groundhog day, murderous children, and fake fish

here is my life.

wake up. drive 30 minutes to work. work thirteen hours without taking a break. drive 30 minutes home. drop into my bed with faint fumes of seafood rising from my pores. crash.

wake up the next morning: rinse and repeat.

i'm living my own personal groundhog day the past couple of months with 0-1 days off per week. hence the lack of blog posts.

at work have a giant hundred-gallon water tank in the front lobby filled with live lobsters. whenever someone orders one, we snatch it out of the tank and walk it back to the kitchen for it's ultimate demise. yesterday, a lovely little girl slowly approached the tank and gingerly placed her grimy hands on the glass. she was in her own world, looking each individual lobster in the eye.

with the hustle and bustle of the front lobby, nobody was paying much attention to the harmless little cherub (let alone her mother). but i was. she leaned in closer, her lips nearly touching the glass, and whispered with the sinister tone and cadence of a practiced serial killer, "you're about to be dead, because we're about to eat you and everyone you know."

my jaw literally dropped.

then her mom grabbed her hand, "come on honey, our table's ready." "okay mommy!" she chirped; skipping to the table in excited anticipation at taking an innocent life and eating it's flesh with zero remorse.

then, last week i was in the process of explaining our fresh fish menu (as required by red lobster corporate) to a customer. rainbow trout, atlantic salmon, tilapia, et cetera. you get the idea. he then points behind me and says with a straight face, which one is that? is it on the menu? i turn around and see that he is referring to this hanging on the wall.

funny joke, buddy. yet he continues to stare at me, awaiting my response.

oh. he wasn't joking. he asks if that particular fish is tilapia. i then politely inform him that he is not looking at an actual fish, but a piece of artwork that in no way is meant to be a representation of our menu selections. he sincerely looks disappointed and orders some calamari instead.

another day, i dropped off the customer's check. the man hits me with a rapid-fire "wait! wait! wait! wait! wait!" as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. then i get to stand there while he files through his four inch thick wallet filled with 32 credit cards. finally he pulls one out, but only half-way. he cocks his head and looks up at me, "do you guys take visa?".

do you know who DOESN'T take visa? the tribesman in the jungles of Vanuatu.
do you know who DOES take visa? everyone else.

moron.