Where’s The BEEF?

I’ve got a bone to pick with my fellow employees.  First off, I’m chatting with my manager tonight, and he tells me he doesn’t like Seinfeld.  Doesn’t LIKE Seinfeld?  What the F?  Ok, I can MAYBE see saying, I’ve never TUNED IN to Seinfeld.  I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.  But don’t LIKE Seinfeld?!?  That’s some fighting words right there.  I’ve seen every episode probably six times each.  I don’t exaggerate.  Ask me Seinfeld trivia, I’ll answer it.  You can say I’m a fan.  So when you say “I don’t like Seinfeld,” that’s basically someone telling me “I don’t like you.”  Enough said.

#2 gripe for the day.  Tonight, one of the servers says to me, would you like to try some beef?  He does happen to be gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but he was talking literally.  He had scored some left-over beef from the kitchen.  I didn’t see the moment he received the plate of beef from the kitchen, but I ASSUMED that he had already had a couple slices of the beef.  Wouldn’t you?  You get a plate of food, you have a couple bites, then you say, would you like to try some?  I mean, if you didn’t, what are you trying to do?  Make me into your taste-tester to make sure the food isn’t poisoned?  So he leaves, goes to help a table, and I TRY THE BEEF.  Damn, it’s good.  Grisly on the top, rare inside.  Just like I like it.  He’s gone, ok, fine, I’ll have another one.  He’s already had two, three slices, right?  (You see where this is going).  Ok, I’m like a DOG, you put food in front of me, I’m going to eat it.  So I eat the fucking beef, I can’t help myself.  It’s there, sitting there, getting cold.  The server’s no where to be found.  From what I can gather, the guy is done with the beef.  Here you go, Clint, finish it off.  Well, 10 minutes later, he comes back, exclaims,

WHERE’S THE BEEF?!?

Well, holy shit, fornicate with a duck.  He tells me, you ate it all, I didn’t even have any!  What the hell?!?  How is that possible?  You try the food, you’re done with it, you offer the rest to your buddy.  THAT’S HOW THE SCENARIO SHOULD GO.  You don’t get the plate of beef, set it down in front of some starving dog without having some first!!!!

So after we’re done tonight, there’s the server, another server, and the manager.  I’m like, WHAT’S UP WITH THIS?!?  You don’t get a plate of food, offer it to someone, without having some first!!!  Then you walk away!?!  What the HELL do you think’s gonna happen?!?  The GUY is gonna EAT THE BEEF.

(I’m really getting into it here, with voice raised, mock horror, to show how dismayed I am, and to cover up how guilty I feel about eating all the beef).

I mean, WHAT DOES HE EXPECT!!!  And then HE WALKED AWAY as if he didn’t CARE about eating any of the beef!  This beef fiasco IS NOT MY FAULT.  IT.  IS.  HIS.

My manager looks at me and says,

You know what?  Shut the fuck up.  This is exactly why I hate Seinfeld.

 

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