How to Quit


I’ve worked over forty-nine jobs in the Frederick County area.  That’s given me a wide range of work experiences, especially how to quit and how to get fired.  I now command salaries of up to nine dollars an hour.

At my last job, my boss, Jena, a rather attractive woman asked me to please get to work. I winked at her and said, “Jena, there is nothing wrong with getting a little behind.”
That was my last day there.

I have sales experience in jewelry, real estate, fire alarms, frozen steaks, furniture, and marijuana. None of these jobs was lucrative, but selling marijuana helped me to get laid once.

One of my qualities is that I take jobs that require mindless labor and no responsibility, and focus on getting to know my co-workers.  On the clock, I’m a real people person.

My main requirement now is that I work with women. My motto has always been: Work hard, play hard, but don’t play hard to get.  I’ve always appreciated promiscuous female co-workers–without them, I wouldn’t have had nearly as much sex on the job.

I’m currently seeking employment as a Mystery Shopper inside dialysis clinics.  Keeping a close eye on nurses comes naturally to me.

When I look back at my past, I can see that my future has to be better. It can’t be any worse.  It is always darkest just before the light.


Chef Stephen Speaking


Oh my cubed potatoes are boiling over. Quickly take the top off the pot and turn the burner down.
Is it that damn phone again?
“Record Street Home, Chef Stephen speaking.”
This lady tells me her mother has left her hearing aid in her car ash tray. I connect her to the nurses station. Man all this talking has my hunger up. I think I’ll make a bologna, salami, Ham, two pieces of American cheese with tomatoes, mayonnaise, mustard, pickles on hoagie roll and eat it while I’m cooking. Good thing I’m getting back on my diet tomorrow.

The Director


“Record Street Home, Chef Stephen speaking, can I help you?”

“Yes, this is Gladys Tushysmacker, my mother Anna is going to be out to lunch.”

“Please hold, and I’ll connect you to the nurses station.”

Then my boss, the director, pops in. She is an angry ex-Marine.
“Stephen, did you put two plastic containers in the recycle without rinsing them out?” 

I always say, if you can’t think of anything better, tell the truth:
“Yes, and I will work on my taking out the trash skills.”

She is really not bad for a macho, short-haired, man-hating type.
I think she is kind of sexy in a weird way.

Hard Times


“Shtephen, you are schtupid!”
The German bitch owner of the Alpenhoff restaurant was yelling at me in front of two waitresses.
I had had enough.
When girls or women are watching, I can be heroic. There’s no telling what I might do.
I picked up my 12 inch frying pan, full of bratwurst, and flung it across the kitchen.
I turned–Greta had my biggest chef’s knife, and screamed, “Get out of my kitchen!”
I left quickly. I had watched Greta chop through big meat bones everyday. The rush was about to hit, so I left her with a lot of immediate problems to solve.
She held my check for one month.
Three months later I hit rock bottom. I was thirty years old. I tied a rope around a pipe in the basement, and, when I jumped off a chair, the pipe pulled down out of the ceiling.
I hit the floor and sprained my ankle. The pain was severe. 
I should’ve known my three hundred pound body would do this.
That was the wurst time of my life. Compared to then, my life now is a walk in the park.

Feeling Good


Lunch had been served and I thought everybody was in the dining room, so I walked back to the infirmary to steal a Diet Coke from the residents’ refrigerator. A nurse’s aide was aggressively eating the fried fish, browned potatoes, and broccoli casserole. She looked up, and with her mouth still full, she said, “This is good.”
That made me feel good, and she didn’t see the Diet Coke in my pocket.

Happy New Year


She said she was going to get on a step ladder and get some small boxes of Cheerios down, could I help her? She knew we would have to get very close. There is no room in the pantry. She climbed the first step, and I put my hand on the small of her back to steady her.  Our eyes met, and she smiled. She took another step, and my hand slid down to her ample behind.
That’s when she said, “Happy New Year.”

The Residents


The residents of the Record Street Home for the Aged are my responsibility as far as breakfast, lunch and dinner are concerned. Thirteen women with an average age of eighty-nine. While cooking I also have to answer the telephone.
“Good morning, Chef Stephen, Record Street Home, how can I help you?”

“My mother is in the infirmary and I would like to come by
with some of her Depends underwear,” some lady says.
“Let me send you to the Nurse’s Station.”

I have worked here five years and have not totally figured out the phone system. I have cut many people off by accident, especially when I am busy in the kitchen. The responsibility and the help that I am given have caused me to lose my temper on several occasions.
The residents, who are hard of hearing, have complained to the director of yelling and banging in the kitchen. She said one more incident and I am history. She yells this at me. She has threatened me with dismissal four times. The one time I quit she called me the next day and for the first time in four year she said, “You do a good job. Please come back.”

I don’t handle stress well. It can cause me to eat like a hog, smoke mother nature, and watch weird movies on Netflix. It is a good thing I only work on weekends…