houston's too humid, tell me more about that died thing.

Well, i've begun gainful employment (again). i quit that last job about a week after i began  -- all the managers were sweaty, nervous cokeheads who sported pinkie rings (not the hot kind) and heavy layers of hair product, about 3% of the 7,000 servers were remotely cool, and the tips were shit. oh yeah, and i had to wear a multi-colored vest. yes, that vest weighed heavily in my decision to quit. 

My new job is at a fancy-schmancy restaurant on Michigan Avenue, which means holidays + mad rich people + shoppers = hopefully some wicked good tipz. Major drawback: I have to wear khakis and a necktie. Not a piano key necktie (shown) (wait, that would be awesome), but ... still. I've never had to wear a necktie in my life, i have no idea how to tie one, and I haven't worn khakis since the 8th grade. Ugh. The only reason I've consented to this sartorial sadism is because I know I'm leaving for California in two months and can deal with a shitty work uniform if there's an end in sight, plus getting a job is like NIGH IMPOSSIBLE right now. (help, obama!)

so for the past week, i've had to endure training sessions involving a litany of possibly the most inane questions i have ever heard:

"i know the restaurant has just gone through a lot of changes with the refurbishment, but if a customer asks for, say, cream cheese on the side, are we still allowed to do that?"

"i've heard a lot of talk about oxford shirts, now can we discuss what actually constitutes an oxford shirt? i mean, i've heard pocket-talk too. what are we talking, here? one pocket? two pockets?"

"Can our khakis be bell-bottomed?"

"How many strawberries come on the pancakes? The menu says banana or strawberry smoothie -- what if a customer wants both? Can we do that?"

EVERY SINGLE PERMUTATION OF RETARDATION WAS ASKED, no joke. "What's the name of the farmer who grows the oranges we use in the orange juice?" I whispered to the girl next to me, whose blackberry wallpaper is set to the above photo, and therefore my new best friend.

Anyway, in the "dress rehearsal" today I was told I'd have to pin my bangs back and come back tomorrow "looking slightly more..." the manager trailed off. "Corporate?" I offered. "Put-together. Erm...ironed. Crisp." 

Awesome.