When school started I was relegated to the five to seven shift. I really couldn’t believe that this was an actual shift. I had to work everyday to get any hours. The five to seven shift consisted of sweeping and mopping the floor and bathrooms, emptying the trash in the kitchen, washing the dishes and making the cookies. The most difficult part was washing the soup warmers. Especially on days when we had cream of broccoli which no one liked and consequently crusted and adhered itself with amazing strength to the sides of the pot.
Jobs in Food: Schlotzsky’s Part One October 4, 2008
When I was 16 I got a job at Schlotzsky’s. Their slogan was and still is: Funny Name, Serious Sandwich. A more apt slogan would be: Stupid Name No One Can Spell, Average Sandwich on Vaguely Compelling Bread but I guess it just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Cater This by Sean Murphy: PIP October 3, 2008
There’s something oddly fascinating about being in the presence of a genuinely stupid human being. Not a boring, run-of-the-mill, thick-headed doofus; but a bona fide, jaw-droppingly inept, “how did they survive this long?” stone-cold moron. When the conditions are just right, exposure to such a person can be an exhilarating experience. Todd “Lickity” Split was that kind of man.
One Line Reviews: Jack in the Box September 27, 2008
Omar’s Highway Chef Restaurant September 26, 2008
There’s just something about truck stops. Trucking culture is an inclusive society but lucky for the rest of us it fosters the existence of wildly non exclusive restaurants. Omar’s Highway Chef Restaurant is just such a place. I’ve heard legends over the years about how good their pie is, but had never checked it out for myself. For starters it seemed like it was so far away, it’s located off I-10 at exit 268, which I want to say is Craycroft but either way it didn’t take that long to get there. Secondly, though I like pie, it isn’t something I crave on a regular basis.
Cater This by Sean Murphy: Your Cup Runneth Over September 24, 2008
(Between 1979 and 1986 I worked in the catering department at the University of Arizona Student Union. These are some of my stories.)
It should’ve been easy – lunch for thirty two in the President’s dining room (or PDR as we called it). Four round-tops seating eight apiece of which I was only responsible for two. Piece of cake.
Lunches were never much of a hassle anyway, it was dinners that sucked. At night everybody wanted to hang out and talk while we paced in the wings, waiting for them to leave so we could bus the tables and set up again – but lunches were pretty cut-and-dry; get’ em in, get ‘em fed, get ‘em out.
I’d served this group before – The Daughter’s of the American West, a social club of feisty senior-citizens bussed up from Green Valley every month to reminisce about the good ol’ days of cattle branding, barbed-wire fences and killing Indians. They never gave me much trouble, at most I’d have to reheat a plate or keep replenishing Sweet’N Low but not much else. What could possibly go wrong?