When I first started my current bar job two months back there were some glaring omissions to the bar set-up. There was no simple syrup; there was no fresh citrus of any kind. I made simple syrup in the kitchen and put it in an old break bottle with a partially torn off label. Citrus, easy pickin' in the walk-in, was brought up from the basement at the start of my shifts. After hearing from the owner that my s.s. should be in a different container, so as not to rankle the inspection folk, I brought in a label-free bottle that used to house incredibly fine scotch that the husband and I recently polished off, and poured the sugar water into it. For about a month, this arrangement worked well.
Yesterday, I came into work, and found, to my dismay, that the simple syrup bottle I use to make yummy drinks with like this one:
was gone. I looked around a bit before I started to squawk about it to my co-workers.
"The Monday night bartender took it home," said the busser, David. "He did what?!?!" I said louder than was absolutely necessary. David was like, "I didn't know. I thought maybe he had talked to you, and you told him it was okay to take it." After hearing from David, I phoned Edmond, my sticky-fingered co-worker, and left a WTF? message on his machine. He returned my call and left a message that was some tripe about "well, I heard you quit, and no one uses the simple syrup, and I liked the bottle, so I took it." I guess he lives in a world where no one gives two weeks' notice, or any notice, for that matter. Jerk.
Edmond, around my age, and seemingly decent-looking in appearance, had worked at the restaurant full-time as a bartender up until November. Edmond was also the guy who, having come back on a "fill in" basis, trained me. He'd quit, he said, because he wanted to focus on some "at home" job that I was only vaguely interested in hearing about at that time.
As I became settled in to my new digs, I began hearing about the real reason Ed didn't work at the restaurant anymore. Flashback to November: Edmond, having found god seven years' prior in a really serious way, was told by god to "stop serving people alcoholic beverages." This bit of info. can be substantiated by a handful of people at the restaurant. God told him to stop, so he quit tending bar. (Although he's now back two days weekly serving drinks to those in need, so did he have to ask god for permission first in order to do so?) Oh, and, did god tell him to steal my bottle, too? I should ask him that tomorrow when I go into the restaurant to retrieve my stolen goodie. Like I really give a fig about the bottle, but hey, it's the principle of the matter.
A Golden Rule, of sorts, for Edmond, the Man Who Listens To God: don't take other people's shit, and, if you do and get caught, then bring it back, fucker.