Jobs Worse Than Yours and Hateable Celebs (4/16/18)

OUR WORLD:

It’s Monday and, guys, it’s only gonna get better. Keep that in mind as you trudge your weekend-fat ass through the snow (yeah, it is snowing in Chicago) to work today because it can’t get worse than a bad weather Monday AND you have food poisoning (just me? I’m not really sure what food poisoning is, but anytime I have real bad stomach issues I think “must be poison.” Could it be that I ate like a pig for the past 72 hours? Nah. Poison.) By now, you should be making your own “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List to help you get through Mondays like this. If you haven’t, I’ll let you use mine:

-Mid to Low Level Drug Dealer: This is NOT a chill job. Can you imagine if selling drugs was what you had to do to pay your rent? You would have to say things to yourself like “I didn’t sell a lot of drugs yesterday, so I probably shouldn’t buy this J.Crew shirt.” And, unlike most sales-based jobs, the days of super low sales probably wouldn’t even crack the Top 100 list of “Worst Days as a Drug Dealer”. There would be at least 37 “time I got a gun pulled on me”-days, some “got a knock at my door at 3AM”-days, and, DEFINITELY, a few “the drug kingpin accused me of wearing a wire”-days. Talk about NEVER being able to just coast though a workday.

And what are the good days like? I know in the movies there’s like a big drop of drugs in the dark and like a fancy briefcase filled with cash, but that can’t happen for the mid to low-level drug dealer. The lower level dealers don’t get the mansions and lambos and cool sunglasses; they get knock-off Oakleys and a Dodge Neon with an AC that doesn’t even work. I guess a good day would be if they got promoted to deal drugs to rich people, but then the chances of going to jail for a long time go up too. Promotions in the drug dealing world just mean that now, you have to do MORE serious crimes. And you definitely can’t tell the Druglord Boss-guy that you don’t want the promotion. You think Scarface is gonna be cool when you explain that the whole “transporting cocaine on boats in the night”-thing just isn’t what you had in mind when you started with the company?

If you do a bad job, the worst thing that can happen to you is getting fired or, maybe, scolded by your boss in a way so personal that you cry alone in your car later that night. If a drug dealer does a bad job? Something WORSE THAN DEATH could happen…JAIL! (Jail is worse than death times a billion. I’ve talked about this in the past, but jail is my number one fear in life.) With the constant fear of death/jail, is a drug dealer ever in a true state of relaxation? Are there any days where they just watch Netflix for 11 hours and not freak out about a sound they just heard? And don’t forget that there’s no getting out of this life. Once you’re a drug dealer, there will always be people that are planning to do something bad to you and cops that remember not being able to catch you in the act.

-Prison Guard: I got in an Uber last summer with a guy who told me that he just moved to Chicago to become a prison guard. He voluntarily moved from Nevada to Chicago because he looked at a prison guard opening as a GOOD OPPORTUNITY. Thank sweet baby Jesus that there are people like this guy, cuz I can’t believe the government doesn’t have to draft people into these types of positions. Yes, socioeconomic factors greatly impact who views what as a “good opportunity”, I’m aware of this, but I’m also aware that discussion is heavy and serious and not appropriate for the FUN BLOG! Carrying on…

To be a prison guard, you not only have to be big and scary, but also smart enough to anticipate problems arising from places you didn’t expect. If you’re big and scary and smart then shouldn’t you be the head of like a steel-workers union? I’m pretty sure those are the qualifications to head a blue collar union: big, scary, smart. But no, you’d pass up the opportunity to shake calloused, meaty hands to break up fights over why the head of the Aryan Brotherhood got an extra milk? (The Uber-driver/prision guard told me that most of the fights he dealt with in his Nevada prison were over milk and juice.)

I’m sure there are days without fights where maybe you’d connect on a personal level with one of the inmates. Maybe you could help Larry deal with the misery of being behind bars and watch as he evolved into the person his parents always told him he wouldn’t be. You’d talk about meeting up “outside of these damn bars” one day, and complain to your wife about how corrupt the judicial system is. And then that one day would happen, and you’d go meet to meet Larry at the Outback in the nice mall. Larry would smile when he saw you waiting for him at the table, and walk over slowly while shaking his head in disbelief that he was able to survive incarceration. Before you ordered, though, your wife would send you a text saying that she “can’t keep worrying about your safety all day, everyday”. Larry thinks your wife’s worries are a sign of a sweet relationship, but you didn’t tell Larry about the following text where your wife admitted that she had “met someone.” So now you’re having dinner with an ex-con who required the attention that it would have taken to save your marriage…and your steak is overcooked because you’re at a fucking Outback inside of a mall.

-Hair washer at a salon: As a resident fancy-boy, I get my hair cut at salons as opposed to a barbershop. Everyone knows that the best part of getting your hair cut at a salon is when they wash your hair and give you a head massage. If you don’t make purring sounds while they’re doing this, you’re probably offending the hair washer. You’ll try to remember the head massage tactics they used so you can attempt to recreate it on yourself during your next shower, but it won’t be the same. When the hair washer is done, though, think about how you’re probably the least gross person they’re going to have to deal with that day. (Real talk, if you’re reading this blog, you’re not gross. Welcome to the not-gross club.)

People have weird heads and nasty hair and gnarly things on their scalp. These hair washers can’t refuse to wash the head of some dude who hasn’t showered in a week and has a BAD case of scalp acne. I think they can wear surgical gloves, but what about the days when they didn’t realize they were low on those gloves and now they’re all out? I also think that LEGIT hair washers look down on the ones who wear gloves; like, they’re not dedicated enough and probably aren’t spoken to at the Hair Washer Happy Hours.

You ever go to get your haircut after wearing a hat all day? How bad do you feel? Like, MUCHO BAD, right? Well, that’s because you’re a normal human being. Unfortunately, there’s another kind of human being out there that thinks subjecting a hair washer to that is “not my problem.” AND! The hair washer doesn’t get tipped. What the hell is that all about? I’m guessing they get tipped out by the stylist (term for hair cutter person at hot salons), but it probably isn’t NEARLY enough. I contend that it’s way harder to give a good head massage than give a good haircut. Listen, you can learn how to cut bangs. You can’t learn how to have magic hands. Now that I think about it, next time I go to get my haircut, I’m going to tip the hair washer person more than my stylist AND I’m gonna make sure the stylist sees it. I’m sure the stylist will be annoyed, but then remember that she doesn’t have to accidentally pop strangers’ head pimples for the rest of the day and go back to being thankful that she’s not a hair washer.

MY WORLD:

Do you love or hate some celebrities for no discernible reason? ME TOO! It usually comes down to their face, which is scary to think about because I’m sure strangers have walked past me and hated me just because of my face (my mom VEHEMENTLY disagrees with this btw). So what celebrities do I hate for no discernible reason (but maybe it’s just their face)? Here’s what I’ve got:

-Michael Strahan

-Josh Gad

-Nick Kroll

-Angelina Jolie

-Helena Bonham Carter

I started writing some more fleshed out reasoning behind hating these celebs, but…I really think it’s just their face. So let’s leave it at that. This is such an internet-y thing to do, but everyone has these thoughts…right? RIGHT?!?!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I went to High School with Beck Bennett (SNL star, no big deal, he probably has no idea who I am but whatevs) and this was from his college comedy group.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Snow.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

This was a surprisingly even weekend…which is a win in gambling terms. “Even” = “Lost a little” = “Didn’t lose a lot” = “Win”. Get it? Anyway, I put some sweet cash on an NBA playoff parlay where I picked all the favorites to win their first round series (Rockets, Warriors, Thunder, Blazers, Cavs, Raptors, Celtics, and Sixers). If that parlay hits, which I really can’t see why it wouldn’t, it pays out at over +660 so…I’m about to be super rich again. ALSO! We’ve discovered that one of my friends is a savant at NHL Playoff gambling. He went like 6 for 7 this weekend and has earned the nickname ‘Chel Jim. Love ‘Chel Jim. Aside from rooting for NBA favorites tonight, I’ll be patiently waiting for ‘Chel Jim to text me his NHL picks.

(My account currently at $219.55)

K bye.

At Least You Don’t Have That Job and Bad Purchases (4-2-18)

OUR WORLD:

Boy am I excited that it’s Monday AND it’s absolutely freezing outside! This is the best! LIFE IS MEANT TO BE LIVED!!!! If you happen to see me before 9AM this morning, do yourself and walk the other way because NOT TODAY! On days when I catch myself being extra bitchy and pouty (oh, so everyday Jimmy?) I’ll try to come up with people that have it worse than me. In all honesty, my job is like 87% good stuff and the rest isn’t stuff that is worth bitching about the way the rest of the working world gets to (but I wanna pout too!!!! Also, maybe I said that so co-workers don’t give me a side-eye, like “so…if working here is so bad maybe you should just quit!” jk guys lol omg ttyl!) REGARDLESS! Some Mondays I find myself running through what jobs have it way worse than I ever had and, hopefully, ever will have. If you’re having an especially rough Monday, roll through this list and I think you’ll begin to feel thankful. Let’s call these the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List…(if you happen to work one of the following jobs then may God have mercy on your soul.)

–Anything having to do with outdoor construction: Aside from the 6 days of the year that are in the perfect temperature range, construction workers have to either be freezing or hotter than hell. Aside from that, they have to wear the big heavy boots FOR SAFETY! They have to wear hardhats that would def mess with your hairline, and the bending and lifting and digging and hammering and what if you slip? If you’re a full-time construction person, you definitely have a story about slipping and “that’s why my hand doesn’t really work anymore.” Aside from the actual work itself, keep in mind that the general public is FUCKING annoyed with construction sites because they’re loud, hold up traffic and “like, is it EVER gonna be done?!” How many angry drivers do you think these people have to deal with per day? If you’re working road construction, there have to be at least 8 times a day where some douche in a foreign car lays on his horn because construction has created a traffic jam. Does the horn help ease the jam? Of course not, but Mr. Audi Douche would like everyone to know that he HAS A FUCKING MEETING!

The combo of backbreaking work and a generally ungrateful audience is a ROUGH work environment. The only upside is getting to eat whatever you want because you just worked so hard. Like, if I’m jackhammering a sidewalk for five hours (that’s a thing they do, right) you better believe I’m not gonna worry about how many carbs are in the BIG sandwich from Potbelly. You’re getting that big cuz you earned the ever loving shit out of that big. So that’s nice…but then it’s back to the heat and hard manual labor and, you know what guys? I quit. I just can’t.

-Starbucks Barista: You are immediately SLAMMED busy earlier than the entire world on Monday morning dealing with Monday people who have yet to have their coffee. Seriously, how have their not been more Monday morning Starbucks shootings? Having worked in a restaurant that had a cappuccino machine (whatever, yeah…it’s, not even a big deal) I know first hand that making those foofy coffee drinks is a BITCH. Thankfully, I only had to make like one per 6 hour shift. These Starbucks people have to make like a bajillion all the while an angry pre-coffee mob is waiting off to the side wondering why the fuck their mocha gabba jabba is taking more than one second to make! You think your job has pressure?!?! GET REAL BROTHA!

Also, how many times have you been behind that person at Starbucks who seems to be trying to invent their own personal drink? Like, there’s no way Starbucks has a “virgin, half caf, pseudo-mocha, almond butter infused cafe ole easy foam heavy bubbles”…AND THEN THEY DO HAVE THAT THING! But, the person who ordered it isn’t even impressed! Instead, they just go back to their fucking bluetooth phone convo and you just wanna be like “aren’t you AMAZED with that barista?!?!” But they’re not. Nope, the barista will carry on like the Van Gogh of coffee drink makers and Barry Bluetooth won’t even think about dropping a buck in the tip jar. If I were the barista? I’d just make everyone a black coffee and then shrug my shoulders and say NOTHING when they’d complain.

-Meter Maids: I always always always think about what a meter maid says to his/her spouse when they get back home and are asked how their day was. Is there ever a good day to be a meter maid? Hand up, I am SUPER mean to these people and I don’t even feel that bad about it cuz I’ve become a master of justifying it (I have effectively convinced myself that the only people that could work this job are people that legitimately enjoy ruining people’s days.) When I have a little distance from it though, they are definitely working that job because it pays the bills and they’re just doing their best. Talk about a thankless job. A Meter Maid has never heard someone say “good job!” I bet even their bosses are just pissed they didn’t assign more tickets.

I would love to be at a table next to a bunch of meter maids at a happy hour. Can you imagine the “this is why my job sucks”-stories that they get to share with each other? All day, everyday they are dealing with people who just missed moving their car by 4 minutes. Oh! And, they have to be outside all day in a uniform which mucho stinks. Please, don’t tell me about how it would be “nice to be outside” in the summer. Why do you think air conditioning was invented? Because being outside is nice for a minute and then “it’s actually kinda’ hot.” PASS!

As I’ve written this, my big huge beautiful brain has been flooded with other jobs that would be mucho stinko so….guess what guys?!?! I’m gonna make this a jimmyschair Monday staple. From here on out, FOR THE REST OF TIME! The Monday edition of jimmyschair will include a list of “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-jobs. I’m excited.

MY WORLD:

I spent too much money at the bar on Saturday night. I opened up a tab, turned into JimmyGoodTimes and, quickly, morphed into JimmyIGotThis for the proceeding 4 hours. Closing my tab included the “it’ll be okay” self-talk followed by hating myself all day yesterday, with a few “it’s just money, Jimmy” mixed in to try to calm myself. It wasn’t THAT bad (I’m a pouty baby, remember?) but, like, DAMNIT JIMMY! Much the way I do with other jobs on Monday mornings, I tried to remember back to a worse purchase that I have made, in an effort to make myself feel better. That’s when I remembered…I bought a recliner from Costco when I was in high school.

I worked at a golf course in the summers during high school, and since I was too scared to make any actual friends, I turned my bedroom in an ultimate hang-zone (you talkin’ ’bout a Hangzone 5000? Yeah guys, I am.) I bought a mini-fridge, a big tv, XBox and…all I needed was a big comfy chair. My bedroom was small and my parents definitely had caught on to my blossoming loner-den, but I lied to them about all the friends I had so, I SAID I’M FINE MOM!

Anyway, Costco had a put-it-together-yourself massaging recliner for like $400. I told my dad that I was going to get it and he rolled his eyes so hard he def saw his brain. Look, I was a stressed out lil baby and NEED MASSAGES DAD! GAH! My bedroom was 1,000,000,000,000% too small for this chair, but I was determined to be comfy at all times instead those four walls. So I saved up for weeks and bought the friggin chair. It took me FOREVER to put together and would slam into my dresser every time I leaned back. The “massaging” felt and sounded more like loose pebbles being thrown at my back a little too hard, and the plug sparked whenever I put it in the wall outlet. Did someone order a fire hazard?

Whenever my dad would walk past my room, I would sit in the chair and make purring noises because I was very weird and thought that would make him jealous that he didn’t have such a chair. He was never jealous. Disappointed? Absolutely. Jealous? That’s gonna be a “no”. After a few weeks of pretending to be comfortable in a not-comfortable-at-all-massaging-recliner, I dug the box out of the garage, dismantled the chair, and returned it to Costco. They gave me all my money back and….WAIT!

That didn’t work at all. Now I don’t feel better about my weekend bar spend because I can’t throw the 19 Tecates I had in a box and return them to the bar. Great. Well, I hope you enjoyed my exercise in not-making-myself-feel-better. GODDAMNIT!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This scene came up at our Easter dinner and we all laughed like maniacs. Enjoy:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you open up your refrigerator on Monday morning and see all the Easter candy you stole from your parents house is sitting right in front of your dumb, fat face but you can’t have any cuz it’s Monday morning and you were gonna get back to eating healthy this week. Thissss isssss jusssssssst GREAT!

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

I’m not gonna lie to you guys. I know that I bet on Kansas and Michigan this weekend. I also know that JimmyGoodTimes made quick friends with JimmyGambles and, next thing I know, I had like a billion little bets going on the two final four games this weekend. What were they? I absolutely do not remember and, no, I will not check my betting history to see what they were. All’s I know is that I only lost like $9 which is less than $10, so I’m basically even. I’LL TAKE IT! Tonight? I’m probably gonna bet on Michigan because my friend went there, but my brain thinks Villanova is gonna chop Michigan’s head off.

(My account currently at $64.82)

K bye.

Restaurant Rules Pt. 2

OUR WORLD:

Hungover, poor and outrageously jealous of my friends with credit card points was me as a restaurant worker. Squeezing that hostility into t-shirts that were 1.5 sizes too small (had to show off the guns) and you had what those in the biz like to call a “problem”. Looking back at my time as a restaurant worker, it’s amazing there was never a choking incident involving me either as the aggressor or victim. You know what my favorite thing to do was? Tell customers “no”. I’m not even kidding. Like, if someone asked “do you have a tomato vodka pasta sauce?” I would just say “no,” and just let the waiting-for-an-alternative-suggestion-silence devour their whole world. I could feel them squirm waiting for me to break the silence, but THAT. WAS. NOT. COMING. It was a Buffalo Bill type tendency that makes me worry about what else I’m capable of…madness…yes, madness….WHAT A FUCKING DICK I WAS! (You still are Jimmy and everyone will find out and stop being friends with you and you’ll go crawling back to that restaurant begging to sweep the floors. From, The Woman you abandoned in awkward silence until her brain melted from the stress of it all, just because it felt good to respond “no” when she asked if you “had any gluten free homemade noodles?”)

These confessions will sound even more insane after I tell you that…I GOT PROMOTED MULTIPLE TIMES IN MULTIPLE RESTAURANTS!!! That’s right, the lunatic in the tiny tee who got off on disappointing customers without explanation MOVED. UP. THE LADDER. (This is the part where my head tells me that I should remind the readers that I’m a Sensei in the art of exaggeration but…I’m not really exaggerati-SHIT!) You want to know the real reason I’m telling you my deepest darkest restaurant secrets, though? A) Because I don’t work there anymore and like…{valley-girl voice} whatever! B) Because I wanted to establish a common ground with restaurant workers before I give my…—

“WHAT NOT TO DO” FOR RESTAURANT WORKERS

-When you see a customer trying to get your attention out of the corner of your eye, don’t pretend you didn’t see them and then act busier than you are.

Again, a go-to move for Tiny Tee Jimmy (The VP’s friend made fun of my small restaurant shirts when we started dating and I can never shake it now). This move is absolutely infuriating because WE KNOW YOU CAN SEE US! How many times have you sat at a cleared table waiting to get the check only to have your server walk past you a billion times pretending not to see your “excuse me, sir”-face? Or, how about the times you realize you don’t have a salt shaker on your table only after your food is dropped? Sure, the dish may not need salt, but you gotta dump some on it just for ritual’s sake and THE SERVER KEEPS IGNORING MY FINGER GUN/PINKY UP/AHEM-MISS? MOVE!!!! GODDAMNIT! I think servers do this because they’re procrastinators hoping that work will just disappear.

-Don’t shrug your shoulders when people ask you which dish is better.

Look, even if you don’t have a strong opinion either way, just lie to me and tell me that the pesto is WAY better than the alfredo (cuz it always is…lay off fatsos, alfredo is cream with salt.) I’ll never understand why some servers get awkwardly shy when asked to help a customer decide between two dishes. Some act like there are chickens and cows with guns waiting for them in the kitchen; “I heard you say the chicken picatta was better than the strip steak. So now I get to watch my wife get ripped from my arms and thrown onto a searing-hot pan,” said Chicken Charlie, as he turned his glock from Server Sally back unto himself, “I’m on my way sweetie….”

Unless you’re faced with cleaning widower chicken brains off your kitchen’s walls, maybe just give the customer a teeny tiny bit more confidence in their dinner order. Also, if you give no answer to a customer looking for an opinion, all you’re doing is creating an awkward silence at the table and, therefore, causing you to spend more time dealing with people you don’t really want to be dealing with in the first place. When I was a server, I would sometimes tell people I didn’t like items just to make them think I was trustworthy. They’d ask, “how’s the shrimp?” and I would tell them “it’s not my favorite” even though it sometimes was. Why? Because when you give someone an unexpectedly honest seeming answer, they IMMEDIATELY think they can trust you…(and now I feel like a sociopath for admitting I think that…)

-Don’t get defensive when your table asks why their food is taking longer than it should.

This is simple if you get ahead of the issue. You know if food is taking too long to come out. What is so hard about going up to a table and saying “hey guys, I’m sorry your food has been taking a while, but our kitchen is backed up and now I’m gonna tell you a lie about our computer system fucking things up because we all kinda’ hate technology.”? You immediately get in front of the awkward interaction that begins with a table asking “what is taking so long?” Even if it is your fault, blame it on some asshole in the kitchen that the table is never gonna meet. Odds are that the table will appreciate how forthright you just were and will feel bad that you have to deal with Donnie’s kitchen bullshit.

Or, you can get defensive when a guy asks you why the turkey sandwich and egg dish that he and his wife ordered is taking over 40 minutes (weird…the exact thing happened to The VP of Ops and I this past Sunday…) Then you’ll get a–dammit, you’ll still get a 15% tip because I felt guilty but you totally didn’t deserve even 15% and I want you (yeah you, the professional eye-roller) to know that I’m normally a 25% tipper. So, enjoy being 10% poorer than you should be (that’s how math works, jerk.)

-Don’t pour my drink into a glass right in front of me like I don’t know how to do it.

Does anyone enjoy watching a server approach your table, set down a glass, open your beer for you and then slowly, awkwardly, incorrectly pour it into said glass all while you just sit there like a fat, useless tub of lard? You probably look at your phone to cut the awkwardness, don’t you? I’ve taken to just telling them that I can do it to avoid the ensuing awkwardness. Let me say this; if you enjoy having a beer opened and poured for you while you do nothing, then your parents probably resent the person you have become.

Bring the beer and open it. Leave the pouring to me. I’M AN ADULT WHO HATES FEELING USELESS EVEN THOUGH I KINDA’ AM SOMETIMES BUT NOT WHEN IT COMES TO POURING DRINKS IN GLASSES!

–Don’t have Law & Order SVU on the TVs without the sound when the city you’re in has a team in the playoffs playing RIGHT NOW!

If you’re a Law & Order SVU-themed bar, then fine (I can hear The VP of Ops making borderline-sexual grunting noises at the thought of this). But, the only people watching TVs in bars are sports fans, so why tease them? I do think that hipster servers probably love watching sportos squirm as they pretend not to know how a television remote works and ask “wait, what channel did you say?” for the ninth time. Part of me respects such deviousness, but most of me is a sporto who JUST GIVE ME THE GODDAMN REMOTE!

MY WORLD:

My worst restaurant experience as a customer happened when I lived in Los Angeles (golden tan, killer bod, hot babes and blow wherever I went. You know? That Los Angeles). I was on a date with A REAL LIFE LADY (Pre-VP of Ops. This girl was more “VP of Not Being Able To Contribute To The Conversation”) My plan for the date was a little out there, dinner and a movie, but I’m a risk taker, guys. We got to dinner, ordered and began having very forced, stilted conversations that were not made better with my penchant for drinking super fast when I get nervous. I was nervous and…needed to get drunk so fast please be drunk now so I don’t have to deal with my feelings faster faster faster!!!!

Next thing I know, it’s like 45 minutes after we ordered our entrees and the food still isn’t there. Am I eight drinks deep? Yes, but there was no drink limit printed on the menu so looks like I’m not breaking any rules and you should shut up. Besides, Miss No-Conversation-Skills wasn’t interesting when I was sober, so what was I really missing?

Not wanting to waste our tickets for Russell Crowe and his “Am-I-Officially-Too-Fat-To-Be-A-Star”face in “Robin Hood”, I asked our server if our food was getting close. “I don’t know man,” was not the response I was hoping for, but it was the response I got. Even my drunk brain was like “whoa, that was rough.” The restaurant was DEAD so I knew the kitchen wasn’t backed up, but I didn’t wanna introduce Miss ZERO-PERSONALITY to Angry Jimmy on our first date. So I sat quiet, kinda bit the inside of my lip and prayed that, that dickhead server just gave me a reason…JUST GIMME A REASON!

Another 20 minutes and nothing. I hadn’t seen our server for a while so I went up to the host stand to ask for a manager. YEAH, I DID THAT. When the manager arrived I told him that we had waited for over an hour and blah blah blah we needed to go now. So he asked me to pay for our drinks…Lame move, Mr. Manager. Waiting over an hour to get no food and you want me to–okay, okay, we’re not getting angry. I repeat! We (as in me) are going to prove to Miss I-Already-Can’t-Wait-Till-This-Is-Over that WE are in control of our emotions even in the most adverse of conditions. Did I tell the manager that I didn’t appreciate the service that night? I did. Did he shake his head like a condescending bitch and apologize “if you feel that way”? He did. We are still in control of our emotions.

Then we left the restaurant to walk to the movie theater when I saw our server, back in the restaurant, making purposeful eye-contact with me and proceeding to wave at me as I left. It was one of those “go fuck yourself” waves and that’s when I politely told The VP of You’re About To Be Embarrassed By Me that I would be right back.

I re-entered the restaurant making a BEE-LINE for the kitchen where I saw the server giving me the “go fuck yourself” wave. Manager Douche Canoe and the bartender got in my way but not before I got to yell “come outside and say goodbye to me!” to my new server friend. It was a solid line and I am forever proud I got it out. The fact that such a cool line was lost in me cussing out the manager and bartender is something I wish not to rehash.

I used to legitimately wonder why that server was such a dick to me that night. Did he used to date the girl I was out with? Seemed unlikely that any other human would be duped into going out with such a DUD, so I’m gonna cross that off the list. Did I go to High School with him and he was offended I didn’t recognize him? Probably not because I was a total loner back then, but a real sweetheart who most people secretly felt bad for (right?) Maybe he was jealous that I was pulling off the two-earring look that he always dreamed of going for but never had the nerve to commit to? Probably. Or, it was just because he was a server who hated being reminded of the fact that he had to work when most people were on off-time. And now I totally understand and feel bad for trying to intimidate him. (I am also thankful that he did not come and say goodbye to me outside because that would have been scary!)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Fat Russell Crowe in the middle of a walking work-out is a personal fave.

RUSSELL CROWE OUT IN LA

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you’re in the middle of watching an awesome YouTube video on your iPhone and, all of a sudden, the video stops because your phone has to warn you that you only have 20% battery life remaining. THANKS FOR RUINING THE MOOD, APPLE!

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Another day, another dollar not won. Starting to feel like I’m giving money away by NOT gambling. I will be alone in a Rockford, Illinois hotel tonight and that means one thing…gambling on random NBA games RIGHT before they start. No point in looking at the lines now.

(My account currently at $102.61)

K bye.

Finger Guns and Sports! (3/26/18)

MY WORLD (A Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The Vp of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable):

Per last Monday’s post, I would like to welcome you to the first inaugural writing for the “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”-section. Last week, (Thursday or Friday? I don’t know, you look it up) I put up a picture of The VP and I where I was throwing up the double guns. This picture was taken in Memphis last September. The VP of Ops is smiling in the picture, and that’s either because she was touching my shoulder and was probably pleasantly reminded that I have surprisingly muscular shoulders-OR-because it was the beginning of a night she did not realize would include me throwing up double guns for the following four and a half hours.

Mempis 1

The VP’s brother, let’s call him “Archduke Brotherman”, lives in Memphis and my favorite college football team, UCLA, was playing against Memphis that weekend. The VP was also overdue to visit her Mom, SO resident-genius Jimmy (ME!) hatched a plan to viciously slaughter numerous birds with but a single pebble. It’s a complicated plan, so strap it down: we’d stay with Archduke Brotherman in Memphis and her mom would drive up from Mississippi to stay with us and so I’d get to see UCLA and The VP would get to see her Mom. You don’t get it, do you? (Should the President put me in charge of war planning?) Oh, also because I’m FUN! I decided to invite MY brother, let’s call him “Matthew”, for this excursion.

Archduke Brotherman has a big awesome apartment that makes me feel poor because he’s younger than me, so I constantly remind myself that Memphis is cheaper to live in than Chicago (facts only!) The Archduke is also a member of the Good Times Brotherhood (G.T.B.) So pairing him, myself, and Matthew (a founding member of the G.T.B.) together for a weekend away from home was basically a molotov cocktail of ENJOYMENT! But, Jimmy, you ask, wouldn’t The VP of Ops’ Mom curtail your carefree Good Times Ways? Nope! Why? Because The VPs Mom thinks I’m kinda funny AND I was gonna be drunk so…LONG HAIR DON’T CARE!!!

The first night we got there is when the picture above was taken. We walked from Archduke Brotherman’s big awesome apartment to the street in Memphis that’s kinda’ like Broadway in Nashville but…uh…grimier. On the walk, The VP asked me to take a picture of her and her mom. I did because I’m really good at pressing to picher budden (picture button) and everybody knows this. VPs Mom then said she would like to take a picture of The VP and I. (Quick Jimmy, what pose will be funny enough to make my bros laugh so I’m not embarrassed to take a picture in front of them?!?! FASTER DAMNIT!) Double guns was the obvious choice. Throwing up the double guns is a tried-and-true-go-to of the G.T.B. The VP thought it would just be for one picture though…she would be wrong.

Throwing up the double guns landed with the G.T.B. the way Bon Jovi lands with Moms who smoke cigarettes…THEY LOVED IT! We had our joke for the night, and The VP knew it was about to be a problem. The rest of the walk to the restaurant was filled with every member of the G.T.B. doing their best “I’m-a-spy-about-to-enter-an-enemies-territory” routine. Basically, we’d take turns whipping around building corners with double guns drawn so that we could assure the rest of the group “coast is clear.” Archduke Brotherman was a fan of the move where he’d throw his back up against walls, hold his finger guns tight to his chest and ask us to “cover me.” The VP was beginning to get annoyed, aka JACKPOT!

Excuse me if being 32 years old and playing “tinker tailor finger gun soldier spy” with younger bros in public isn’t your cup of tea, but it IS my cup of tea. As a matter of fact, I may go for seconds of that tea! Aside from a few, subtle room-checks on the way to the bathroom, The G.T.B. took a bit of a reprieve from finger guns during dinner. The bar afterwards, though? OH YOU BETTER BELIEVE WE WERE PACKIN’!

The VP and I went to one end of the bar to get a drink, but the other end must have been in peril because I looked up to see Archduke Brotherman and Matthew securing the perimeter. Cue the “Oh-my-god-not-in-a-crowded-bar” face for the VP. Sorry Babe, gotta have my guys back. Finger guns came out because they had to, and yes, I was aiming them at strangers. How else am I supposed to instill fear in tourists AND make the G.T.B. think I’m funny at the same time?!

The VP and her Mom went from kinda amused to annoyed to pissed to “FUCKING STOP JIMMY!” as the night progressed. Lets just say the finger guns did not get much rest that night. Whenever there was a lull in a conversation, finger guns. Waiting for the bartender to make a drink? Finger guns. Catch the eye of a fellow member of the G.T.B.? Finger guns. I would like to proudly point out, however, that not ONE fake bullet was shot that night. And that’s how you can distinguish a finger-gun special agent from an imposter. Me and the rest of the G.T.B. were there to secure perimeters and laugh at how pissed off The VP was getting. Did The VPs displeasure lead to a real-life couple fight? Almost…very very almost….and maybe kinda yes actually. Security requires sacrifice.

*Please enjoy the following finger-gun photo shoot we held in the bar:

OUR WORLD:

Loyola-Chicago is in the Final Four and THAT’S WILD! The thing that is most surprising to me, however, is that bars around the city have been getting JAMMED for these games. If you don’t live in Chicago, let me try to explain what Loyola means to this city; nobody cares about Loyola in Chicago. I used to drive by that school every day on my way to work and if you would’ve said “hey, that’s home to a major college basketball program” I would have grabbed you by the collar, pulled you close and rolled my eyes RIGHT IN YOUR DUMB-THING-SAYING FACE!

Yet, last week I was doing a bar event in some no-name suburb an hour outside the city and the place was slamming busy! People who definitely didn’t go there for college were yelling at the screen during the game. This is proof positive that Chicago (basically, Illinois, but it sounds better if I say Chicago) is a sports town. What are the list of things you can use to identify whether a city is a good sports town? Here’s a quick guide to reference when wondering:

1) Do people yell at the TVs during the game?

2) Do stores immediately become stocked with t-shirts of the successful team?

3) Has your Mom told you how excited she is about said team?

4) Do bars put the sound for the game on and nobody complains?

5) After a few months, do you notice that dogs have names corresponding to the team?

6) Is your sister pretending that she has been a fan of the team for years and you’re like “no you weren’t”?

7) Has your Dad mentioned that he is getting annoyed with the fake fans?

8) It’s acceptable to get drunk on a weeknight if the team is playing.

I know I’m supposed to have 10 because that’s what most lists have, but this is my blog and I can do what I want so ENJOY THE EIGHT AND BACK OFF!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

If you don’t like Sister Jean, get away from me right this second.

sister jean

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When your wife’s 100,000 phone alarms goes off in the morning and she KEEPS HITTING SNOOZE SO YOU CAN’T GO BACK TO SLEEP BUT IT SEEMS LIKE SHE’S JUST HAPPY AS A CLAM! (Just me?)

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

I went 6 for 8 this weekend because you can’t keep me down for long and I definitely got the hang of this whole gambling-on-the-tourney thing. It’s pretty easy, actually. The plan is to hold off this week unless a random game is looking extra tasty (EXTRA. TASTY!) and save my big money bets for The Final Four. I look forward to bragging about my winnings.

(My account currently at $102.61…oh yeah, back in the triple digits nbd.)

Bad Boy Stuff and Weekend Warnings (3/23/18)

MY WORLD:

I got caught trying to sneak into a gym yesterday. You see, sometimes when I have a work event at night, I’ll find a gym in the town of my event to get a good PUMP (treadmill run) in before. Being the Frugal Fred that I am (cheapass), I have found a couple of “community fitness centers” that don’t have the most attentive front-desk staff.

The particular spot I went in yesterday, I had been to multiple times over the past year. Normally, there’s an old guy at the front desk not paying attention. So, instead of paying the $11 one-day fee, I walk like a BAWSS straight past the front desk and into the locker room. The old guy probably just doesn’t care enough to stop me, but I’ve convinced myself that he admires a man who walks with purpose. That’s me! A man who walks with purpose…so he doesn’t have to pay $11.

Yesterday, however, there was a young girl at the front desk. No matter, my BAWSS walk (Rick Ross voice BAWSS!) would dissuade her from stopping me. Deep breath, long, border-line angry strides and I’m fre—“Excuse me, sir!” Can’t be talking to me….”SIR! EXCUSE ME?!” (cue my “uh-oh” face). I turned around like she had just snapped me out of a dream. “Oh, yeah? Hey?”

“Can I scan you in?”

“Oh…uh….I mean…”

This is where I pretended that my parents had just moved to the suburb and they had “told me I could work out here.” Unfortunately, she then asked for my parents names and address. (Just cut the lies, Jimmy! Come clean! Now! Come clean!) And because I’m really smart and quick on my feet, I told this TRYHARD BITCH (I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that) that my I didn’t know their address because they just moved and “my memory is just blegh!”, and that my Dad’s name is Jim Pomerantz.

As she typed “Jim Pomerantz” into her local government issued supercomputer and asked for my ID, I remembered that the first time I went to this gym, I did sign in as a guest and gave my name as “Jim”. That’s when she asked, with a furrowed brow, “have you been here before?” I was caught. But, guess what? I JUST KEPT LYING.

“No.”

“Hmm, cuz we have your name and address in here as having signed in as a guest before.”

“Not me. That’s weird.” I actually said that guys! Like, someone with my EXACT NAME AND ADDRESS HAD ALSO SIGNED INTO THIS COMMUNITY GYM AS A GUEST ONE TIME!!!! If that doesn’t make you laugh, then I give up forever.

I ended up paying the guest fee and dominating a treadmill. On my way out, instead of tucking my tail between my legs, I gave that TRYHARD BITCH! (sorry) a hearty “Thank You!” She did not respond and I’m pretty sure my picture is up in their employee lounge now.

OUR WORLD:

Guys, it’s Friday! Oh my goodness gracious we made it! WE MADE IT GUYS! As we gear up for what’s definitely going to be an all-timer of a weekend (is it? I don’t know. Who cares?) I wanted to point something out that needs to be pointed out…movies lie to us. But Jimmy, why would you bring that up today? Of all days? I’ll tell you why my sweet babies, because the weekends are when we act most like how we see people act in the movies.

You’ve been pent up at your jobs and in your houses (you don’t have a house, Jimmy. An apartment counts! Well then say apartment…) all week watching movies and shows when you have any free time, so your brain is ready to talk you into acting like that dude with the good hair. Weekends are when you at least begin contemplating how you are “going to make a change!” Before you do so, I implore you to consult the following list of things that movies tell you to do, that you should NOT do:

-Don’t tell your crush, who already has a bf/gf/husband/wife, that you are in love with them. This applies mostly to the single, under-27 crowd, but I extended it to the real dedicated “lets fuck a life up”-crew who are contemplating ruining a marriage to have their movie moment. There were definitely a few times when I was single and under-27 that I was POSITIVE that my crush was just waiting for me to make some touching speech in the rain to break up with her boyfriend. Thankfully, I was always a bonified (more like ‘bonerfied’ lol omg) wuss in these situations and never went through with it (I can’t believe they never noticed me sulking near them in the bar.)

What would actually happen if you went through on this kamikaze mission? The person you are confessing your feelings to will look at you like you’re an alien. Like “uh, dude how many times did you watch The Notebook this week?” (I’M SORRY, I DIDN’T KNOW THERE WAS A LIMIT!!!) They’ll probably start laughing early on in your “remember when you gave me that look”-speech, and possibly call their friends over to catch a glimpse of this death spiral. (Holy shit girls! Dan’s doing his Notebook speech! Get over here!) It’ll be too late for you to pull the “just kidding” card, so you’re going to prove that you have follow through and try to finish your rehearsed plea. It will only get worse.

The spouse will show up at some point, be it during or soon after this performance, and you haven’t prepared for that, have you? What if he doesn’t find it sad-funny and is hell bent on smashing your face in? You don’t fight. You pretend like you can when you’re drunk, but it’s been years since your one sorta-real fight and it was TERRIFYING. This situation is snowballing and now you’re in the hospital.

This “dream person” has put you in the friend zone for a reason, but you also have ZERO idea what this “dream person” is like in a relationship. What if DreamGuy is into feet stuff and the fact that he has foot fungus doesn’t hold him back from asking you to suck his toes? That could happen! What if DreamGirl thinks hitting on your dad is the way to get on his good side? But then your Dad is like “I still got it” and tells your Mom, the one who bakes cookies, to “scram, Donna!” …and THEN DreamGirl is kinda like “wow, he just ended his marriage for me” so she goes along with it! NOW YOUR DREAMGIRL IS BANGING YOUR DAD!

In the end, I just don’t want your friends to catch what happened on their iPhone cameras and then send it to you for the next 33 years whenever they “could use a good laugh.”

-Don’t “just let go” and, like, jump off a cliff or something. Granted, I have not been on a cliff that I could jump off into the clear blue sea, but, like, who cares? Just go to a pool and don’t risk hurting yourself. Have you ever heard a friend say “I went cliff diving” and thought he/she was cooler for doing so? Nope, and that’s ALL they were hoping for when they did that. A bunch of out of shape people do it, so it’s really not that impressive. And I’m sure it’s not that fun and probably hurts your feet.

-Don’t drink your sorrows away and then get in a fight at the bar. The sitch that movies portray go like this: sad, pissed off guy with nothing to lose drinks beers and shots alone at a dive bar. The game is on and his team is losing because, of course. He gets progressively drunker (but his hair still looks DYNAMITE) until a big ole sumbitch at the end of the bar says something disrespectful to a woman. “Apologize to the lady!” leads to a confrontation. This David v. Goliath confrontation goes one of two ways, 1) David is a secretly awesome fighter guy and hits Goliath with, like, a throat punch that cuts off Goliath’s air supply (v cool move) or 2) Goliath throws David out of the bar, but David is okay cuz he only got hit once and just has a black eye that will cause a hot babe to say “lets get some ice on that.” This will not happen to you.

You will get hit so hard by Goliath that you’ll think you’re gonna die. Actually, you may die. Goliath may actually manslaughter you right there. OR, you’ll throw a punch that lands, demolishes your hand (it hurts real bad…i know cuz i got in fights…whatever, guys…not that big of a deal…it was actually really stupid…i don’t want to talk about it…you could say i have a dark side…) and then you’re going to get arrested, cry in a jail cell, and get fired on Monday.

Speaking of your job…

-Don’t quit your job in dramatic, or really any, fashion. Who hasn’t wanted to recreate the Jerry Maguire scene at their office? (My office even has a goldfish with a box of big plastic bags next to it!)

jerry maguire

Sorry to break it to you, but the response you’re going to get is the HR person putting their hand on your shoulder and asking you to “go have a chat.” In the middle of your big fuck-off speech, someone at the back of the office will take out their headphones and interrupt you with a “what’s happening? what’s he saying?” It’ll ruin your entire flow, you’ll get flustered and accidentally prove that you’re not as good at public speaking as the job you have necessitates. This, my friends, is called a backfire. Even if you stop the “I HAVE PASSIONS I NEED TO EXPLORE!”-speech now, your boss is thinking that someone with such poor planning and public speaking skills isn’t the kind of employee they need right now.

-Don’t have a cigarette. Do they look cool in the movies? UHHHH DOUBLE DUH! What they forget to include after the cigarette is the: instant regret, crippling “Am-I-going-to-have-to-get-one-of-those-voice-box-things?”-fear, a hangover going from a 3 to an 11, and your mouth tasting like wet ass in the morning.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Since I trust you, I want to let you in on a lil secret….Shawn Mendes is a blast-off-to-outer-space STAR. He has a new song out that DADDY LIKEY! Get in on it now. (Also, funny to call him “Shawn Menses” when you’re trying to cut him down in front of your lady person.)

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you take your dog for a walk and she poops twice but you only brought one bag. Somebody saw. Somebody definitely saw you leave that there.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Now, if you’ve been paying attention to jimmyschair, you know that sometimes I change my bets midday. Thankfully, I did that yesterday. The picks I put up on yesterday’s blog would have gone 0 for 4. GOOD THING I EVALUATE THINGS AS THE DAY PROGRESSES CUZ I SWITCHED TWO OF MY BETS AND ENDED UP (basically) EVEN FOR THE DAY!

Tonight? Can you just text me what you think because I am so lost with this tournament? That would be a nice thing to do.

(My account currently at $24.21)

K bye.