Thursday, April 18, 2013

Great Expectations....of Customers

Recently, I had the glorious opportunity to speak to a customer who was clearly unhappy with the order she had picked up the night before and taken home.  I am going to call her HexNaw, and I am doing this because that was the only thing I could understand in the first 2 minutes of her rambling.

I don't mind customers, I really don't.  I actually enjoy a great majority of my interactions with them, but those rare diamonds in the rough, those exceptionally well-spoken, those outstanding productive members of society who are only looking for free food or a discount....they are the reason so many people detest the service industry.

I'm going to relay the conversation to you and then I'll begin my destruction of her.  HexNaw, very politely and clearly, explains to me that she had picked up her food the previous evening and, upon returning home, discovered that "it jus' wun' right." When asked to elaborate, HexNaw informed me that she likes her food to be extra saucy and well done, "like burnt."  She then said that she would be needing a refund for her food and would like it to be re-made today.  When asked if she had ordered her food with extra sauce and well done, she naturally said "naw, it jus' s'pose to be like dat."  I politely told her that I couldn't do a refund since the food was made the day before, but if she would like to bring it back in, I'd be glad to remake whatever she brought.  She brings me what she had, about 75% of her order.  I remade what was there and upon giving her the bag, I let her know that our food is not automatically cooked well done and that extra sauce was available by request.  I told her that she was welcome to inform us when she places the order how she would like things cooked, but her specific brand of expectation was not "the way it s'pose to be."  HexNaw left, with fresh food, and still looked at me like I was the devil who had pooped in a box and given it to her to take home the night before.

So, here are my issues with this.

First, if you're going to call and bitch about your food, learn to goddamn speak with some sort of clarity.  I shouldn't have to rip out my phone and hold it up to the speaker so I can GoogleTranslate everything you say because I don't speak your adorable brand of mindless babble.  Second, you tell me your food "jus' wun' right."  In what way, shape or form am I to be able to understand what the hell that means?  You wanna know why it wasn't right?  Probably because you waited until late to eat it and the food had gotten cold, which unless you have lived in a damn cave is pretty much common sense.  The longer food sits there, the less "right it gon' be."  Third, you are bringing food back to a restaurant THE DAY AFTER YOU BOUGHT IT and you expect a damn refund?  Do you try this shit in every store you visit?  I got a can of Pringles once from a gas station and the bottom half of the can had primarily broken chips in it, but did I go back and bitch the next day?  No, I sucked it up and said, oh well, life goes on.  Clearly, life in HexNawLand is filled with nickels, dimes, and horseshit because getting money back for food you purchased the day before is just retarded.  Fourth and finally, why is it that so many customers believe that their particular expectation of cooked food is the only one in existence?  I want my food well done...for some that's cooked twice as long, 3 times as long, 2 minutes longer, etc.  And yet, we, the great seers of customer preference are supposed to automatically know what your golden tastebuds expect when you want it well done?  Who the hell do you think you are and do you see a crystal ball in front of me assisting me in determining your blessed expectations?  Here's an idea....drop some of your needs, shut up, and eat the food.  If you want it well done but don't bother to tell us how long, take your food home and stick it in the microwave, nuke it til it smokes, and enjoy.  If you want extra sauce, well, you're gonna have to pony up that sixty cents and pay for it.  I know, I know, that sixty cents was going towards rent for the month or was the last piece of the financial pie for you to finally buy a car that will not break down the second it leaves the car lot.  Sadly, if you want more, its going to cost advice would be to warm up to this realization quickly and use the $500 you were going to spend on your nails to instead keep you living in your adorable shanty behind the gas station washroom in the scary part of town.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

I know, I probably shouldn't have, but...

So, a few days ago, I had to run to the bank for work and also stopped to get gas.  Let me tell you something...listening to Barry Manilow's "Copacabana" thru every pump and lobby speaker at Speedway around 9am is in no way festive, pleasant, or entertaining.  It is what I would imagine being waterboarded would be like.  So, that just made for a spiteful me as I went into the bank.

Upon arriving at the bank, I discovered that the customer currently being waited on by Teller #1 was blind.  Other than the sunglasses on an overcast day, the dog in the bank by her side pretty much confirmed it.  I go up to Teller #2 and start my transaction. I was listening to the conversation Blindie was having with the teller and overheard this gem.

Blindie: "So, will this deposit show up on my account today?"
Teller: "I'm sorry, but no, you probably won't be able to see it until tomorrow."

To a blind woman.

My funny fuse was just going crazy because it was very obvious that the teller knew what she had accidentally said, but luckily Blindie didn't take offense.  My teller heard her as well and was clearly also holding back the giggles.  I kept my calm and waited until Blindie left.  Immediately after, I looked over to Teller #1 and said "or, hell, she might not ever see it at all."  Both tellers and the other customer burst into laughter and as I finished my transaction, I let them know, "If any of you are interested in learning how to book first-class passage to and five-star accommodations in hell, just ask."  While I agree that I may not be the most tactful or respectful person, this little experience did make me forget about Barry Manilow for the rest of the day, and you just can't put a price on that.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

The Lottery: Play Responsibly and Please Don't Be an Ass.

So, I have a convenience store very close to my place of employment.  I like it because, as one may assume, it is convenient...I get my Rockstars, occasional donette gems, smokes, and other assorted necessities at a convenient location between work and the house.  However, on certain occasions, convenience is quickly replaced with waiting, and waiting, and waiting because some shitbird needs to get his lottery tickets.

In no way am I saying that one should not play the lottery.  It provides added revenue for the state and while the glory of winning an obscene amount of money would be nice, it's probably not gonna happen.  Play the lottery, but play responsibly, and don't be a shithead.  Here's the story.

In my local store, I walk in and grab my two Taurine-filled cans of punchy carbonated happiness.  As I approach the counter, there are four people waiting in front of me.  The first two breeze thru in no time, and the third man walks forward.  I should have known by his appearance that he has been religiously playing the lottery for years, and bingo halls, and the casino, and anything that will get him money quickly without having to expend any effort whatsoever other than money which he should have damn well been saving instead of spending.  He, of course, has four or five $1 scratch-off tickets that were big winners....a whopping $5 in winnings.  Christ knows how many he purchased to get such a large payout, but here we are.  So, instead of taking the money and investing it in, well, anything other than the lottery, he feels the need to buy five more lucky scraps of paper.  Purchase made, one would assume he would get out of the damn way and allow the rest of us (line grew to 5 behind me) to make our convenient purchases and leave.  Nope.  Instead, shitbird looks behind him and gives us a look like, "Golly, I don' wanna havta wait in dis here line to get my winnins fur these here lotto scratchers."  Sure enough, he stood up there, turned around and scratched all 5 of them on the counter.  Bastard.  Dickhole.  I hate you.

God bless the clerk.  He was trying to ask the guy to move over but there was no moving him...he was on a mission to secure the grandiose jackpot from these 5 Wonka Golden Tickets, and nothing was going to prevent him from the chance to bask in the warm glow of financial success in these little scratchy gems.  As I'm sure you have guessed, he didn't win a damn thing, dropped the potentially billion-dollar scratch-off on the floor and walked out (line to 7 people by now).  I mean, seriously, why don't you just find a $5 bill on the ground, rip it into pieces and pee on it?  You won the lottery.  Sure, it was only $5, but shit, it's better than eating peachpits out of the back of a dumpster in a shitty part of town.  Take the $5 and put it towards, I dunno, food?  Or something rewarding?  Instead, you choose to shove it right up your browneye and roll the dice again.  I just don't get it.

I'm fine with you playing the lottery, but God-dammit, why do lottery addicts believe that their purchase of a 1 in 100,000,000 chance for a winning ticket is so detrimental to their well-being that they need to clog a convenience store with pissed off people?  Seriously, if you have been playing the lottery for as long as this guy looks like he has, perhaps you should try another avenue of potential financial prosperity.  Or here is a small list of things more likely to happen.

Becoming President of the US: 1 in 10 million.
Dying from being left-handed and using right-handed products: 1 in 4.4 million.
Dying in a bathtub: 1 in 840,000 (Sorry Whitney, guess you thought you were 839,999).

In closing, if you must play the lottery, turn in your tickets at the counter, quickly decide which tickets you would like in return instead of cash, and get the hell out of the way.  If you don't think this will work out for you, there is an election coming up.  Jasper "Lotto" Shitbird for President has a nice ring to it.

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Good Times at the Grocery Store

I have no doubt that someone will say I am making this up, but there are certain things which even I can't fabricate.  I have seen the People of Wal-Mart is entertaining and amusing.  While I have seen some who absolutely should not have gone out in public dressed like that, I can comfortably say that a new website needs to be created:  Here's why.

This evening, I went to our local supermarket to try and find something for dinner.  While going thru the aisles looking for something, anything that sounded good, I walk into the chip and soda aisles and stumble across a sight which, at first, was hard to describe.  I found someone who absolutely does not care about their appearance, absolutely does not care what people think and absolutely does not care what it looks like she's doing.  Allow me to share this with you.

This woman was of extremely sizable means.  Motorized wheelchair with the adorable yet completely unrealistic basket attached to the front of it, barely big enough to hold your car keys, let alone groceries.  A daughter along with her, pushing a regular cart loaded with things that do not suggest she is planning on turning her diet around (Imagine shopping in the soda/candy/snack aisle, and only shopping in that aisle for all of your food needs).  The basket had a little something in it, and clearly they had stopped over by the donut display case before throwing entire shelves of Little Debbies in the big cart.  Here was this woman, with a box of fresh donuts, box opened, her grabbing them and eating them while shopping.  Mind you, there was no tag on the box....that's right, hadn't been paid for yet, but here she was, gnawing on these things like she found gold seeping from the side, rich Bavarian-style gold.  I was just awe-struck.

Before you jump all over me and say I am a cruel bastard who doesn't have a heart and makes fun of others because of a poor self-image, I completely agree with you.  I am not making fun of her because of how much she weighs.  I am saying that when one battles the bulge, cramming unpurchased donuts 2 at a time down your gullet in full view of everybody is not necessary.  Wage your battle on the inside, and at least buy the damn donuts before you declare them unfit to be in your presence and snarf them down like you were eating Pez.  And honestly, couldn't this have waited until you got out of the store?  Sure, I've bought myself the occasional bag of M&Ms or candy bar, but I wait until after I have purchased it and usually wait until I get to the car to enjoy my chocolatey happy treat.  All I'm asking is that, before you rip into an unpurchased product, take a moment of silent reflection and ask, "Do I REALLY need this right now, or can it wait 15 minutes so I don't look like I'm cramming stolen goods down my throat?"

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Everybody Poops...But I Don't Need to Hear You Doing It

So, I understand that, from time to time, we all have one of those times (see above).  I have subscribed to the theory that everybody does, in fact, poop.  And you know what?  That's just fine.  I support everyone's need to exorcise the brown demons.  In saying this, I also support basic etiquette in the field of waste explusion in public toilets.

I'm not talking about people who don't put the seat down or people who feel the need to wrap the seat with 13 layers of paper like that's going to stop some critter from crawling on your cornshoot.  No, my issue is more auditory than physical.  Let me explain by telling you a little story....or two.

(This story was told to me, so do not think I'm the kind of person who enjoys hanging out near women's public restrooms.  I'm mean but I'm not a pervert.)
A woman approaches the public restroom in a grocery store.  She's the kind of woman that ingests horrible things and really punishes the bowl when it's time for their exit.  Anyway, she goes into the restroom and gets ready to, you know, release.  There are 2 other people in the restroom and sadly both of them are able to tell you exactly what's happening.  Imagine the noise you would have heard if you were on board the Titanic as it scraped against the iceberg...that dull groan of metal being forced open.  Now imagine the Titanic was hit seven or eight times with small breaks between the hits.  That's basically what I heard as the story was told to me.  But Godfather, what if she had kidney stones or something medically wrong with her?  Let me assure you, this was not a medical issue.  Just a bowel movement, no medical issues involved.  Poopin' and groanin'....that's it.

Now another story of auditory fecal funtime from my own personal experiences.  Theme park in Florida.  Hot and humid day.  I had a lot of water that day so obviously it's gotta come out, so I pony up to the urinal.  Mindful not to look to my left or right, the eyes stayed straight ahead on the wall.  But the ears were on full alert...apparently someone should have avoided the park food because what I heard sounded like someone was literally trying to pass a Fiat.  The noises he was making were almost ghostly, no seriously, like a ghost was in there going "booooooooooooooo" and waving its hands trying to frighten a child.  Once again, judging by the splash count, this wasn't a stone giving him fits, but more a cornucopia of solids, liquids and gases which had no problem coming out.  At the end of his aria, a loud and apparently necessary sigh of relief reigned in the end of his battle, almost sounding like you would hear a man sitting down in his favorite chair after a long day of work.

Why am I talking about this?  Simple.  I don't want to hear you taking a dump.  When I use a public restroom, I make it a point to not let anyone know what step I am on in the process.  I don't have a trumpet to signal the march, I don't have to grab the handicapped rail to brace myself for some type of impact, and I don't feel the need to keep everybody in the loop on "how it's going."  Sometimes, the process is happens.  However, sharing the experience is something which is just unsettling, especially when you're in a room of strangers with 1 inch thick partitions between stalls who honestly don't give a damn about your anus.  At home, do what you have to do...scream, yell, punch walls, make noises that sound like farm animals giving birth.  Extra noises signalling Sherman's march to the sea are better left in the confines of your home.  In public, let's use what I'm going to call "silent but deadiquette."

Thursday, May 10, 2012

I Just Went to Wal-Mart to Buy Tampons...
I like to think that I am man who is fairly intelligent and reasonable.  Well, that was before I went to Wal-Mart to buy tampons.  My wife was in clear and present danger, even though chicks bleed out their vaginas all the time.  Not one to leave a damsel in distress, I went into life-saving mode and drove to the House Sam Walton Built.  What I found was a wall, and I mean a wall, of choices.  What frightens me is's just cotton on a string.  Simple. Easy.  Cotton.  String.  How can that need to be made better or fun?

First, I have done this before. It has been awhile, but I have made the purchase before.  While yes, it can be awkward, I still do it because that's what I do....but Jesus, the number of choices now would frighten even the most effeminite male.  Let me present these questions to you and see if you can make sense of them.

1.  Why does a tampon need to click?  I asked my wife and God bless her, she tried explaining it, but I just couldn't wrap my head around something close to your ladyparts that clicks and isn't battery-operated.  It doesn't make any sense.  She started telling me about how you're supposed to twist it til it clicks and then insert it, and I ran away screaming.  She explained that it was "compact" which to me means it's for someone with a pencil vagina.  But, apparently compact means it is just smaller without being smaller....still don't get it.  Don't want to.  Still, the fact that there are enough parts in a tampon that makes it click sounds like you're putting a IED up there, and I just don't want to know any more about that.

2.  The normal purchase I have made in the past is the 3-pronged attack box, a few lite, some middle-of-the-road it's almost over tampons and then the fat man and little boy tampons for the big blitzkrieg.  These boxes were easy to pick box, green, purple and yellow strip and you're at the checkout.  But now, oh now, you not only have the multi-bomber, you also have the 3 Kotex colored ones.  And they fool you...instead of the lite, regular, heavy, they have the reg ,super, and super it's some kinda goddamn high-octane fuel.  I got scared and began looking around to see if there were any other multi-bombs, and sure enough, Always has their own brand of trident-tampies.  Different colors too.  My mind was beginning to spin but I decided to keep looking as this maze of cottony goodness can't get much worse, right?

3.  EZ Glide.  I don't know what the hell this means.  I mean, shit, you jam it in there and you're done.  What needs to glide?  I really needed an adult at this point.  You're not dancing to Swan Lake while you're trying to block the river, so why the hell do we need to have it glide easily.  You're putting cotton in a moist'll glide as best as it can.  After asking my wife, she confirmed that EZ Glide means it is supposed to go in easy, but this begs the question, why would you buy any other type of tampon if this one glides so easily?  I believe it glides just the damn same as the rest of them.  It's a tampon, not a hammock, it isn't supposed to glide.  Reinforce the dam and go about your business...that's what it does.

4.  Unscented tampons.  Seriously.  Unscented tampons.  What in the hell could you possibly want your vagina to smell like?  It isn't like there's a new car smell option.  I did not notice any fragrant smells emanating from any boxes, so aren't they all unscented?  And if there are scented tampons, do they hold the scent for very long?  I mean, Jesus, you're shutting down the Crimson Tide, and I can't imagine the normal smell of ladytime and spring roses is all that fragrant.  I am trying to wrap my head around how someone would want to put something covered in fragrant chemicals into their bodies, especially a part of the body that already falls prey to yeast monsters.

5.  360 Glide.  I think this means that you can do turns and it won't fall out.  My wife could not answer what that was, which makes me feel better about asking.  Then again, if there is a fear of it falling out, perhaps you should just get a roll of paper towels and a bungee cord and make a do-it-yourself blocker.  If a tampon moves around 360 degrees, I wouldn't think that would feel good, so let's hope it means something else.

6.  "Tampons are not an accessory, they are a necessity."  These poignant words came out of my wife's mouth as I asked her why a tampon needs its own little purse carry-on thing.  If you're carrying around a small zebra-colored bag the size of a tampon while in a bar, guys and other women are gonna know you're carrying around a small zebra-colored bag the size of a tampon because nothing else looks like a small zebra-colored bag the size of a tampon.  We will not assume you have a really small phone or an extremely small purse that couldn't even hold an ID.  I don't know if having your own bag makes it any more discreet, but I guess if that's what you need or if that's the tampon people's way of making periods fun, so be it.  I don't get it.

Sufficed to say, I found the 3-pronged attack box at the very end of the aisle, but after everything I went thru, I felt tired and confused.  There is absolutely no reason one needs to have that many different designs when the basic tried-and-true cotton/string combo is what it boils down to in the end.  After waiting for the nice overnight Indian cashier to finish counting down her drawer at 1215am and while waiting having to listen to the 2 nerds standing behind me talking about Final Fantasy's levels 8 thru 10 AT LENGTH, I was able to rest easy in my car and have a good cry on the ay home.  As I entered my home and re-told my tale of distress and confusion, she laughed uncontrollably at me and simply said, "Thanks honey."  No no no, thank you...thank you for completely blowing my mind and making me stand in the tampon aisle with my mouth open for 5 minutes.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

I Can't Find Anything Good to Watch...

I think that I'm fairly mature about things, but the kid in me comes out and reminds me that stupid things still amuse me.  Case in point, I was flipping thru the DirecTV listings the other day and on almost every screen, I ended up giggling like I just saw my first boob on a late-night Showtime movie.  If it wasn't giggling, it was simply reading the show title and wondering, "How does this sound even remotely entertaining?"

For example, and I am not making these shows up:
1. NatGeo Wild's "American Beaver."  I mean, come on.  In today's age, naming a show American Beaver is just awesomely funny.  What was not funny was when I turned it on and saw rodents, I was displeased.  Of course, that's what I expected, but there's always hope.

2. GEM Network's "Estate Jewelry with Sam."  Listen, I'm all for selling shitty jewelry to unsuspecting people at ridiculous prices, but let's look at this.  When one hears "Estate Jewelry," I think high-priced stones, gold, stuff someone would actually want to buy.  But wouldn't you feel better about buying jewelry from someone if you at least heard their last name?  Sam may be a fine guy but god dammit if I'm going to buy expensive jewelry, it should be by someone with their full name.  I want to hold these bastards accountable when I get my Morganoxitalic Zinkide ring and realize it's petrified dogshit on a Little Orphan Annie decoder ring.

3.  NGW's "Pigeon Genius."  It's a show about pigeons.  They're geniuses.  They also randomly poop on anything they want.  A show about pigeons.  Wow.

4.  Travel Channel's "Extreme Restaurants."  I know I've ranted about this before, but "Extreme" is an overused term.  It's stupid.  I could maybe see the bars made out of ice as "Extreme Restaurants," but other than that, they're just places to sit and eat...nothing extreme.  My idea of an Extreme Restaurant:  a fast-food restaurant that serves live blowfish and  live giant squid with wasabi and gunpowder as a seasoning in Kabul, Afghanistan.

5.  Doc Channel's "Puppet."  It's a show about the history of American puppetry.  Seriously.  That's it.  That's how bad it's gotten.

6.  Bio's "Celebrity Ghost Stories."  Yeah.  See, my problem is not that people believe in ghosts.  You can believe what you want to believe.  My problem is that someone thinks because these people are celebrities, their stories are somehow valid and believable.  Please remember, these people are actors...they are paid to do and say what someone else tells them.  And isn't it amazing that so many celebs have witnessed ghost sightings?  What a load of shit.  Who gives a damn what Gina Gershon or Ernie Hudson felt when they walked into whatever.  Hey, I walked into a deep freezer and felt a chill.....a ghostly chill.  See, I want a show too.

7.  PayPerView...hehehe.  "Mom's DDs Get Used."  I added this for Mother's Day.  I also found "Best of Stolen Ex-Wife Dirty Home Videos."  Has it gotten so bad that we need to go into that kind of depth with a porn title?  Just a simple "Ex-Wife Sex Vol 3" would do I think.

8.  Alyssa Milano Uses Wen Hair.  Real title.  If this were 1988, I think that title may have garnered some attention.  But honestly, do you care?  Other than Alyssa if you know her, do you know anyone who cares?

9. "Juice and Lose".....your testicles.  I really figured this was a PSA about steroid use, but it's for a juicer.  When the next show is titled "Improve Prostate Health," I think my idea made more sense.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Just when you thought I was gone...

Well well well, it's been over a year since I posted.  I have so much to say, and yet have remained mum for this long.  I suppose it's time I get back in the saddle and do what I do best.  Offend.

I have been working, a lot...still in the customer service industry, and making it a point to loathe them with my thoughts and win them over with my caring demeanor.  Let's see if I can come up with a few recent pleasantries.

Have you ever gone into a restaurant and complained?  I don't mean "Hey, sorry to bother you but I ordered this without mayo" complaints.  I mean, "I'm going to treat this manager like a piece of shit because my father didn't love me and I hate my life" complaints.  Sit back and enjoy.

So, this fine gentleman, who seemingly looked educated, asked to talk to a manager.  Enter me.  I walk up to the table.  GW is yours truly and AA is the angry assbag.

GW: "Hey how's it going?  What can I do for you?"
And then the answer comes. 
AA: "Well you can start by telling me why the hell every time I come in here, my order is wrong?  Then, I'd like for you to tell me how you're going to make up for this shit, because I think it's about time somebody starts giving me some answers!"
GW: "I'm very sorry about that sir.  What did we get wrong today?"
AA: "I order the same thing every time....a grilled chicken sandwich with no lettuce, tomato and onion and fries as the side.  No sauce, no cheese, nothing.  Is that difficult?"
GW: "Not at all sir."  Now mind you, the sandwich in front of him is the exact thing he ordered, and a child of 6 could tell him this.  "Now, I see what you received and I just have to ask sir.  What do you think that sandwich is?"
AA: "It sure as hell ain't no grilled chicken sandwich!!!!  What do you think this is, Mr Manager?"
GW: "Well sir, to me that looks like a 5 oz. chicken breast that was put on the grill for roughly 12 minutes and then put onto a bun with a side of fries added.  It's in the menu as the grilled chicken sandwich."
AA:  "But it isn't breaded, god dammit!!!"
GW:  "Yes sir, that is correct.  A grilled chicken is put on the grill.  A breaded chicken sandwich is a pre-breaded breast that is fried for 6 minutes.  You will see in the menu that we have the breaded chicken sandwich available right here next to the grilled chicken sandwich that you ordered."
AA:  "Do you think I'm stupid?"
(My tongue had bitemarks by this point)
GW:  "No sir, but I do believe that next time you want a chicken sandwich that is breaded, it might be more proactive to order that.  It will increase your overall satisfaction and avoid unpleasant moments like this.  Can I be of any other help?"
AA:  "I think you've done enough."

Sufficed to say, he did not leave a tip nor have I seen him back in the restaurant since that day.  One other small note...his wife or ladyfriend with him at the table could not help but to smile and look away as I was explaining this to him.

How about another one?
The scene:  Winter.  Bar.  Late afternoon.  Slow time of day.  TVs from wall-to-wall showing any number of stations: ESPN, ESPN2, NFL Network, NBA Network, MLB Network, Fox Soccer, and so on.  The mark: middle-aged man sitting alone.  Employee says, "Some guy wants to see you at the bar and he looks pissy."  Showtime.

GW:  "Hello sir, I'm (insert name) the manager.  What can I do for you?"
AA:  "I want to talk to the owner."
GW:  "Sir, the owner isn't here.  He operates several stores.  Is there something I can do to help?"
AA:  "I just got out of jail and I need a job.  I figure, he's the kind of guy that would take a chance on someone like me."
GW:  "I see. Well, you can fill out an application and I can see about checking with him the next time I see him."
I go to get one and he fills it out.  It is normal for us to sit with them for a second and speak with them about it.
AA:  "So, what do you think?  Think I could work here?"
GW:  "Well sir, it looks like you have no restaurant experience...well, you actually didn't put down any job history at all.  When did you work last?"
AA:  "2003."
GW:  "I see.  And what did you do as an occupation?"
AA:  "I was the CEO of my own company."
GW:  "And what happened to the business?"
AA:  "Convictions.  Theft....drug possession....fraud."
GW:  "Alrighty then!  I will make sure to get this to him as soon as he stops by."

We filed the application away.