ADVISORY: This contains mature content. Read with caution!Managers, as I understand and I believe, should not only lead but inspire. In the Games section of Six Flags Over Mid-America, many do lead and inspire. Many also denigrate and defile.
The phone rings in the Britannia backroom.
"Brit -- Chris speaking."
"Who the [bleep] are you?"
"Chris Francis."
"Well, get off you [bleep]head and get a [bleep]ing supervisor right [bleep]ing now!"
I get one. I should've just hung up.
Fast forward now to a sick joke from a foreman named "Cliff," the name changed to protect his identity.
Shortly after opening one day, he gives me a fake write-up for "not shaving face and legs. This is against the grooming code and uncool." If only I had my historical mindset then. I would've come to work in 18th Century knee breeches and stockings and told him they get girls. Cliff, meanwhile, has Ten O' Clock Shadow, stubble, and gorilla legs. So much for setting the standard.
Later, after I come back from break, Cliff throws me a question straight from left field.
"Can I see your wallet?"
He'd seen me locking it up.
"What, you wanna rip it off?" I jab.
"Nah, let me just see it."
So I let him have it. He flips through my numerous cards before spotting a circular bulge in the back, which may have been what raised his eyebrows. It turns out to be change, but Cliff has a dirty mind.
"You got a condom in your wallet?"
I spend the next few minutes fighting a losing battle as I try to convince everybody in the backroom that I don't carry birth control next to my bills. I keep cracking up, though, because every so often, somebody comes into the backroom, hears the conversation, and asks, "Who's got the condom?" Or they poke their head in the door and ask it. Then I can't stop laughing.
Another girl gets ticked because I make it clear I'm not going to use it on her.
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