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The UNION Strikes Back


FOR THE FIRST TIME in a quarter of a century, all workers for public transit systems in New York City have gone on strike, refusing to find their way onto those sleazy buses and subways that normal New Yorkers pay money to sit through every day. Now New York is charging them a million dollars for every day they don't show up.

See, this is just another piece of evidence that humans are the greatest beings on Earth…because, no matter what, they always find a way to make even the noblest of organizations corrupt. And I’m not talking about the presidency.

No, I’m talking about unions. And the real culprit behind this pitiable insurgency was that Industrial Revolution. Ever since men stopped farming their fields and started working in the factories for employers, they’ve been getting stiffed majorly. I’ve been stiffed by my bosses, and I know you have too. It’s just the way the world works now. Business owners keep their employees only as happy as they have to be to keep working there. Even the word is meaning of control and unhappiness…BOSS. I may as well call him MASTER or LORD.

And this leads me someplace else. I can’t stand when the general manager for a chain of restaurants or other organizations thinks that they own the company. I worked at OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE for several months, and all the while MIKE O’DOWD always referred to the restaurant as “his.” What a load of crap. When a person spends too much time without an immediate supervisor, they are soon to forget that they aren’t GOD ALMIGHTY.

I’ll give you a good example I happen to have memorized. It comes immediately after I explained to a customer his options for a side item, which included a baked potato, a mashed potato, a sweet potato, steamed broccoli, steamed veggies, sautéed mushrooms, grilled onions, or French fries. Only they’re not called French fries on the menu. On the menu they’re called “Auzzie Chips.” Yeah, I know how gay and utterly unnecessary it sounds, but it’s true. I’ve simply noticed that if I say we serve “Aussie Chips,” the customer tends to picture some sort of homemade potato chips. I don’t know what makes they think that, probably the word CHIPS, but they do anyway. God help them.

Anyway, LORD MIKEY heard my description – which the customer loved, I might add – and called me to the back of the restaurant:

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh…?”

“What did you tell that guy we serve French fries
for? We don’t serve French fries in my restaurant. We serve Aussie Chips. If you want to serve French fries, go work at
McDonalds!”

I explained my reasoning behind the sudden company name
change. That turned out to be pointless.

“If it confuses them, use the description.”

“What description is that?”

“Aussie Chips,” he said, “our homemade, seasoned French fries.”

“Well, heck. That’s just asinine.”

“You’re the one who applied to work in this miserable coalhole," he comforted me, "if you weren’t prepared for redundant titles and preposterous regulations, you shouldn’t have come to work here.”

“Good point, Master.”



So, in hindsight, I see I should have joined a union. Then we’d all just stop showing up and that’d teach him a thing or two about messing with C. Nicholas Walker! But you know what would have happened next?

“Hello, Unemployment Office.”

Yeah that sounds just exactly like that black-haired big-head full-of-himself piece of work. At least he gave you something to blog about.

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