on it, The Boy asked again – and was given a slightly different answer: “You’re not getting any anyway since you work in the kitchen”.
Finally, the boss came through with an additional $50 for each of six employees. When The Boy did the math and said “You’re telling me that in the 7 months we’ve been open, there’s only been $300 in tips? Less than a dollar a day? There was $25 in the tip jar just last night!” The boss blew a nut, went off on him and said that he was only paying the tips that had been added to credit card orders. That the cash would be added later… and that it was another $280.
Again, The Boy countered that there was no way they’d been tipped that little, as $20/day would have been at least $3,600, or about $600 per employee. The boss was apparently pissed that The Boy could do math, launched a into a tirade, and yelled at him througout his entire shift.
The Boy was pissed. Being lied to, yelled at and screwed with does not make him a happy li’l redneck. There is enough Trailer Park in him that he wanted to get even… So he planned his response carefully last week. He was off on Wednesday and Thursday, and was scheduled to return on Friday at 4:00 pm. Picking up his check at noon, he told the boss that he had to run some errands.
He proceeded to run his errands and returned here, to the homestead. Went out and played skateboards with his friends, took a nap, watched some TV… and at 4:30, his friend at the pizza place sent the first text message, saying the boss asked her to check on his whereabouts. This went on for awhile. Finally, she called saying the boss was barking at everyone because The Boy hadn’t shown up.
The Boy finally called the boss. At 8 PM. The boss asks “are you coming in?”. He replied “you still think I’m coming in today? Four hours late?” which launched bossman into the stratosphere. After listening to the tirade, saying a lot of “I dunno’s” to the inane questions, The Boy finally said “Look, this conversation isn’t going anywhere. You’re repeating yourself” and hung up.
Seconds later the phone rang again. The Boy ignored it. He was amused when the phone rang almost immediately from a “Restricted Number” – as if he wouldn’t figure out that the boss had switched phones? Finally, the boss left a voicemail. This was all The Boy wanted – audio proof that the boss is an asshole.
Transcribed below, for your amusement (and to broadcast the stupidity of this pencil-dicked boneheaded boss-from-hell far and wide) is the voicemail my son plotted an entire week to receive!**
“You know, what I want to know is what time do you get up in the morning? What time do you get up and decide to fuck me over, huh? I could have fired you five times, but I didn’t and then you don’t even call, don’t have the courtesy, as much as I’ve done for you. I let you keep your job. But guess what? Now you’re terminated. TERMINATED! Do you know what that means? You better not put me down as a reference, because you know what? You won’t get one! You just screwed yourself. Coming to work inotxicated*, and I just let it slide. I didn’t fire you. I can’t believe how dumb you are.
* At this point, i stopped listening and asked if he had, in fact, gone to work drunk. “No. Hungover, but not drunk.”
** It’s done. While The Boy and his friends were concocting several possible responses, he knew he’d let it all go. My favorite of the proposed responses? Just to call the boss’ voicemail, and leave answers to all of the questions, as in: “11:30, What?, Yes, Really?…”