This is not a story about light bulbs

I just read something that brought to mind a war story of restaurant past and with it a small philosophical question I’ve never seem to come to a conclusion on.  I suppose it’s not so much a question as it’s just a general statement with varying directions of possible outcomes.

It follows as such:  Does the squeaky wheel get oiled, does it bring attention to all the wheels and get them all oiled, does it bring about the option of getting them all replaced or does it garner just enough attention to get itself replaced?  I imagine it really all depends on who’s listening and how far away the nearest oil can is.   And just for shits and giggles, the war story…..

I worked at this restaurant that opened for “Brunch” every Sunday.  And only Sunday, the absolute worst fuck me shift to get being a young townie fresh on the scene of life with a pocket full of money and no real obligations.   Everyone hated it, we would pay other servers just to take the shift for us if we could find one and don’t even try to call in, the bosses knew the deal.  The best bet was to try and get a little shut eye yet stay drunk enough that your hangover didn’t kick in ’til you were closed out and rolling silverware in hopes you didn’t draw the dreaded double shift.

Anyhow, on this particular Sunday morning we were completely slammed per usual.  But for some ungodly reason there was only one coffee pot in the whole damn place.  Decaf, you know the glass ones with the orange rim/spout/handle.  Well it was killing everybody, who knows what happened but the customers were all in an uproar bitchin’ and complaining about their coffee.  Either it being not full or just nonexistent.

So I had had enough of all the shenanigans of people trying to appease the customers, switching regular into the single pot and dumping the decaf, only to brew another pot.  It was completely ridiculous and something had to be done.  Well I took it upon myself to remedy the problem.  I decided as I took a quick turn around a corner off the carpet and onto the tile, yes…… there, where no one could see how it went down in all it’s staged glory, with my left hand I let that puppy fly.  Never has the sound of glass shattering felt so rewarding.

Photo: google pics,(

7 thoughts on “This is not a story about light bulbs

  1. Pingback: To Everybody…… I’m Sorry, Very,Very, Sorry. | theclocktowersunset

  2. I thought we had a deal: when you write a horror story, I need a spoiler alert! A shattered coffee pot qualifies as a horror story. Still, I forgive you. Desperate times, yadda yadda. 🙂

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