I have not yet written specifically about one of my new managers. She was mentioned briefly in Katy Perry Likes Mashed Potatoes as Other Manager, but it's time she has her own name and story. I will call her Porcelain Doll because she is always so put together and pristine and she looks like if she smiles, her fucking face will crack apart. None too surprising, she's a bitch. The first day I saw her she forced a weak smile and extended her tiny wimpy hand out for me to shake as she introduced herself. "At least she tried to smile," I thought. Her grip was that of a wet soba noodle. The next time I saw her was the day she was trying to produce the illusive mashed potatoes for Katy Perry. Her impression on me was less than positive. As I rang in my first order of that day and my first one without the assistance of a trainer, she was standing next to the computer. "Oh, Porcelain Doll, I'm glad you're here. Would you please make sure I am ringing this order in in the right way before I send it to the kitchen?" Porcelain Doll's response? "Well, I'm not just standing here because you're pretty." Wait, was she being funny or being a bitch? I patted my naturally curly hair and said, "Well thank you for calling me pretty" and then produced a little girly laugh. Porcelain Doll didn't move her face and it was clear that she wasn't being funny. She was being a bitch. And she didn't think what I said was remotely funny.
What is it with these managers? Were they required to take an aptitude test to determine that none of them have a funny bone in their body? Do any of them understand what a sense of humor is? Can any one of them see that the job they do is not as important as a brain surgeon or the Secretary of Defense? I have repeatedly tried to lighten things up around there only to be shot back down by a no-nonsense stare from a pair of glassed over eyes. Porcelain Doll seems to be the worst one when it comes to having any fun. She needs to be put under glass and displayed at the Museum for Artifacts of Lame Shit. Admission would be a suggested donation of ten dollars. No one would ever pay that amount to get in because the museum would suck and the only people who would go to it are kids who have to write a report on it for their social studies class. Porcelain Doll would just sit there and wait for someone to look at her but no one ever would because even the losers who would go into the Museum for Artifacts of Lame Shit would avoid her because who the hell wants to look at a doll in a museum? Porcelain Doll would eventually dry up and deteriorate into a pile of dust which the janitor would vacuum up and toss into a dumpster. A perfect ending for a perfect bitch.
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