My second job
Involved kitchen drudgery, with such as keeping dishes clean, and prepping food. Instead of paying for proper utensils, the couple I worked for just gave me a fuck-off big knife with which to do everything. Easily 5cm tall by about 30cm long for the blade. One day I sliced my thumb open, from one side almost completely round to connect again. So I trot off to show my boss, and explain why I'd be heading off to the hospital.

Now, I've got a nice wound wrapped nearly around my thumb, and my hand covered in blood, a red (white five minutes prior) cloth hand towel wrapped around it, and a thing trail off blood following me from the other side of the complex. Show my boss and tell her I'm off.

"What do you mean you're off? You can't go to the hospital for that, I'm not paying any more on my insurance premiums!" She would have gladly had me pass out from blood loss on her kitchen floor, rather than pay an extra $0.50-$1.50 a month on her insurance. I quit shortly after that. Also, a big huzzah for the US insurance system. Glad to see how well it's always worked out for me.

Strangely, I still get Christmas cards and Birthday cards from them every year. They were a lovely couple right up to the moment they started paying you, at which point they (especially the wife) became absolutely mental.
( Ithyphallophobia, Sat 16 Apr 2011, 3:24, 2 replies)

Restaurant Wives...
I have been in this industry for 15 years and it is true: wives of chefs/restaurant owners are fucking insane. Every single place I've worked- at one place the staff had to come together to ban the wife from entering the business office. Makes me want to renounce my pair of X chromosomes. But not my pair of tits... they make this job a little easier.
( salamander, Sat 16 Apr 2011, 14:11, closed)

mmmmmmm tits

( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Sun 17 Apr 2011, 19:47, closed)