Mildridiots, Volume 5

To be honest, I could do a hundred more Mildridiots, all devoted to awful things Morgan does. Every day when she comes into work, she asks me things like, "Did you prep roast beef?" and, "Did you slice tomatoes?" She apparently thinks she's my boss. I always respond with, "Yes, that's my job," extra sarcastically.

She also scolded a customer last Saturday. The customers always place their order at the counter, sit down while we make it, and then we call them up to grab their plates and pay. But she has decided to turn everything on its head and make them pay when they order, which causes a ton of confusion, since some of these people have been doing it the normal way for the past 30 years. So a customer came in, placed his order, and then walked to a table and sat down, like he's done for years and years. When the sandwich was done, she called him up, and said, "Okay, now you have to pay. You should have paid earlier, but you just walked away from me. I was like, 'What the hell?' " Yes, she did say all of that to a customer. A customer who knows how this place operates much better than she does.

Anyway, let's meet some new people:

Paranoid ATM User
The first customer on Sunday, this guy called in his order and came in to pay with a credit card. I apologized and told him that we don't accept cards, but we do have an ATM. He looked like I had crushed his soul. I've never seen anyone that devastated about using an ATM. After thinking it over for a solid minute of awkward silence, he decided to withdraw the money. Upon entering his card and his information, the ATM told him that he would incur a $1.75 surcharge. At this, he went from crushed to irate.

"What is this? Are you trying to fleece me?!" he demanded. "No, we don't take the surcharge for ourselves," I assured him, but my words fell on unforgiving ears. The damage was done. I received not a single cent tip for his large order. Jackass. He also tried to tell me that we used to take credit cards, and when I told him that we never have, he told me I was wrong. He was exactly the kind of person I wanted to see first thing in the morning after waking up to a shit waterfall outside my room.

Courtney
Since I introduced you to Morgan, I figured I should also tell you about some of the other coworkers. Courtney is in her early-to-mid-twenties, with many piercings, crazy-colored hair, and is currently going back to college for the third time in her life. She moved out of her parents' house when she was a teenager, and has been working for $6.50 ever since. She enjoys drinking, doing the occasional drugs, and not working.

She frequently calls in "sick," but then admits under further questioning that she is either too drunk to come in (at 4 PM), or she hasn't slept yet because she was up all night drinking. At first, this was annoying, but now I've gotten used to just saying, "No," when I don't want to come in. And it's actually kind of nice to have so many options for extra work if I ever want some more money. Plus she's always up for a switch in schedules if I want to go somewhere for the weekend.

On Saturday she told me that her dog, Spaz, might be put down. Apparently he has bitten about 13 people, and one guy finally complained. Now, Spaz is this goofy little pug, whose bites are more like nips and honestly can't hurt anyone. So the guy who is calling Animal Services and DEMANDING that they kill this adorable pug is pretty insane. But Courtney also needs to get her dog under control. As she said herself: "He bites me and Noah [her boyfriend] all the time, and he's broken the skin twice. But we're always like, 'You're so cute!' " And then she instantly went into how ridiculous the guy was being. She's utterly incapable of seeing how some people may not find getting bit by a dog is cute.

So she's a mess.

There's Nothing Like Waking Up To Your Roommate's Shit Raining On You

This weekend was nothing like I described in my last post. It was so, so much worse.

First, my cousin ended up not coming. He was going to be in town for an Ultimate Frisbee tournament, but when I called him on Friday, he said he had been demoted to the B-Team for missing two games, so he was being sent to Nebraska instead of Wisconsin (what a brutal punishment, huh?). When I talked to him, he was in the car with his two roommates, drinking, while his little brother drove them to Nebraska. And they were all listening to Fergie. So it seems like he at least was having a good weekend.

Last night, nothing notable happened at the trailer trash party. They were all rather well-behaved, and my friends and I actually stayed upstairs most of the night to watch Sarah Palin on SNL (how great was that episode compared to most others?!). Everything exciting happened after the party.

We left to get some pizza at around 12:30, and when we returned at 1:30, the party was already over. But we could hear some loud moaning coming throughout the entire house. "YES! YES! KEEP COMING!" my roommate's trashy girlfriend shouted. Upon further investigation, we realized that they were not upstairs in his bedroom - they were having sex in the basement on the nasty, mildewy couch that we found down there when we moved in!

So they finished up while I was taking Bark Antony outside. The roommate's girlfriend (they're Jessie and Steve, for future reference... hopefully they don't read this) stumbled outside and said to me - keep in mind she had just finished having sex with her boyfriend not two minutes prior - "God, you're sexy. If only I was single."

"Yep," I responded. "Magic would surely happen."

Eventually I got Antony back inside and into his crate to go to sleep, and as I climbed into bed, I heard a familiar sound 'round these parts - "GO TO FUCKING HELL, YOU BITCH!"

Yes, Jessie and Steve were having their weekly epic fight. Last week, the fight was so bad that the neighbor's called a domestic violence report to the police, and they showed up pounding on our door at 4 AM. This week, no such luck, but the fight was pretty much as intense as last week.

No one ever knows what they fight over, but it sounded like she was slapping him and he was asking what he did to deserve getting slapped and alternating between screaming, "I FUCKING LOVE YOU!" and "I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Finally, they quieted down and I drifted off to sleep, already pissed at how late I had been forced to stay up when I just wanted to get a decent amount of sleep before work in the morning.

Around 3 AM, I woke up to the sound of a veritable waterfall outside my room. My instant assumption was that someone was either puking or peeing in the hallway, so I got up to investigate.

First, let me explain that earlier in the day (seriously, around, like, noon), our roommate Jon had clogged the toilet upstairs, and then had tried to fix it, which resulted in the toilet filling to the brim with water so it could no longer be plunged without overflowing. So what did he do? JUST LEFT IT. Didn't try to get the water down, didn't call maintenance, NOTHING.

Well, someone must have flushed it during the night, because brown water was pouring out of the ceiling down onto our floor. I raced upstairs to see what was happening, and discovered the worst sight ever: a two-inch deep puddle on the floor of the upstairs bathroom and hallway, with hundreds of little pieces of shit floating in it.

And it had soaked through the floor and was raining down on me. An artist's rendition:


Unbelievably irate, I grabbed a piece of Tupperware from upstairs, threw it under the stream of shit water, and went back to bed. When I woke up, the shit had dried, but Steve was brushing his teeth down in our bathroom (understandably), and he was even more pissed than I was (again, understandably, since his room had been invaded by a widening lake of shit in the night).

So... I'm going to enjoy these five hours at Mildred's and just hope all the problems at home are solved and/or everyone is dead when I get back.

College!

Mildridiots, Volume 4

This is a very special volume of Mildridiots. You see, my roommate recently quit for another job, so our latest Mildridiot is the newest employee!

Her name is Morgan, and she is a bitch.

Let me provide some examples. First, I should preface it by saying that she lives in the apartment above the store that Nels rents out. (The only reason this restaurant hasn't gone out of business in the past 30 years is because he owns the entire building and rents out the top floors, so they pay for our lack of customers.)

On Thursday, it was Bodnar's last day, so I accompanied him for what was sure to become a sob-fest as he closed down Mildred's for the last time. (I also accompanied him for the free food, of course.) We drove his car, and as we were parking in Mildred's lone parking spot, we accidentally ran over a dead, rotting log.

The second he got out of the car, Morgan was out on her balcony, and she instantly said, "Are you going to pick that up?" while pointing at the dead log that was smashed to bits.

"Uh... what?" he asked. Keep in mind during this that Morgan had no idea whether or not we were employees. For all she knew, we could have been customers she was chewing out.

"That log there. That was a really nice thing that Nels had." What the hell? That dead log was really nice? In the six months that I have worked here, I have never once seen Nels go out back to take care of his log (sexual innuendo definitely not intended).

Naturally, my roommate got pissed that she was trying to insinuate that she knows Nels better than us, or even that she had the balls to say anything about this stupid log at all. "Oh, really? So you know Nels, like, really, really well, then?" he snapped. Frankly, she deserved such a sarcastic onslaught. She tried to respond, but he just stormed inside before she could even say anything.

So of course I was looking forward to Saturday, when I would be training her. I didn't think she'd have the cojones to mention the incident to me, but OF COURSE she did. Within the first ten minutes, she said, "I'm so glad it's you here and not your idiot roommate." Did she really just come in to train with me and in the first ten minutes call my best friend an idiot? I just brushed it off with a, "Yeah, he's really awesome," and moved on.

I also was able to more or less ignore her terrible customer service, such as saying, "Right on, dude, you've got the perfect amount of change! $4.20!" to this elderly guy who had no idea what her stupid stoner joke meant. I also ignored the fact that it took her over 10 minutes to make two Leadbedders, our most basic sandwich. I know it's her first day, but it's not like it's her first day on Earth. A baby could have figured out which side of the bread to put the mayo on faster than she did (seriously, she asked what side the mayo goes on, to which I responded, "THE INSIDE"). Although, I did make it up to the customer by sneaking a free cookie in her bag with a note attached to it that said, "Sorry about the wait!"

But I could no longer ignore her when she started telling me how to do my job. First, she wouldn't let me reuse a piece of wax paper that had touched a different slice of bread. Then, when I was showing her how to slice an onion, she virtually demanded that I throw away segments of the onion that were either too thin or too thick. Nels would have gone insane had he been there - he throws literally NOTHING away. He has an entire jar of dead seeds (which he already got his money back for, because they were dead when he bought them) that has sat on the shelf for several years. Keep in mind these are dead, completely useless seeds that he essentially got for free. And he can't bear to throw them out.

So I said, "No, we don't throw anything out here unless it is totally useless. Nels would have your head." But she decided to ARGUE with the guy training her! "Oh, come on, man. Just get rid of them."

Naturally, I yelled at her. "Okay, listen. I'm training you. Not the other way around. Don't tell me how to do my job."

That shut her up for a while, but she made a few more passive-aggressive comments about how I apparently don't know how to work here.

Joke's on her, though. The next day, she had to work 6 hours alone after my morning shift, so I under-prepped and left her stranded on her second day, alone and without any cheddar, cucumbers, or tomatoes. I plan on doing this every Sunday for the next few weeks. HA! How's that for passive-aggressive, bitch?

An Afternoon With Sarah Silverman

Actually, just a conference call.

That's right, I interviewed Sarah Silverman for the past hour for an article I am writing about the newest season of the "Sarah Silverman Program."

She was hilarious and really nice - other than the time when she called us all "fucking fat" - and made it a much more enjoyable interview than Michael Chiklis (not that he was mean or terrible or anything, he just didn't tell as many jokes about shit).

But she wasn't the star of the show. Oh, no, not by a longshot. This MORON decided that rather than doing some in-depth reporting or asking a question that would help him write his story, he would spend his one question sucking up to her. This is how he decided to play things:

Idiot: Hey, Sarah. I'm Jewish, too, so, you know, we have that special bond.

Sarah: Uh... Great!

Idiot: My question is, um, what question should a reporter ask to convince you that he should write on your show? (Ed. note: HE SERIOUSLY FUCKING ASKED THAT.)

I don't remember what Sarah said in response, because I was seething with rage that this moron was making us all look like retards.

Also, the first three questions were about her "Great Schlep" viral video, and about Obama. Seriously?! That's what you're going to all ask her about when she's here to talk about her new show? She actually said, "I feel like I should be plugging my show, not talking about this."

Oh, and some starstruck girl asked her what celebrities she has met.

I went last again (seems it'll be that way every time, because there aren't many schools that come after "Wisconsin - Madison"), and we had gone about 10 minutes over the designated time. So here is how my glorious interview went:

Moderator Jill: Alright, our last question is from Danny.

Me: Hey, Sarah.

Sarah: Hey, D--

Jenny from Comedy Central: Sarah, we're out of time!

Sarah: Is that Jenny? Hi Jenny!

Jenny: Hi Sarah! How are you?

Sarah: I'm well!

I was dumbstruck. Luckily Sarah is awesome and intervened and said she could take one last question. But that totally threw me off. Of COURSE I'm the one to get cut off. I bet the asshole from the Badger Herald (our rival newspaper) was giggling to himself. But I think we all know who asked the better question. I asked her, "Do you have any plans to release another CD or movie like Jesus Is Magic?" because, frankly, I've been dying for a Sarah Silverman stand-up CD. The Badger Herald asked, "You are very good at getting your audience to respond with awkward, uncomfortable silence. Do you try for that reaction?" Her answer: "No."

I definitely won in this interview.

Mildridiots, Volume 3

Only 45 minutes into my shift, and we've already got two more Mildridiots! One was a regular that I forgot about on the first volume in this series, and the other is a brand new jackass.

New York Bastard
I've never seen this guy before, but there was something about him that just screamed "New York City". Maybe it was his classic "NEW YORK CITY" shirt, or maybe not. But he marched up to the counter and announced, "I NEED A BLYSTONE," which is one of our more popular sandwiches. So I made that and called him up to the counter to come get it, at which point he looked at our beer selection (a rather impressive array of Wisconsin microbrews, if I may say so), and sneered, much like a cartoon villain. "Is this all the beer you have?" Obviously it is, but I just said, "Yep," and then quickly added a quiet, "Sorry," after receiving a lengthy glare from him. I'm not sure what I did that needed an apology, but the way he was looking at me made me feel like the lowest scum on Earth. "Oh, come on. I know you have a Maibock back in that fridge," he said, completely serious and more than a little pissed off. "Uh... no. I can promise you we have no hidden beers." Eventually, he settled on a Berghoff, but he was NOT HAPPY about it.

Later, when he was on his way out the door, I cheerily shouted after him, "Thanks! Have a great night!" at which point he stopped in his tracks, turned around and STARED at me for a good minute in the doorway. Reeeeeally awkward. He makes me feel like I'm doing everything completely wrong and hopefully he goes back to NEW YORK CITY.

Potato Salad Freak
Oh, god, this woman is obnoxious. Every Monday - when our potato salad for the week is typically made - she marches in and demands to know just what temperature the potato salad is at. And every week I assure her that it's been in the fridge for at least a few hours and is therefore quite suitable to her tastes (although it just dawned on me that she may, in fact, be the Ice Queen, which is why nothing is ever cold enough for her). Today she went through the same routine, but I was able to proudly announce that it was a slow weekend, so the potato salad from last week is still left over and since it's been in the fridge for a few days, it is most definitely cold enough. "It wasn't a slow weekend. I came in," she sulked, for some reason insulted by me thinking a weekend in which she makes an appearance in my life should ever be deemed "slow".

She also left pissed off for no good reason. And now someone else is here. Let's see if I can go three for three!

Mildridiots, Volume 1

Mildridiots is going to be an ongoing series in which I relate stories about the lunatics that frequent the place where I work, a small sandwich shop named Mildred's.

First, some background: Mildred's has been around for some 40 years, and it has never changed. The menu has been the exact same (except for a brief crazy period a few months ago during which we introduced a new sandwich and then quickly removed it), and some locals have been coming here for 30-plus years.

There are only four employees, not counting the owner, an aging, hilarious hippie by the name of Nels Nelson (seriously). All of us employees work our shifts solo (not counting lunch during weekdays, when Nels sticks around for a few hours to make the soup of the day), and since not many people come in - it's a long, long way from the campus, where Madison's pulse is - most of my shifts consist of me reading, watching movies or TV shows on my laptop, or writing this blog post right now.

For those of you not familiar with Madison, it is for the most part populated entirely by two groups of people: college students, and aging lunatics who grew up during the Vietnam War and have totally warped their minds through the use of various recreational drugs throughout their lifetimes. And since Mildred's is so far away from campus, guess which half of Madison's population we get as customers?

So that's Mildred's. No one fascinating has come in yet today, so I'll just recap some of my all-time favorite (or least favorite, in one particular instance) customers.

Alan From Madison
This guy is definitely my all-time favorite. He hobbled in one day on his crutches ("My friends used to call me Hop-A-Long," he quipped) and ordered a beer. He then sat down and just started telling me all about his life, completely unprovoked. If he is to believed (and, really, there's no way any of this stuff was made up), this is his story:

Alan From Madison (quick history of that name: he told me he's from Michigan, and then ten minutes later when I asked his name, he said, "They call me Alan From Madison." So that was confusing) has been hunting the Dog Man for over 100 years. Who is the Dog Man? Oh, just a werewolf-type dude that's been running around killing people for about a century or so. When I humored Alan From Madison and asked, "Wow. Where does he come from?" I got a simple one-word answer that almost made me laugh out loud: "Hell." He then clarified: "Well, that's what I think. Others think he's the spirit of a dug-up Indian burial ground." So, either way, not good news.

Anyway, we talked for about half an hour, and eventually he left, but not before issuing me a stern warning: "He's been seen around Madison, so don't go out at night, and stay in well-lit areas. And if you see a seven-foot dog man, run." As if I'd walk towards someone like that.

La Croix Guy
Ugh. This guy is the WORST. He is the son of Sophia, an older woman who runs a breakfast-only shop right next door to us. Oh, and he's certifiably insane. He comes in every day and orders a berry La Croix, and then sits down and drinks it for at least three hours. Sometimes he keeps to himself, which wouldn't be that bad except for the fact that I just want him to leave so I can open up my laptop and resume whatever movie I was watching before he came in. Other times, he does crazy shit. Once, he requested that I turn the radio up. REALLY LOUD. I did it but then gradually turned it down a notch until it was back to a reasonable level. Another time, he told my friend he hated the color of his shirt, ran home, and came back in five minutes with a shirt to give him. His best moment, though, was when he crumpled up his can, grabbed a book from our bookshelf, and positioned them oh-so-carefully in the outstretched hands of the random mannequin we have by our ATM. He came back four hours later and retrieved the items.

He also has two children, for some unknown reason. One is a son who looks like he's around thirteen years old, and has to have some form of ADHD or something. He's insane. He pesters me with questions about everything whenever he's here, and La Croix Guy never lets him get any soda because, "If this is what you're like without sugar, imagine what you'll be like if I give you some." Which is by far the sanest and most reasonable thing that guy has ever said. His daughter is a toddler, who likes to grab everything at her level and throw it around the store. The son actually tries to pick up after her, but La Croix Guy sternly says, "NO. Leave it." So that's respectful of him.

He drives me crazy.

Sexy Cerebral Palsy Aide
This girl comes in every Sunday with a man named Jessie who has cerebral palsy. I thought she was his sister, but I have recently learned that she just volunteers to take him out to eat every week. Which makes her even more attractive. They do this thing that I've never seen before, where she has a keyboard printed out on a piece of paper, and he points at the letters on it to spell out words and sentences to communicate with her. It's pretty amazing.

I have sort of a crush on her, but it's kind of an awkward situation and I've never gotten up the nerve to say anything more than, "Anything else with that?" or "$5, please." I would like to use the keyboard thing as my in - say something like, "Wow, I've never seen anything like that before, that's amazing," - but every time I'm about to, I feel like I'm using Jessie or something.

So nothing will ever happen between us, and I'll just admire her from afar.

Oh, and Jessie has another girl who comes with him very, very rarely, and she's a super bitch. Doesn't use the keyboard or anything. Luckily, I know Jessie's order better than she does, so he's able to get what he wants instead of, "Just give him some turkey on wheat bread," like she said to me last time. Seeing her instead of Sexy Cerebral Palsy Aide is a terrible way to end the weekend.


That's all I can think of now. I suppose I should start closing down the store anyway, since no one has come in for the past two hours.