Workin' For The (Robotic) Man

I was having a hard time finding any restaurant work, and then I wandered into this hole-in-the-wall Subway and landed an under the table job making sandwiches. Vlad, the owner, apparently knew all the guys and was really friendly, paying me in cash (lower than the minimum wage, but better than I would make after taxes, he explained) and letting me eat a free veggie sub for every shift I worked. Things went pretty well for a while — at Subway you make the sandwich directly in front of the customer, so they can't complain when they get it — I was happy enough. I could work as many hours as I wanted and Vlad just tinkered with stuff in the back, rarely bothering me.

About a week into the gig he asked if I wanted to start making "commissions." His idea was to have me on a webcam, and "gentlemen suitors" would log on and buy me sandwiches. I was supposed to eat them wearing a skimpy top and acting "extreemingkly grateful." I would get commissions based on how many sandwiches I enticed the men into buying, as well as for upgrades like bacon, cheese, guacomole, 12", etc. It wasn't exactly porn, and I didn't have to stick anything (other than sandwiches) into myself, so I figured I'd give it a go.

The program was a pretty immediate success, and within three days I was packing in about five subs an hour. I had to start running a couple miles before work each day just to compensate for the calorie intake, and I also figured out a few tricks to keep me from having to eat the whole sandwich, like pulling the bulk of the bread out and just keeping the crust (I made the requested sandwiches off-camera), and omitting upgrades the customer couldn't see, like extra cheese. I was making five times as much money as before, and Vlad was humming around the place, thrilled that his new idea was working out.

Unfortunately, Beef got wind of the scheme and like Dudley Do-Right had to come "rescue" me from my high-paying job. I went back the next day but Vlad said in pretty square terms that his business had "no place for jealous boyfriend." Thanks, Beef.

Nowhere to go but Wendy's

Well, I guess that's actually a pretty lateral move, but anyhow me and Taco Bell have parted ways. It's not entirely my fault that I got fired today, but I'm not going to press the issue.

I was on floor duty for the first time, and I wasn't quite sure where I was and wasn't supposed to mop. I did the prep line, and the dining area, and behind the counter, and the bathrooms, and the dishwashing station. The only place left was the manager's office, and since I had seen Mr. Reilly duck out back to have a smoke in his Buick I figured I didn't need to knock. I must have lost track of time -- he was in there with Huarez, the night shift drive-thru guy. I guess they'd been cultivating some sort of Romance Among the Beans, because when I barged in they were going at it pretty hot and heavy. The really bad part about me wandering in there is that the door to Mr. Reilly's little office faces the dining area, so about fifteen patrons were treated to a pretty graphic display of what happens when two men who work at Taco Bell fall in love and try to make a baby.

All Mr. Reilly could do was look back over his shoulder and scream "You're..you're FIRED! You're FIRED!" I figured that since I couldn't get any more fired than I already was, I'd leave the door propped open with the mop bucket so that the people in the dining area could see what happens when two men who try to make a baby at Taco Bell try to pull their pants on in a room barely big enough for a file cabinet and an old computer.

I'll probably try to get a job at some stupid deli next...it sucks not having a social security card.

Oh well, I should buck up and look on the bright side. At least I can tell people that I've seen live gay sex.