hope not, but i think so, cause i dunno where else the thing coulda landed. in my left hand, everything's fine, then whoopsy-daisy, it slipped off, i saw the thing flying his way, my peripheral vision, and the more i think about it (almost a minute now), the more i become of the opinion that where the rubber band i was just using to rubber band some pens together just LANDED was in his cup of soup.

i don't think he saw it, when it landed, i think he was unawares, cause he's ogling the women at twelve, very distracted by them, never seen women before apparently, but i am almost positive it's only a matter of time before he puts that spoon in, lifts it out and comes face to spoon with a big wide heavy rubbery rubber band. a matter of time.

and look. look. damn. yep. little soup drops splattered all over round the cup and saucer. little splatters like soup displacement cause a rubber band just landed in there. damn. shit.

crap. this is gonna be bad. this i fear will rival the other quasi-legendary gross yet who coulda predicted it thing that happened to a customer here: the guy who found freshly chewed gum stuck to the tip of the underside of a breadstick, but didn't 'find it' til it was in his mouth already. boy, no way you could ever predict something like THAT and boy, was THAT guy ever mad and boy, who can blame him. sickening to be crunching on a breadstick, then you have someone else's freshly-chewed gum in among the crunch. disgusting. no WONDER he didn't stick around for his drink order, salad and entree then perhaps coffee and dessert. (course dan didn't help matters much, certainly hastened the guy's departure, fuel to the fire, by asking if he was sure it wasn't his gum in the first place. just shut up, dan, shut your mouth less you know for a FACT that what you're about to say will help the situation.)

i didn't even try to convince him to stay (woulda been folly).  just asked him to hold on just one second, then scooted downstairs, wrote out a gift certificate fast as my trembling hands would let me. fifty bucks, which i thought wasn't such a bad deal. he could come back later on, have a nice meal for two, maybe some wine, dessert, he'd still have money left over. and if he didn't touch the breadsticks (which, later on, indeed he didn't, cause he never came back), he'd be fine (can't say i blame him for not coming back. i wouldn't. gum on a breadstick's a deal-breaker).

(and we were never able to figure out how gum got under his breadstick.)

now there's this woman-ogling guy and the rubber band i shot into his soup. how will he take it? will he be good customer or will he be bad customer? seems grumpy and impatient, a guy not likely to be placated/assuaged by ANY amount of honest and sincere mea culpas, like everything's gotta be just perfect for him. i should get a head start, duck downstairs to get a gift certificate, cause looks like i'm gonna need one, just as soon as he discovers that there's a rubber band in his soup. which there is, there must be, no other place it coulda landed. it's nowhere else on his table, not on the ledge behind him, not on the floor, sure as shit not in my hands still (is it? no ...), he'll find it, and when he does, he will demand reparations. better get downstairs.

(oh ... oh ... oh ... please god please god please, i don't beg you for much but i am BEGGING you now to intervene and make it so he sees the rubber band before he bites it. don't let it be breadstick-gum all over again. please god you can take a few years off my life if you want, dunno why you'd want that, god, but mine is not to wonder why, mine is only to say that if you want, okay, just i'd really rather not hafta deal with another whole scene like that breadstick-gum one. the guy wildly gesticulating, jabbing the breadstick in the air, thrusting it at everyone, all the other customers, gum tip first. really rather not.)

okay. now. where did jimmy move the gift certificates to. not here where they usually are, not in the folder that says GIFT CERTIFICATES. man oh man, even JIMMY. how can i come down on the employees, my underlings, my minions, if even JIMMY disregards the ... ah, here they are. not where they belong, but CLOSE to where they belong. i'll settle for that, at this point.

(gift certificate ... in the amount of ... fifty ... american ... bucks ... good until ... just put 'no expiration' ... slip it into the envelope and i won't seal the ...)

man, my signature's like i just had a stroke. all shaky, unsteady, and like i'm learning to write again, as if for the first time. look at me. stressed out frazzled every which way. wouldn't be this way, none of this would be happening, i'd be enjoying my quiet calm sunday evening if only i had employees who understood the importance of how i want things, who weren't complete slobs. lazy slothful slobs. casual and sloppy.

everyone seems to have time to chitchat, gossip, say shit bout me behind my back, but looks like no one has time to make sure the DRAWERS remain organized. opened a drawer for something very pressing, something i needed (doesn't matter what it was, but it was a rubber band, and not the one i just shot into the guy's soup upstairs), and the thing was a complete mess. my little compartmentalized system of where things should go was ancient history, apparently. paper clips not in their proper thing, crayons everywhere BUT in the glasses i want 'em in, (hey, thanks for buying all those crayons, jimmy, i'll get you back, revenge shall be sweet and mine, JAMES), green and red and black and blue pens just thrown in there, loose, all kindsa pads of different sizes not stacked neatly but strewn willy nilly. the reason i had a rubber band in the first place is cause i was trying to bring some semblance of order to a needlessly unorganized crap drawer. guy wouldn't have his soup messed up if i didn't hafta clean up after slobs. (i also realize that none of this would be happening if i had bigger, more dextrous hands, but i can't do anything bout my hands, now can i. employee behavior i can try to change. which i will. try anyway.)

yeah. i feel another memo coming on. people will roll their eyes, 'oh great, here he goes again,' but it'll be their fault. slobs. rather chat and goof and laze than keep things spic and span, then that's what you get. a chiding memo that annoys you.

all right. climb the stairs, one at a time, not two like i usually climb. don't hear any ruckus. no one's yelling. that's a good sign. no one's throwing anything, no crashing breaking shattering sounds. general eating and merriment sounds. good, good, good. just ... open the door a crack ... just crack enough to peep through ... okay ... okay ... he's ... outta the way laura, he ...

okay ... yep. yep, shit, yeah, he just ... yeah, i think so, cause the way he's looking at his soup spoonful right now, he either just found a rubber band or he REALLY doesn't like the soup. that is either the look of what the fuck is this, some kinda RUBBER band?, or it is the look of they call this beef BARLEY?

nope, it's the former not the latter. damn. yep. there it is. big heavy wide rubber ... yep, hanging off the ... yep, and now he's calling jason over ... he ... yep. crap. not taking it too well. all right. on the count of three. count of three, i open the door and take this over to him and hope that i can smooth-talk my way outta yet another one of life's little wrenches in the ... okay. count of three.

one ...

two ...