Banquet Blues

My job at Dollar General is better than ever hoped it would be. It's pace is much more leisurely than that of Andy's, and I feel a bit more valuable there. I get to interact face-to-face with customers (something I never do behind the cookline) and for a quarter more an hour than Andy's. This just goes to prove my initial hypothesis: working in the food industry sucks urinal flush knobs. Still, Angie, my boss at Andy's, GOT me the job at Dollar General, so I'm in a bit of debt to her.

Even though my life could be made a lot simpler by simply quitting Andy's all together, I keep on working there because I feel I owe Angie my loyalty, though she might not be as fortunate among other employees. Apparently, many of the staff there are working under Angie simply as a favor. They too sacrifice better situations for her behalf. William, an assistant manager(?) may be quitting soon for a better paying job at another Andy's close by. He says he's covered Angie's behind more times than he can count and is tired of it. Part of the wait staff have already put in applications with other companies and eagerly await the chance to make better money and work better hours. Angie is a nice woman, but she is running a business, and the employer-employee contract should be beneficiary to both parties, not a charity to one. Her children are unruly (one of whom had to be fired from their position at the restaurant). The store is always in debt, and rumors constantly circulate of the immanent doom looming over Angie's career--as if any day now she could be replaced. Still, even though I am not the most valuable employee and my last paycheck was under fifteen dollars, I will stick by her. She helped get another job at a time when I thought it would be impossible. She works hard, and her life isn't cream, sugar, and peaches either.

I went to the annual Andy's banquet last night with Angie and the staff. We all took the hour-and-a-half trip up to Greenville in a caravan of three cars, two of which were packed and one of which contained only the driver. Guess who rode by their lonely lonesome-- Me. There was a smoker's car (which you could not pay me to ride in) and a car packed with a bunch of girls who were, of course, best friends and would rather all cram to absolute capacity in a little white Chevy than for even one of them to ride in my Dad's leather-seat Maxima to keep me company on the long drive up (or even on the long drive back). I ended up singing John Mayer songs to my self the whole way with sparse interruptions by the radio. At any rate, once we got to the convocation Center of ESU, there was actually very little of the famed dancing that there was supposed to be (really the only reason I went). The "dance floor" was just a space on the carpet with no tables on it far too small for even a fraction of the attendees to cut a rug upon. No matter, really, the dancing and *cringe* Karaoke only lasted about an hour. The rest of the six-hour convention was a neon mosaic of speeches, award presentations, and "Andy's American Idol" where ten contestants sung it out in a battle for loudest acclaim (and a subsequent thousand-dollar check). The sound stage was pretty elaborate, with booming sound and three live screens playing amplifying the on-stage happenings. The food they served was pretty good--especially the carrot cake and potatoes--but the only thought on my head about an hour into the event was "when can we leave." Apparently, "we" does not include those who rode up in the smoker's car. That's right, four us who came up from Holly Springs (including Angie) drove back at the first hint of a chance. Really, only the driver needed to get back to attend to her child who contracted a fever (probably), but who could possibly pass up a chance to leave this bore early, right? At least they could have had the courtesy to tell us they were leaving. Perhaps I was just characteristically out of the loop. In any case, Angie's unnecessary departure made William anger enough to ask for a job at another store; a job I'm pretty sure he'll be starting soon. He mentioned that they should have just let the one with the sick child go back alone, hold off on the smoking for a couple hours, and just ride back home with me in the Maxima because I rode up all by my myself. At first I was touched that he was sensitive to my feelings of loneliness, but then I realized he was just mad at Angie for leaving her employees to endure the banquet without being willing to do it herself. Silly me, I have no feelings.

After the events of the banquet, we were we were all hungry again since we didn't get much to eat at the banquet (names can be misleading) . Moreover, they complained that the food served there was horrible, so they decided to go to that most exotic wonderful restaurant of unbeatable quality. Namely, The Wafflehouse? Yes, there weren't exactly enough places for us to sit at one table, so we pulled a chair. Who got to sit in the in-the-way chair of ostracism? Why me again, of course! As honored as I felt, I decided I need to be more humble... I mean humiliated. My knife, lathered in butter I never used nor even put to a knife, slipped off of the plate I had to stack to make room and grazed my suite as well as the dress of one of my lovely coworkers. Brook, the butter-afflicted maiden, mostly laughed it off (thank heavens) and I wiped the butter stainlessly off the pant of my suite. Believe me, it could have been worse.

From the parking lot of the Wafflehouse, they all left in the little white car to go and be dropped off at their respective houses, leaving me, Chase I-don't-know-where-the-heck-I'm-goin' Vaughan, to fend for myself on the night-time roads. I'm sure they would have helped me if I asked, but frankly I was at glad to no longer be tied so awkwardly to their company. At least now I could screw up all I wanted and nobody had to be the wiser. My cell phone, of course, had NO battery left because it called home in my pocket during the banquet (leaving an interesting message on the machine). I had no way of calling home for directions, so I picked a direction, and went in it. Eventually, I hit a rode I knew, though not which direction to turn at that intersection. Once again, I picked a direction, though this time the wrong direction. Actually, I picked the right direction, decided it was the wrong direction and went in the wrong direction until the road name changed to something I didn't recognize. Then I turned around and drove in the right direction, following familiar roads until I made my way home. No applause, please.

Nope, it wasn't the best of nights, but at least a little fun. Believe me, my company was no where near as beastly as I've depicted them here. Most of my alienation is brought on solely because of myself and no one else. I write these events truthfully in the way I felt them, as is the only way to write in a journal. My language is colored, of course, but the events are truthful. If I had to, I guess, I'd do it again. The waitstaff was bouquet beautiful in their gorgeous gowns and dazzling dresses. Their make-up was marvelous and their scents, sensational. They were so beautiful that evening, and I tried to tell them so. My opinion seems to be easily lost between the cushions, and my voice becomes timid in such situations. In any case, it was a good time to dress up and feel handsome for a little while.

And with that, I must sleep.