That non sequitur caught my attention, too…best guess is they’re referring to the Carter Administration trying to stabilize the dairy industry with subsidies in 1977 which led to a massive backlog of cheap, processed cheese stuff that Reagan unloaded on welfare recipients throughout the '80s.
I don’t even remember why now, but just a couple days ago I looked up how long ago Harris Yulin died…still alive.
I think it’s a metaphor.
I’ve tried to focus more on “being friendly” than “making friends.” It’s definitely beneficial to be cordial and stay on good terms with people. The last 3 jobs I’ve gotten have been through networking and direct referrals from old coworkers. I hate bowling but I still accept the invites to the semi-annual charity bowling events at my old workplace because I like catching up with some of the old guys and I want to keep my options open if something open up.
I also think it partly depends on whether you’re just punching the clock or if you have career aspirations. I’ve known plenty of guys who were buddy-buddy with everyone then got promoted to a managerial/leadership position and struggled because they didn’t know how to maintain professional distance.
As far as dating at work…after a couple rough experiences in my early 20’s I’d say never again. Echo what someone else said, “don’t do it at a job you can’t afford to walk away from.”
My wife and I both enjoy teasing / lightly pranking each other. We had to institute a “safe word” to indicate when we’re being serious and not setting up a joke.
(The instigating event for that was right before I introduced her to my grandparents and I really needed to convince her that grandpa was hard of hearing but too proud to wear hearing aids, so she’d have to speak loudly and into his left ear, not his right.)
In 10 years of marriage, we’ve never once violated the trust of the safe word. If one of uses it, the other drops any skepticism and takes it as gospel truth.
Football Manager. I’m a simple man. I don’t like starting off as a top team, it’s always more fun for me to download one of the extended databases and take an amateur Sunday League team to the highest heights. I’ve been managing my current side, Wakefield AFC, for almost 20 years. I’ve led them up the ladder from the Northern Counties East League Division One to the Championship.
I remember the first time we averaged more than 100 fans in attendance per season. I remember the first player we sold for cash (veteran midfielder Jack Sang, for a whopping $2,400) instead of letting go on a free. I remember our first ever televised match in 2030 during our Cinderella run in the FA Cup. It was a respectable 2-1 loss to a team 3 divisions above us, but the $250k share of the gate receipts saved us from bankruptcy. I can picture the statue they’ll build someday of Seb Bolton, who scored 116 goals in 223 appearances between 2026-2032 and led us to back-to-back promotions. I’m currently trying to shepherd the development of youth player Tony Okonkwo, a 6’5" center forward who very well could become our first homegrown million dollar man.
This will not rate against actual horror stories that any other server could tell, but it’s all I’ve got so I’ll tell it anyway.
My family briefly owned a restaurant years ago in our small rural hometown, I briefly worked there as a bartender when I was down and out. Before it was our restaurant, the building had housed a seedy blue collar bar; video poker lounge, selling drugs out of the kitchen, most of the clientele arrived on foot because they were on suspended licenses for DUIs, etc. We were not a fine dining establishment by any means but definitely more upscale by comparison. Tablecloths, steaks and chops, largest selection of craft beers in the county.
One night while I’m behind the bar a 50ish year old guy comes in with his two early 20s sons. Dad is dressed like upper middle class, kids are preppies. Loafers and polo shirts. The dad is visibly surprised and confused when he sits down at the bar. He explains that he had intended to show his boys a good time at the crappy dive bar he used to haunt when he went to college in the neighboring big city years and years ago, couldn’t believe this was the same place. I explain how we’re a respectable family establishment now, make small talk about his old college days, reminisce about ol’ man Patterson who used to hold up the end of the bar every night back in the day (died of lung cancer), recommend beer pairings for the food they order…basically charming the shit out of him. Can’t stop talking about how nice it is, how great it is, how they ought to come back with the rest of the family sometime.
He settles up the tab. “Wow, what a great meal! This has really been great!” I prepare to receive the a hefty tip. Check the receipt book…no tip. I even went so far as to check the floor on the other side of the bar, thinking maybe the cash money had accidentally slipped off. Nada. Got stiffed.
The next night, him and the sons are back, this time with mom and two other couples, a table of nine of them all together. They get the big table in the back room, everyone orders the ribeye, multiple bottles of our best wine, in there for several hours getting grade A service. After closing their waitress comes over to me. “Can you believe those fuckers didn’t leave a tip!?”
Yes I can, Haley…yes I can.
I have a certain “go with the flow”-ness that helps me glide through.
Here ya go