Crazy Yacht Parties: Tales Of A Crazy Biatch Bonus Round

Have you read about Marjorie before?  If so, continue, if not, here’s some context.

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

 

So, of course, Marjorie had a lot of other stories that I just couldn’t fit in because they just weren’t as bat shit crazy as the rest of her stories, but there was one that I remembered, and I thought, “My god, this would get me so many views and people might use these stories in work seminars to explain why you should avoid crazy—I SHOULD TOTALLY TELL IT!”

So, alas, here is the story of how Marjorie told me about how she threw a party on her yacht when her dad died.

Yes, you read that right.

Marjorie claimed to be a gold digger.  However, I thought gold diggers were supposed to be extremely pretty and hot and pretty much super models, something that Marjorie wasn’t.  She wasn’t ugly by any means, but she was fairly average looking, and on the heavier side.  When I think gold diggers, I think more along the lines of Kate Upton.

Definitely not Marjorie

Definitely not Marjorie

However, she said that in her home state, she had a bunch of sports cars and sports boats, and even a yacht, because her sugar daddies and ex-husbands believed in taking care of her in the best possible way.

At this point, I figured that she must be delusional, but I smiled and let her continue her bat shit craziness.

She told me that her dad was a military officer and she had 5 or six siblings, I forget honestly.  She said that she and her siblings all hated their dad, but before she told me that, she said that her dad died a few years ago.

I told her I was sorry and her response was something along the lines of, “Oh it’s no big.  We all had a huge boat party to celebrate when he died.  We were so drunk!  It was so crazy!”

When I gave her a look of horror, she went on to explain.  “Oh, my dad was a total asshole.  We hated him.  So we had a big party on my yacht to celebrate him dying.”

Because, you know, that’s what you do when someone dies.  Have a party on a yacht.

She went on to explain all the things that they did on her yacht, and how they all did their greek mythology worship, which to me made no sense.  A friend of mine who is extremely well versed in greek mythology laughed quite a bit when I told her Marjorie’s “religious beliefs” because Marjorie was totally and completely misinformed about what each god represented.  Also, it was increasingly difficult to follow her stories, they kept changing.  I’m sure if she told that story now, the party would have been on her own private cruise ship, because her sugar daddy owned Princess Cruises or something like that.

I don’t know, I just know that the stories seemed to never end.

What is the craziest thing you’ve heard people do when someone dies?  Did you enjoy the stories about Marjorie?  Let me know in the comments!

He Cheated With An Asian Hooker: Tales of A Crazy Biatch Pt 4

If you have not read about Marjorie yet, go read these first

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

 

In the first two weeks that I had known Marjorie, she had been punched out and given a black eye at the very friendly Laundromat in North Pole, she had her body builder four year old (who I’m fairly sure is imaginary) lift a dresser and break her foot, she had gotten married, gotten drunk while pregnant, had a miscarriage and C-section from said miscarriage, and gotten married.

That’s a lot of shit to happen to a person over the course of two weeks.  Oh, she started working the day that she flew in.  So from the day she stepped foot in Alaska, all of that stuff happened.

Of course, she had to top each story with the last.  At least, I think that’s what was running through her pretty little head.

She came to work one day, her boot on, her black eye on the wrong side of the day before, huffing and stating that she’s divorcing her husband that she’s been married to for almost two weeks.  He flew to Korea for a yearlong deployment, or so she told us, and he blamed her for the miscarriage.

Well, apparently, she was very torn up about the miscarriage.  He was excited to be a daddy, and when she told him that she lost the baby, he blamed her.  He said that it was her fault and she was trying to sabotage any chance he had to be a father.  She told us that the argument lasted a while, and the next day when she called to try to makeup with him, he confessed that he cheated on her.

By going to a massage parlor off base.

And getting a “special massage” from one of the Asian masseuses.

I have to reiterate though, this is the version that she told me.

Each person she told this to was a different variation.  She told one person he just cheated and did it before they were married and confessed after they were married, she told someone else that he cheated with a friend in Korea.

The bottom line was though, was that she was leaving his lying, cheating sorry ass.

But she said that she wanted to stay in Alaska, because why not?

Fresh Starts and Lots of Men

Fresh Starts and Lots of Men

So she decided to stay in Alaska, working with us at the bowling alley, and there was one evening… the evening where she went from just crazy, to crazy biatch.

It was a single airmen bowling event.  All of the airmen on base were allowed one free meal and three games of free bowling to get them out of the dorms, for Senior Airmen and lower, so we were fully packed.  We had two cashiers and two cooks working.  Me and the cook that were working had close to 30 tickets backed up at one point, and most of the orders included beer.

When we would get really busy like that, we would put one beer pitcher in front of the register that said “tips.”  How tips worked for us is that we would split them down the middle for everyone.  So if there were four of us and there were only ten dollars in tips, we each got $2.50.

Fair, right?  The cooks did more than just cook, a lot of times it would be a little slow in back and the cashier in the front would be backed up calling out orders, so the cooks would come around and call out orders, get any other little things needed like ranch, bbq, and so on.  We prided ourselves in being a good team, which is why we were voted the best customer service on base, in the top five in the Air Force.

This particular evening was no exception.  For over two hours we were slammed, there was no talking between employees.  Marjorie, however, would not let the second cashier do anything.  She would shove her over to get the beer, she’d shove her over to get the orders called out, so our little cashier was very frustrated and helped us in the kitchen since our orders were so backed up.

At around 8 pm, when Marjorie’s shift was up, she counted up the tips.

They equaled up to nearly $75.  All of us were fairly excited.  That’s a decent amount for all of us to take home.  Not impressive, but decent.

Marjorie thought so too.  So much so, that as she was leaving that night, she took all of the tips and left when there was another round of people coming in.  Technically, yes, her shift was over, but we had an agreement that if it was really busy like that, we stay to help out.  There had been times where I worked 10 hours instead of 8 hours to help out, we had all done it before.  Marjorie would not stay, and she took all of the tips.

Marjorie, but add some crazy

Marjorie, but add some crazy

We were furious.

I told my manager about it, who then talked to Marjorie, to which Marjorie stated that she didn’t know we were supposed to share, and that we weren’t helping her and the guys who tipped her said that they were for her and her alone.

Nobody liked Marjorie after that.  Nobody talked to her.  I don’t know what other crazy stories she had, because I didn’t want anything to do with her.  While I personally didn’t need the tips, the other cashier had a newborn at home and could have really used the extra few dollars.  The other cook didn’t work a lot and he even admitted that a few extra dollars in his pocket would have been nice.

And it was an honor system.  I always shared my tips.  My coworkers could sometimes say that I was a crappy employee, and I had moments where I was not a good employee.  There were times where I was a shady coworker.  There were times where I would sit on my ass and do nothing.  I wasn’t a perfect employee, getting into yelling matches with my manager about politics, but at the end of the day, I was honorable.  I never stole, or if I forgot to pay for my food, I would go back and pay for that and a second item.   I was fair with my tips, and I eventually learned what it meant to be a fair coworker by pulling my weight.  It took a lot of fights, it took a lot of being crapped on by people like Marjorie, but in the end, I learned a lesson.

Marjorie never did learn a lesson.  Marjorie had no honor.  Marjorie defended her theft and hated the rest of us for telling on her.

A few weeks later we had our first cold spurt of -20 and snowfall.  In mid-October.   Marjorie thought that it would only be cold like that for a few months, when we told her it didn’t warm up until close to May, she turned in her two week notice and booked the first flight back home.  She had been renting her furniture and had returned it, sold everything else that she didn’t want to ship back.

She was gone as quickly as she had come, much to everyone’s relief.

I recently did some stalking on her, she’s been married and divorced again since that happened, as well as been in a few “serious” relationships.  There is still no sign that she has a child.  She’s back home and waiting for Mr. Right, because the first five husbands weren’t Mr. Right.

A long while after Marjorie was gone, I was joking about her to my manager, a woman who is the same age as my mother and treated me better than any manager I have ever had, period.  Honestly, if more managers were like the manager I had at the bowling alley, there wouldn’t be so many issues in businesses.  She would help cook if we were backed up, she would do dishes, she would mop floors, and if my pay was screwed up, she would have it fixed by the end of the day.

Sorry, getting ahead of myself.  To say the least, my manager was the bomb.

But when talking about Marjorie, she said she’d hire Marjorie back in a heartbeat.  When she told me this, I gave her a ghastly look.  Her reason?

“That girl was so crazy, it never got boring here.  I was half tempted to get some popcorn when she’d tell her batshit crazy stories because they were just so damn insane.”

We would then laugh at the boob strings, and when we noticed our coworkers with perky boobs, we’d ask them where they had their boob strings put in.  If someone hurt their foot, we would ask if a four year old did it, and Marjorie became a running joke.

I guess I should say though, that I learned a lot about myself working with Marjorie.

I should never settle for less.  I should never believe in love at first sight, and that lying does nothing but cause problems.  I also learned what it meant to be a good employee.  I learned what it meant to have someone’s back, and most importantly, I learned why it’s important to work hard in life, especially in school.

I never want to work with someone as crazy as Marjorie again for as long as I live.  I started going back to college not too long after I worked with her.

So that, my loyal readers, is how I survived working with a woman who was likely mentally insane.

Have you ever worked with someone that made you want to be a better employee?  Have you ever had a shady coworker steal and try to justify it?  Let me know in the comments!

Don’t Wear Sweatpants on Sundays

So this last Sunday, in preparation for the Super Bowl Commercials, Alex realized we were out of beer.  Football commercials just aren’t the same without beer, so I volunteered to go to the store.

Since I never leave my house, I have a very comfy pair of sweat pants that are light gray, bleach stained, and show any type of wetness on them.  Strike one.

I also hadn’t showered yet this day because if I was going to be eating queso dip and drinking beer all night, I figured I didn’t need to shower quite yet.  Strike two.

And I get into my car, where I had left the windows open and it rained, so I sat down on a very, VERY wet seat.  Strike three.

I get to the gas station and everyone is actively avoiding me.  I know I probably don’t smell that pretty, I’m wearing sweatpants where the rear end was wet, and I looked like total crap because I hadn’t brushed my crazy hair yet and I was dressed like a hobo.

Seriously I had no idea what was going on.  Everyone in the store was actively avoiding me.  I get to the counter and the guy there, who is usually really friendly, couldn’t ring me up fast enough, then basically shoved me out the door.

I understand that it’s a bad idea to leave your house wearing anything but your Sunday’s best on a Sunday, but I didn’t think I’d be totally shunned.

So when I get home, I tell the story to Alex.  He hugs me, then pushes me away. 

“Are you wearing deodorant?”

I shake my head.  “No, I forgot to put some on this morning.”

“I hate to tell you love, but you smell awful.”

My eyes widen.  “Wait a minute… does my butt look wet to you?”

I turn around, and he starts laughing.  “Did you sit down in a puddle of water?”

I start laughing too, of course.

I’m pretty sure that everyone at the gas station thought I had wet my pants and was buying beer. 

This is why I don’t leave my house.