truckers

One nice thing about the drive-through is that semi-trucks won't fit. Business would be overwhelming and stupid if truckers could pull-through. I don't have anything against truckers I just don't like customers.

The other night I had some crafty truckers order. I guess they weren't that crafty; they just parked their trucks at a near-by Wal-Mart and started banging on the window.

Maybe I have seen too many horror movies, but when I first saw these two truckers I began to panic. What would you do if you saw two large men wearing flannel shirts, banging on the window, yelling inaudible things in the rain? Me, I grabbed the sharpest bagel cutter and kept it close by, but out of sight from the truckers.

The truckers turned out to be two of the nicest customers I had all night, but I will tell you what: if some crazy dude reaches for my neck, or starts up a chainsaw in the drive-through I will start cutting some fingers and ears off stat.

canadian soldier

While working at the Springfield store, I had this guy order a large coffee. When I handed it to him he shouted out, "Wow, that cup is enormous." Apparently, he was Canadian. In Canada their large cup is equivalent to a U.S. medium. Americans have an arrogantly large cup size compared to Canadians - I will let you tackle that.

So, instead of just taking the enormously large U.S. cup he poured what I gave him into one of the many Canadian cups he already had in his car and gave me back the difference. "I don't like your president and I don't need your extra coffee," he seemed to be saying to me with all his pouring.

In the midst of his madcap pouring, I noticed that he was wearing AC/DC pants - not tight black jeans, but MC Hammer pants with AC/DC logos littered up and down. I began to scan the rest of his messy Toyota to see what other oddities I could discover about this alien from Planet Canada. He had army fatigues thrown about, duffel bags, plastic boxes and all kinds of Tim Hortons' merchandise.

I was completely unable to judge this dude. He continued to struggle to fit a large U.S. lid onto his tiny Canadian cup. I offered him a U.S. medium lid; he declined my offering.

"This is how we do it in the oil fields of Afghanistan," he said while grabbing a pre-used Canadian lid off his dash. "We've got a Tim Hortons in Afghanistan. That's the only way the Canadians would go."

"So, if they built a Tim Hortons in Iraq," I said, "then the Canadians would fight there."

"Somebodies got to kill those assholes," said the Canadian soldier and then drove off into the night.

"Oh."

dwayne the brain mcclain is a louse

My Mundane Manager made me work over at the dirty, super busy Springfield store the other night. And to put the glaze on the donut, I was forced to work with the infamous Dwayne The Brain McClain, who's a middle-aged, socially-inept baker at the Springfield store. I've heard countless stories about much of a prick this guy is from The Zen and Buddha Baker. Now, it was my turn to experience this dude's snide demeanor first-hand.

I seriously thought about quiting, or just not showing up, but I talked myself into going in. I never came up with a good reason to go in, I just did it. It's like Tim Horton has me up against the boards and keeps cross-checking me in the back every time I get into a comfort zone at work.

Dwayne The Brain McClain never learned how to use the cash register, so he was unable to help me at all up front with drive-through customers. Zen and Buddha Baker warned me about this, so it wasn't a big shock, but still uncalled for. I mean, this guy has been working at Tim Hortons for a couple years now and he still doesn't know how to work the cash register? Bullshit.

Around midnight, Dwayne The Brain McClain suggested that I bring in my boom box, which I had in my car, so that I could listen to music. "It makes the time go faster," Dwayne The Brain McClain said. On the surface, this sounded like a nice suggestion, but the problem was that Dwayne The Brain McClain was already blaring Rush from the back. I thought he might turn down Rush a bit when I brought in my boom box, nope; instead my Animal Collective CD had to compete with Rush and the oldies playing in the lobby. This proved to be an impossible environment to take orders, so I just gave up.

A couple hours later, Dwayne The Brain McClain switched his radio over to "Love Lines." At this awkward point, he asked me, "Can you believe the crazy things that people ask about sex on this show?"

I hadn't been listening to the show because I was too busy taking orders, so I replied, "What are people asking about?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Dwayne The Brain McClain. "Just things about sex."

I gave him a blank stare, then it dawned on me that Dwayne The Brain McClain probably thinks that women's breasts feel like bags of sand. For a couple minutes I felt bad for the guy, but then I became paranoid. We were alone. He was going to make a move on me. I never got within 10 feet of him for the rest of night.

I need to have a serious talk with my Mundane Manager about never working at the Springfield store ever again.

felonies

Of course, when Zen Buddha told me that there are people with felonies on their record working at Tim Hortons I had to know who, and with a little bit of persuasion - and a promise not to tell anyone - I got it out of her.

Drum roll please.

The Buddha Baker and The Sensible Skinhead both have felonies on their records. Now, I didn't push the envelope, so I don't know exactly what they did, but I do know that their crimes were worse than drug possession. How do I know? Well, Zen Buddha told me that Fat Moe has a drug possession felony on his record - a lot of pot with intent to sell. Apparently, what The Buddha Baker and The Sensible did was worse, according to Zen Buddha.

At first, I was really taken aback. I work with The Buddha Baker and The Sensible Skinhead the most, but then I got to thinking - look out. The Buddha Baker and The Sensible Skinhead are the two hardest working, by the book people at work. They are constantly telling me, "No, I don't want to do that because we might get in trouble."

Now, I kind of feel bad about referring to them as suck-ups in past blogs. My advice for anyone that finds out that they are working with someone with felony on their record is to schedule as many shifts as possible with them. They will be the hardest workers you will come across. Disclaimer: I don't think that The Buddha Baker and The Sensible Skinhead are sex offenders, or I won't want to work with them.

I don't want to speculate any more on what they did, but I think I can get the Zen Buddha to tell me in the coming weeks.

homeless, homeless

I worked with Zen Buddha last night and it came to my attention that her boyfriend was homeless. He slept in her car in the Tim Hortons' parking lot. I understand that everyone gets down on their luck once and awhile, but as the night wore on I understood why this guy was homeless: he's ultra annoying.

From 10-11 p.m. Zen Buddha's boyfriend - let's call him Fat Moe - hung out in the lobby. While in the store Zen Buddha and Fat Moe got down on some good ole fashion cutesy talk. Fat Moe only took time-outs to point at me and say,"But he's here." After Fat Moe made mention of me a couple times I told Zen Buddha that he couldn't stay in the store all night.

But even after we locked the doors at 11 p.m., Fat Moe didn't really go away. Twice the store phone rang and right before I picked it up it stopped ringing, no answer. The third time the phone rang - "Can I speak with Zen Buddha?"

"Yeah, no problem," I said glaring out into the parking lot.

Then around 2:30 a.m. a car flew through the drive-through without ordering. Suddenly, Fat Moe was at the window – "Can I speak with Zen Buddha?"

Zen Buddha explained to me that Fat Moe had to come into store to use the bathroom. She didn't want him driving around with her mom's car because Fat Moe was still on probation. I guess I couldn't argue with that.

Later in the night, Zen Buddha told me that she's trying to get Fat Moe a job at Tim Hortons. Fat Moe has been applying all over the place, but it has been hard for him to get hired since he has a felony on his record. Zen Buddha went on to say that Fat Moe should be able get a job at Tim Hortons because there are plenty of other people that we work with that have felonies on their records.

"Oh, yeah, that's a good sign," I told her.

"the lights are still out. the lights are still out."

For one reason or another the exterior lights - including the drive-through menu lights - go out about five times a night. The darkness decreases the number of customers, which is nice.

On the flip side, we usually get about five customers that morph into Paul Revere when the lights are out. They must deliver the message, the message of darkness. My usual response is, "Yeah, that happens a lot."

But the other night, we had a lady get crazy about it. First, she told me through the intercom, "I can't see anything. I don't know what to order. Do you know that your lights are out?". Then she pulled up and started banging on the window, yelling "The lights are still out. The lights are still out!"

I decided to play along, freak-out about it too - even though I couldn't of cared less. I opened the window and yelled, "Oh, my, god. No! The lights are still out? Don't worry, I will take care of this." With that said, I sprinted to the back of the store to the light switch, flipped it on. I sprinted back to the window to build up a bit of a sweat and to make sure that I was gasping for air - add some drama, you know.

"That was totally unacceptable," I found myself saying to the lady, who nodded in approval of my mania. "I will have a serious conversation with my manager in the morning about this is serious issue. I hope this never happens again."

"I'm glad," she replied, then drove off with her small pop and breakfast sandwich.

I still haven't talked to my manager about the lights going out and I don't have any serious plans to do so.

a little change is needed

Occasionally, yes, I'll admit, I do mess up and give people the wrong change back - forgot a nickel here, not enough pennies there. After I realize my mistake - or the customer alerts me - I say, "sorry," I fix the problem, boom, we move on, next order.

Last night I shorted this business-type a quarter, the most prized coin in American currency, while we were slammed with customers. I didn't realize my mistake, so the this guy had to two options: Forget about it and get to work, or alert me. Of course, he decided on the latter.

Not only did he decide on the latter, but he alerted me in probably the rudest way possible: he laid in on his car horn. If that wasn't enough, his next move confirmed that this guy was a complete dick. He held out the change that I had already given him in silence, so that I could figure out for myself that I shorted him a quarter.

The silence was what really bothered me. I mean, at least, he could have told me that he was penny-pinching dickwad with no concept of manners, but no, he had to keep quiet about it. He needed to make me feel foolish, so that he can feel superior to me - a tormented, poor Tim Hortons' employee. Party on, dickwad.

baby girl

When I went into work Tuesday night the Sensible Skinhead was there. He didn't have to work. He was just there - such a suck-up. It got worse when he opened his mouth. He kept saying to me, "You're making baby girl bake? Why are you making baby girl bake? I never make baby girl bake."

OK, let's get a couple things straight. First, baby girl is Zen Buddha - niece to The Buddha Baker. Zen Buddha, or baby girl, got hired in at the same time as the Sensible Skinhead and I. The difference between me and those two is that they both work five, or six days a week. I work two, sometimes three.

They both have baked plenty of times - even though The Sensible Skinhead says he never makes Zen Buddha bake, she knows what she is doing because The Buddha Baker has taught her niece well.

If I baked, then everything won't get made. The Timbits and half the donuts won't get made. Who wants to walk into a Tim Hortons with no Timbits and half the donuts made? I don't. Tim Hortons without its Timbits and donuts is like a porn site without nudity.

So, yes, I made baby girl bake and The Sensible Skinhead needs to get a hobby, besides shaving his head and hanging out a Tim Hortons when he isn't scheduled to work.

taking the edge off

So, before going into work last night I decided to take the edge off a bit and had a some red wine. It felt good to have a nice buzz, to be breaking the rules because I work with so many suck-ups. My co-workers, who are all deathly afraid of being written-up, rubbed off on me and made me paranoid - but no more.

I actually had a decent time at work last night because I had conversations with the drive-through stoners. I took an hour-and-half break to read some stories in The New Yorker. I gave some kid a half-off discount after he told me that he had been driving around egging houses.

Yeah, my Mundane Manager yelled at me in the morning because I hadn't shaved, but what can I expect? I'm working in a "Hell Hole" - think the Spinal Tap tune.

down

I don't think things can go on like this. I need to quit soon. I don't care. The money sucks. The hours suck. I'm compromising my will to live. I need a haircut and a good snack for once in my life. No more. No more. Oh, alas, no more.

i don't feel like talking about it

I don't feel like talking about Tim Hortons today - give me a break.

tale from the Buddha Baker

During a cigarette break the other night, The Buddha Baker told me that one of the girls working at our sister store in Springfield is selling drugs out of the drive-thru at night - not hard drugs, but dime bags.

At first I pretended to be disgusted by this girl's - who will be named Sassy Sally - behavior. I had to pretend because I didn't really care and the more I thought about it the more I agreed with what Sassy Sally was doing. If Tim Hortons was paying Sassy Sally more than minimal wage she won't have to be selling drugs out of the drive-thru. I am glad she's being proactive to fix the problem of minimal wage.

If selling drugs out of the drive-thru wasn't so dangerous I would probably do it myself and I kind of wish I still smoked pot, so I could get the staff discount over at the Springfield store.

4:30 a.m.

4:30 a.m. is a great time at Tim Hortons because a ton of customers try to order breakfast sandwiches, but we don't start selling them until 5:00 a.m. - haha.

I had this lady last night, right around 4:30 a.m., that delved into this elaborate breakfast-sandwich order with cheese croissants, packets of jelly, sides of butter, when I had to interrupt her, "Whoa, whoa, slow down lady, we don't sell breakfast sandwiches until 5 a.m."

"What?" I heard her yelp into my headset, then she proceeded to pull up to the window, so that she could yell at me in person, which is fine by me because I don't get paid any less or more if the customer is happy. Actually, I prefer that the customers aren't happy if they are rude.

She listed many reasons for why we should serve breakfast sandwiches at her convenience. I gave her my best blank stare, occasionally saying, "OK." After the third "OK," she asked me if I was getting smart?

I told her that, "I would be stupid to get smart," and she sped off toward McDonalds. Score one for the good side.

return of pricky pete

That guy, Pricky Pete, who I played soccer with in high school called me the other day. Luckily, I didn't pick up. This was the last person I thought would call me - besides maybe my stupid ex-girlfriends - since I told him that there is no god when he came through the drive-through awhile back. I don't even know where he got my cell phone number, but those god-lovers are crafty and creepy.

Pricky Pete probably wants to show me the way, the right way, but god is going to have to show me a sign before you see me, The Doctor Donut, at any stuffy church standing up, kneeling, sitting down and singing hymns out of tune. The best way that god can show me a sign is to give me a raise a Tim Hortons, so I am making more than minimal wage. Also, I would like all of the bottled water at Tim Hortons to turn to wine.

I don't pray to god, so I am not counting on a sign - in the form of a raise - but if for some reason I do get a raise on my next paycheck it better be a big one and then I will think about getting drunk off Tim Hortons' wine and going to church, but only if I have the day off and nothing better to do.

i'll be honest

I've tried to keep the blogs fresh, but I will be honest: I haven't worked in over a week and I am running out of material. I think someone has figured out my real identity and location.

Not only has someone figured me out, but this snitch told my Mundane Manager about my blog. And what do you know? I am barely on the schedule these days. Well, if you have something to say to me, I am working tomorrow night. Come through the drive-through at midnight if you aren't yellow; I will make sure that your coffee is, bitch.

fog blog

A couple of days ago it was extremely foggy outside all night, so every time a customer came through the drive-through I would end the transaction by saying, "good luck out there." Most people appreciated this sentiment on the night of the fog, and for some reason I liked ending my transactions that way, so I have stuck with it.

I feel like customers need to hear it - "good luck out there" - if their job is so shitty that they have to get up before 5 a.m. The best part about the saying is that some of the really macho dudes that come through get really offended by me saying this because they don't need luck; instead, they have testosterone.

I actually had a dude flick me off the other night because I told him "good luck out there," but most of the macho dudes just tell me that "they don't need luck" and then peel off. In my opinion, if a dude can't handle hearing "good luck" than he has some sort of complex and it has to do with the size of his penis.

high school reunion, yay!

Working at Tim Hortons is only like one notch above working at McDonalds, so it's embarrassing when someone that I went to high school comes through the drive-through. This has only happened once, but that was enough. I masked my embarrassment by being rude to my old high school classmate (notice that I keep referring to him as a "classmate," and not a "friend" because we never were friends and never will be after our encounter at Tim Hortons.

Any who, I played soccer with this guy that ordered around 4:30 a.m. the other night. When he pulled up I immediately recognized him - he still has that inane grin and block-head haircut from high school - but hoped that he, let's call him Prickly Pete, wouldn't remember me.

Alas, the first words of out of Prickly Pete's mouth were, "Hey, uh, don't I, uh, know you from somewhere?"

"Did you say that you wanted two, or three creams in your coffee?" I quickly retorted hoping to change the subject and speed up the transaction.

"We played soccer together, yeah, that's how I know you. How's it going, bro?"

"Pretty shitty," I replied, then something came out of my mouth from pure habit, "So, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know, I have been working a lot," said Prickly Pete. "And I have been going to church."

I pounced on this statement. "Geeze, bro, I am sorry to hear that because there is no god. Haven't you learned anything since high school? Oh, and hey, there is a car waiting behind you, so I guess I will catch you on the flip-side, bro."

Prickly Pete pulled away with his mouth so wide open a whole clan of killer mosquitoes could have flown in. I kind of hope at least one did.

rabies update

There is some good news, and with that comes some bad news concerning whether or not The Buddha Baker has rabies. First, the good: The Buddha Baker has not been foaming at the mouth, or sporadically having fits of rage - both good signs. Also, there has not been complaints from customers claiming to have contracted rabies due to an infected muffin, or donut that they munched on at the Tim Hortons that The Buddha Baker and I work at.

Unfortunately, the bad news out weighs the good. The most startling revelation is that the baby kittie that bite The Buddha Baker has disappeared along with momma kittie from behind the store. So either the cats died from rabies, died from another cause - hit by car, eaten by raccoon, etc., etc. - or they have found a home.

The other glaring case of bad news is that The Buddha Baker has not gone to see a doctor (besides me Doctor Donut) to check, double-check if she has the crazy animal disease. In my opinion, she might want to see a real doctor because I am only a self-proclaimed doctor of donuts. The only thing I have ever prescribed were more sprinkles.

I haven't started my campaign to raise money to save The Buddha Baker's life, yet, for one reason: The Buddha Baker smokes Newport 100s. I have heard that there is fiber glass in those cigarettes and Newports might be a better medicine than anything some real doctor could prescribe. Newports will kill off anything in The Buddha Baker's body including her lungs and rabies.

you're wrong, litte miss thang

I always dread working the midnight shift on Thursday because Friday morning is absolutely crazy with stupid customers, but I worked Thursday night last week. On Friday morning, business men order four dozens donuts to bring into the office and strung-out postal workers flip-out when we accidental put three creams in their coffee, instead of three-and-half - whatever, man, whatever.

But the worst customer was this lady, who looked to be a secretary, that came through the drive-through and ordered a muffin and coffee, which is a perfectly fine order, but the problem was during the money transaction. She handed me a five and then I gave her back her change. As I was handing her her muffin she announced that she had given me a twenty and not a five. She was wrong, but I told her I that I would entertain the thought and checked the register. She was wrong. We only had three twenties in the till and I could remember the three customers that the twenties came from. She wasn't one of the three.

Of course, the lady threw a royal fit and asked to see my manager. I calmly told her, with a smile on my face, that my manager didn't come in for another hour and that I could give her my manager's cell phone, so that she could wake up my manager and bother her at home.

For some reason, the secretary lady didn't want my manager's cell phone number, which I would have been happy to give her; instead, she informed me that I hadn't seen the last of her, which I replied, "great, we always like our customers to come again, and come often."

confession

Of course, my favorite thing to do at Tim Hortons is to frazzle annoying customers, but I have a confession to make about my second favorite thing to do at work.

Every night I mop the floors, which includes both the men and women's bathroom. In the bathrooms (also in the dining area) we play oldies music. We don't play just any Dick Clark lame collection either, we play some pretty badass oldies - Santo & Johnny, The Flamingos, Question Mark and the Mysterians, T. Rex, Bob Dylan, Broker T & The M.G's, Etta James, etc., etc.

And every night while I am mopping the floors in the bathroom I pause, take off my headset and just dance to a whole song in each bathroom. There is nothing better than just letting it all hang out to some badass oldies tune with a mop in your hand and a uniform on your back while staring at yourself in the mirror acting crazy.

When I'm really shaking it down in the Tim Hortons' bathroom the stress of the lonely housewives, who order 6 ice caps, and the anal business men, who order a cafe mocha with half regular coffee and other with decaf, goes away - no customer exists, money isn't a problem and I don't have any late-night checklist to follow.

the doors won't lock

So last night we couldn't find the keys to lock the doors, so we were forced to leave dining area open all night. I have heard they keep the doors open all night at the some 24-hour Tim Hortons, but in the surrounding where I work robberies are somewhat commonplace , so we lock the doors at night.

A lot of shady characters come through late at night: strip club customers, strippers, truck drivers and drug dealers. All night, I heard yelling noises and I swore that I saw I people's faces in the store front windows more than a couple times. Basically, if ever there was I night that I would try to recapture in a horror movie it would have been last night when we couldn't lock the doors.

Alas, no one tried to come in, and on second thought: I am starting to think that I over-reacted to the situation and I kind of feel like a pansy. I have to go back into work in like half-an-hour and I kind of hope that we don't have the key again tonight and some grizzly trucker, strung-out stripper, or hopeless bottle-collector comes in. I mean, at least tomorrow's blog we be extra exciting.

revenge on the muffin man

Every late shift that I have worked there is this old guy that drives-through at 5:15 a.m. and orders the same thing. He orders three blueberry muffins, which sounds like a very sensible and, I guess, cute order; but for some reason the muffin man is unable to make the transaction without pissing me off.

The first time the muffin man, who I'll assign the name of Dick, came through for his muffins I handed them to him. In reply to my muffin offering, Dick said to me, with his right arm in the halt position, "Oh, no. This won't do. The bag is too small." This signaled to me that the muffin man's real name is probably Dick.

Another one of Dick's tricks is to tell me what his total is before I get a chance to, which is probably one of the most annoying things on this planet. I don't care that you know what three blueberry muffins costs: $3.27! If your life wasn't so boring, Dick, then you wouldn't know what your total was before you ordered.

It's obvious that Dick has a gut-wreckingly boring life and he only finds salvation in picking on the little guys, so now I mess with him each time he comes through. It brings me joy. You can judge me if you want to. I just to throw him off because he's such an ass-munch and never orders anything different.

So last night I saw him driving around, so I answered the beep,"Thank you for choosing Tim Hortons, would you like to try five blueberry bran muffins?"

"No, just three."

"Okie dokie, three blueberry bran muffins, $3.27, pull up."

"No, no, no, I don't want bran muffins. Just three blueberry."

"You said bran, no problem."

"No, no, regular blueberry."

And then I didn't say anything and pretended not to hear him, then I heard Dick's truck pull up. Next thing, he was pounding on the window. I took my time walking over to, and opening the window.

"Here are your muffins, sir," I said and handed the muffins to him. He gave me the halt signal.

"No, no, no, I wanted three regular blueberrys."

"I know. That's why there are three in the bag, with a couple napkins. Have a nice day."

killer mosquito

Some of the drive-thru customers may have thought I was practicing Karate this morning, but in fact, there was a kamikaze mosquito that just wouldn't die. The devil-worshiping insect repeatedly dive-bombed into my hairnet and ear. This left me itchy, agitated and thirsty for revenge.

I had the bugger in my sites a few times, but each time that I had the killer mosquito in the cross hairs another customer would ring-in at the drive-thru and I would have to fill the order.

It should be mentioned that I was forced to work at the Tim Hortons in, let's say Springfield, which is across town from the one that I usually work at last night. Apparently, the Springfield Tim Hortons has double the customers and to compensate for the larger number of customers the workers only do about half the cleaning.

Whenever I fast-food restaurant (I don't care what you say, Tim Hortons is fast-food. Our coffee is just better than burger joints) doesn't keep up on it's cleaning the bugs come. I haven't had any major problems with bugs at the regular Tim Hortons that I work at, but the Springfield store had ants and killer mosquitoes, so my advice for all you Tim Hortons lovers out there: Go to the most out-of-the-way Tim Hortons because as the service may be slower the inside of the store will be cleaner. Those heavy traffic Tim Hortons are dirty, my people.

crazy little kids (part 2)

I wish I could say that there was only one instance of bad behavior by little kids on Sunday in the dining area at Tim Hortons, but then I wouldn't be telling the truth. I should note that this instance was much more enjoyable for me because I was able to laugh at the little brat, not with him, but at him.

Apparently, there is this mom that comes in with her kids after church every Sunday - we think that they are Lutheran. She brought her two kids, a boy and a girl, but she also brought along two other boys about her son's age, which I would estimate to be around 9 or 10.

The mom, a very cordial lady, wanted me to put the kid's donuts on separate plates since they would be eating in the dining area, which was fine by me. She had each kid tell me what they wanted and I put it on a plate for them, also fine by me.

The drama went down when the bunch sat down. Perceivable one of the boys, that wasn't the son of the cordial mom, only ordered two donuts; whereas, the other two boys ordered three. The mom stood her ground and didn't let the boy order another donut because really all he wanted were two; he only wanted three because that is what the other two boys had (by the way, three donuts seems like a lot of donuts for a nine-year-old, but the kids did have to sit through a church service and probably deserved a little extra treat).

So the boy with only two donuts started to whimper, then some tears ran down his face and then it was full-blown sobbing. And still the mom didn't give in; rather, she removed him from the kid's table and made the cry baby sit with her - haha.

Now, I don't know how the rest of you, out there in cyberspace, were raised, but I never cried when another mom was taking care of me unless I was seriously hurt - it's just rude. This mom took a little brat to Tim Hortons - a treat for all ages - and bought him donuts and a milk. I could have brought the kid out an extra donut free of charge for the baby, but I didn't because the mom was right in laying down the law. Plus, I think I would have been laughing too hard at the little brat to give him an extra donut.

crazy little kids

So I finished off my second morning shift for the week today and I found more reasons to hate the morning shift. The most blaring annoyance came as a result of an abundance of crazy little kids in the dining area.

First of all this family - mom, dad and two little ones - came in and started demanding breakfast sandwiches as if the family, as a whole, wasn't fat enough. This wasn't a big deal because I have gotten used to fat people demanding breakfast sandwiches. It's just part of what you sign-up for if you work at Tim Hortons. I could start a whole new blog about the fat people getting their suspenders in a bunch about the breakfast sandwiches, but I won't go there.

Anyway, the problem came when the foursome sat down with their food. The problem was that the two little ones didn't sit down; instead, the roamed around the dining area looking for anything that they could displace while their parents just thought it was the funniest thing since the Borat movie.

Their kids opened a cabinet in our display area and started pulling out travel mugs and placing them randomly around the dining area - hilarious. Then the little ones moved on to the coffee canisters and did the same - absolutely amusing.

The best part of the whole ordeal is that the parents made no attempt to put back the displaced items, rather they just informed me, as they were leaving, that we shouldn't leave stuff out for their kids to move around - thanks for the heads up, assholes.

(There will be a part 2 of the "crazy little kids" blog tomorrow)

different types of stoners

For whatever reason my Mundane Manager put me on the morning shift the other day. I had to work from 6 a.m. to 10 a.m. and tomorrow I have to work from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. - bummer. I need the hours so I won't complain too much, but when I was hired I made it clear that I wanted to work the late shift. I don't like a lot of customers and I'm not a morning person, simply as that.

One thing I did notice when I worked the morning shift the other day was that the stoners act much different in the morning compared to the restful hours between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. I was actually a little surprised to see stoners up so early. What I witnessed was the construction-worker-stoner crew.

A pick-up truck, filled with three construction workers, pulled into the drive-through at about 7:30 a.m. They knew exactly what they wanted - two Ice Caps and a black coffee - which is very different from the stoners who drive through at 3:30 a.m. and change their mind about what type of donuts they want at least three times.

When these three construction-worker stoners pulled up to the drive-through window a cloud of pot smoke bellowed into Tim Hortons. The girl who handed the guys their drinks and change said, "I think I'm stoned and I don't even smoke," after they pulled off. This stoner behavior was in complete contrast to the late-night stoners. The late-night stoners are almost always paranoid and don't want you to know, at any cost, that they are stoned; whereas, the construction crew could care less because they know that the 5-0 aren't looking for stoners at 7:30 a.m. like they are between midnight and 3:30 a.m. Plus, the construction crew feels entitled to be stoned because they still plan to be productive - build a house, lay some cement, or something to that effect.