In which I get harrassed by casino security over profound nonsense
Sometimes I just get in trouble without even trying.
As I walked to the other side of the building to clock out after my Friday shift, I grabbed a cappuccino from the public machine like I always do. And I needed one that day especially because it was goddamn -54328047840.1784° windchill out.
The south entrance is laid out so there is one large room separated by a 2/3 wall. On one side of the wall is the turnstile where the guest safety officers stand and on the other are the time clocks.
I scanned my timecard and stepped out into the violent ass-chapping cold. I got about halfway across the reserved parking lot when I hear someone bark out "COME HERE (*harpoon noise*)". I turned to determine whether the voice was intended for me. Of course, there was nobody else around. Being the casino-rule-abiding employee that I am, I walked back to see what's up his craw.
Dude's a goofy-looking motherfucker. Moderately tall and mustachio'ed, with receding, stringy brown hair parted down the middle and coming down to his earlobes. Looked to be late 40s-early 50s, and probably never imagined his career would end at this shithole. Personality-wise, he's a hybrid of
and
"What's that?" he snarled, and pointed at the cappuccino, half-concealed by my coat sleeve. "Uh...a cappuccino," I said. "GET IN HERE," he [mean dog noise]s. I reentered the casino; he pointed up at an embossed list of rules and instructed me to read them.
One rule on the sign said "NO TAKING BEVERAGES IN OR OUT OF THE BUILDING WHATSOEVER." The rule immediately above it used the term "alcoholic beverages," so I assumed the rule-makers just shortened it to "beverages" to be concise. I understand that people can sneak in or out with whatever alcoholic beverage they want in a bottle, thermos or coffee cup, but who the fuck is going to serve me alcohol while I'm in my godsdamn uniform? LET IT GO, MAN.
I took note of the rule and headed toward the side of the large room with the time clocks. I immediately noticed that there were no trash cans on that side. The guard, probably thinking that somebody would actually make a run for it with an open, scalding-fucking-hot cappuccino in their hand, interpreted this move as my making a run for it.
I turned around and threw the damn thing away, but the guard wasn't satisfied. He demanded I give him my name and he craned his neck to see my name badge. I finally unclipped it but he had already seen it. "Jeff. Jeff who?" Finally sick of attempting to cooperate with this prick, I snapped back with "YOUR MOTHER" and stormed out.
After my shift on Sunday, I was heading toward the south entrance with a cappuccino in hand (natch). I must have been spacing off because I found myself within 10 feet of the back Officer Douchenozzle's retarded haircut. "Fuck!" I muttered, and paced around trying to find a trashcan.
He finally noticed me, so I walked right past him and threw the drink away, thinking he'd leave me alone despite my full intention to take another beverage out of the building (because it was still cold out and fuck that guy, seriously). But no. I walk past him toward the time clock, and he orders me to "come here." "Uhhhh, no," I snap back as I scan my time card. He yelled "I'm reporting you!" as I walked out the door, and I yelled and muttered "WHATEVER!...fucking idiot," respectively.
Sure enough, he reported me. On Monday, my valet sup took me into a corner and asked "what's going on with you and guest safety?" "You have GOT to be fucking kidding me," I said incredulously, and proceeded to tell him about this asshole. I told him that I initially tried to cooperate and did NOT ultimately break any rules whatsoever, and my sup (totally cool guy, as evidenced by my cursing in his presence) said he'll tell the leads what I told him.
An elderly coatcheck employee, Bob, overheard the conversation and said "Shit, you're getting into trouble without even trying." Ain't that the truth. What I learned from all this is people become intolerable assholes when they put on a badge and will milk whatever molecule of authority they have. IT'S A CAPPUCCINO FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
As I walked to the other side of the building to clock out after my Friday shift, I grabbed a cappuccino from the public machine like I always do. And I needed one that day especially because it was goddamn -54328047840.1784° windchill out.
The south entrance is laid out so there is one large room separated by a 2/3 wall. On one side of the wall is the turnstile where the guest safety officers stand and on the other are the time clocks.
I scanned my timecard and stepped out into the violent ass-chapping cold. I got about halfway across the reserved parking lot when I hear someone bark out "COME HERE (*harpoon noise*)". I turned to determine whether the voice was intended for me. Of course, there was nobody else around. Being the casino-rule-abiding employee that I am, I walked back to see what's up his craw.
Dude's a goofy-looking motherfucker. Moderately tall and mustachio'ed, with receding, stringy brown hair parted down the middle and coming down to his earlobes. Looked to be late 40s-early 50s, and probably never imagined his career would end at this shithole. Personality-wise, he's a hybrid of
and
"What's that?" he snarled, and pointed at the cappuccino, half-concealed by my coat sleeve. "Uh...a cappuccino," I said. "GET IN HERE," he [mean dog noise]s. I reentered the casino; he pointed up at an embossed list of rules and instructed me to read them.
One rule on the sign said "NO TAKING BEVERAGES IN OR OUT OF THE BUILDING WHATSOEVER." The rule immediately above it used the term "alcoholic beverages," so I assumed the rule-makers just shortened it to "beverages" to be concise. I understand that people can sneak in or out with whatever alcoholic beverage they want in a bottle, thermos or coffee cup, but who the fuck is going to serve me alcohol while I'm in my godsdamn uniform? LET IT GO, MAN.
I took note of the rule and headed toward the side of the large room with the time clocks. I immediately noticed that there were no trash cans on that side. The guard, probably thinking that somebody would actually make a run for it with an open, scalding-fucking-hot cappuccino in their hand, interpreted this move as my making a run for it.
I turned around and threw the damn thing away, but the guard wasn't satisfied. He demanded I give him my name and he craned his neck to see my name badge. I finally unclipped it but he had already seen it. "Jeff. Jeff who?" Finally sick of attempting to cooperate with this prick, I snapped back with "YOUR MOTHER" and stormed out.
After my shift on Sunday, I was heading toward the south entrance with a cappuccino in hand (natch). I must have been spacing off because I found myself within 10 feet of the back Officer Douchenozzle's retarded haircut. "Fuck!" I muttered, and paced around trying to find a trashcan.
He finally noticed me, so I walked right past him and threw the drink away, thinking he'd leave me alone despite my full intention to take another beverage out of the building (because it was still cold out and fuck that guy, seriously). But no. I walk past him toward the time clock, and he orders me to "come here." "Uhhhh, no," I snap back as I scan my time card. He yelled "I'm reporting you!" as I walked out the door, and I yelled and muttered "WHATEVER!...fucking idiot," respectively.
Sure enough, he reported me. On Monday, my valet sup took me into a corner and asked "what's going on with you and guest safety?" "You have GOT to be fucking kidding me," I said incredulously, and proceeded to tell him about this asshole. I told him that I initially tried to cooperate and did NOT ultimately break any rules whatsoever, and my sup (totally cool guy, as evidenced by my cursing in his presence) said he'll tell the leads what I told him.
An elderly coatcheck employee, Bob, overheard the conversation and said "Shit, you're getting into trouble without even trying." Ain't that the truth. What I learned from all this is people become intolerable assholes when they put on a badge and will milk whatever molecule of authority they have. IT'S A CAPPUCCINO FOR FUCK'S SAKE.