Dead Wrong Part 2
Which is more important, dignity or money? Yeah, everyone says dignity, but what if bills are due in three days? I admit, sometimes, something will happen that will make me forget I got bills to pay. So when do you shallow your pride? Hmm—
So Richard pulled me upstairs into Donald’s cluttered office after Lucy told him I insulted her. I’m sitting across him as he adjusted his chair then lean forward. “I understand you have a problem with my daughter.”
“I have a problem with the favoritism that going on here. Just because she’s your daughter doesn’t mean she can get over on training. It’s not fair to—”
“Let me ask you something: bussing table, what do you have to do? What does that entail?”
“You know that better then I do.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “Last time I checked, you put dishes on a tray, put in the dish station and wipe a table down. Correct?”
“What’s you point?”
He gave me a stern look while crossing his eyes. “It took me three seconds to explain this to you. Now explain to me why my daughter, who has the genes of someone such as myself,” he put his had on his chest, “who been to the best colleges, worth millions of dollars in real estate and other liquid assets, and owns more cars then you have pennies in your account,” he closed his eyes as he body shivered. He sighed, collected himself and continued, “Why does my daughter have to spend three days training when she clearly has the genes to master this job that doesn’t even require English? Seriously, you guys are nothing more then overly priced dishwashers doing a job my 16 year old nephew could do.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Umm? Excuse me, first of all the second coming of Bill Gates/Queen Elizabeth couldn’t even lift the tray or couldn’t find a bucket of rags, which stood in front of her. Hmm, are you sure she’s not adopted? Or maybe she’s the gardener’s daughter? Seems a little slow on the ‘picking up bussing in three second’ thing and all.”
He slammed the desk with his fist. “I have every right to fire—”
I held my arms out. “Well?”
He pressed his lips together. “Let me tell you sometimes Nicholas,” he reached over and grabbed an exit interview form. Every manager fills this out to explain the employee’s termination. “I’ve been reading the files on you and how you act towards managers here. And I have to say, I’m firing you with extreme pleasure. I told those manager to fire you because we don’t need some pre-Madonna busser when we could get two Mexicans to do you job.”
I laughed, “How come you need two?”
“So we don’t have to pay them as much over time or benefits or raises. See Nicholas, you’re fighting a fight you could never win. You should have accepted the fact that I do what I want to because I have the power to do so,” he’s body shook as he had a fait moan. Then he started to get control over himself.
“You’re right. You’re better off with a pair of nice legs that can’t lift a trade, and two people who could barely do the job I do in my sleep. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s a lot better to fire someone who speaks his mind about the stupidity of your power hunger decision, which have nothing to do with the overall welfare of the restaurant, more about you greedy lust for power that you’ll never get because you’re just Shelly Sholes [the owner]’s little bitch.” He stood up and raised his hand. I smirked and continued, “That’s why you’re DM. You did everything she wanted even if you didn’t like it. Every time she said jump, you go into orbit, asking ‘is this high enough?’ So what if you got good grades, you failed in employee relationships–that’s what really counts. Until you get that down, everything you’ve done is a joke.”
He gave me a war face, screaming, “Wrong!” Holding back his hand, he sat down and took several short breathes. “I’m better than that. I’m successful,” he clutched the armrest and repositioned himself. “I don’t have to do anything to you. You’ll get fired in a minute. See, Nicholas, this resturant lasted long before you and will long after you. Why? Because of me. I’m the best district manager in the corporation. I got a 3.9 GPA, president of my frat…” the more he talked himself the more his body moved and wiggled.
As he moaned, he sweated, clutching both arms, and repeated every accomplishment, even his divorce with his wife. He named every house he had, every car, every award, which caused him to shake right out of his chair. I backed up, grabbing my exit interview and crumbling it, as he screamed, “$1.3 million!” he when into an orgasmic seizure before wetting his pants and falling asleep.
Wow! I’m going to have to get drunk to forget this one. Wow! I walked out the door and saw Donald.
“Nick? What happened?”
“Well, he was telling me what I did wrong, started talking about himself and—”
“Ummm,” Donald said with his hands in front and looking away. “Go check on Lucy, or something.” He shook his head. “In fact, I need you to train her. I’ll put her on the training schedule like normal.”
I guess that meant he’s going to take the heat for whatever happens. Whatever, I just trying to forget what just happened.
Authors bio is coming up shortly.
OMG! This guy takes narcissism to a whole new level. I’m curious to know his daughter’s personality as well.