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Dave's Farewell Shindig
Apr. 8th, 2006 01:11 amDave, our manager, is leaving, moving to Oregon. He's been dealt some tough hands here in Denver, and he finally had enough and said "Fuck it." Can't say that I blame him, but I'm one of the few that liked him and I'll miss him.
The party was held at Tubby's American Grill, a challenging locale due to the fact that it doesn't actually say "Tubby's" anywhere on the outside of the building. Despite this we had a decent turn-out -- one key component to being a successful inventory auditor is the ability to unerringly find places given the bare minimum of information.
I started out on my personal carafe of Coke, but it was making me too jittery (and Tery mocked me when I pronounced it "carafay" instead of "caraff". Bitch). So when Tery looked over the liquor menu, I asked her to order me a "Screaming Orgasm." No, I'm not a big drinker, but it did sound tasty (vodka, Kahlua, amaretto and Bailey's). And I imagined it would be great fun to interject into conversation, i.e. "What's that you're having?" "A Screaming Orgasm, thanks for asking." I have no doubt that all these new-fangled drink names (Pink Crotch, Cowboy Cocksucker, Cum Shot) are designed with precisely this purpose in mind. It was delicious but quite strong, and burned going down my throat. When I commented on the burn, Tery said, "That's because it's alcohol, you boob." Everyone laughed cruelly. *cries* Excuse me for not being a lush, you big meanies. After finishing this one drink, I felt weighted down with a slow lethargy creeping through all my limbs (while one thigh kept bouncing uncontrollably with the unpleasant effects of the caffeine, a peculiar combination to say the least). A cheaper date you're not likely to find anywhere else.
Gradually the party was moved into the next room, where the pool tables and karaoke were. Tery didn't seem to be all there until she realized there was karaoke, when she lit up like a Christmas tree. She was happy singing her heart out on stage, I was happy playing some pool. I wanted to play Gerry but he refused, blaming an excessive alcohol intake and impaired coordination, but he wasn't fooling me -- I could smell the fear coming off him in waves. Fear of my superior skills, that is. This didn't stop him from criticizing me and trying to put me off when I switched to a shooting arcade game, the jerk. He said in lieu of any talent of his own, he just stood to the side and tore down other people. I know how he feels as I often do that myself.
Once the entire group had made its way over, someone had the brilliant idea of doing a karaoke song in honor of Dave. They picked Green Day's "Good Riddance" (probably more recognizable as "Time of Your Life"), a clichèd and predictable choice, favorite of prom committees everywhere since the year it was released, and perhaps more than a little inappropriate considering I'm fairly sure Dave's 9 years as manager were among the most miserable of his life, if his incessant grumbling and bitching was any indication. I begged off, using my voice issues as an excuse, but today while idly singing the chorus to myself I realized that it is actually perfectly in my range. But whatever, despite the truly terrible singing onstage I got a little choked up, as did Dave. I got a bit fahklempt when he slow-danced with an auditor that I know drove him round the bend ever since the day she started working. And I got downright weepy when he hugged me goodbye at the end of the night. I'm gonna miss old Dave, no doubt about it.
We gave him the ritualistic RGIS send-off of tagging his car (covering the car with the long yellow strips of paper we use to mark where we've counted). We only do this to people we truly like, and he knows it. We all laughed and pointed watching him pick them up. Ah, these are Santori times.
The party was held at Tubby's American Grill, a challenging locale due to the fact that it doesn't actually say "Tubby's" anywhere on the outside of the building. Despite this we had a decent turn-out -- one key component to being a successful inventory auditor is the ability to unerringly find places given the bare minimum of information.
I started out on my personal carafe of Coke, but it was making me too jittery (and Tery mocked me when I pronounced it "carafay" instead of "caraff". Bitch). So when Tery looked over the liquor menu, I asked her to order me a "Screaming Orgasm." No, I'm not a big drinker, but it did sound tasty (vodka, Kahlua, amaretto and Bailey's). And I imagined it would be great fun to interject into conversation, i.e. "What's that you're having?" "A Screaming Orgasm, thanks for asking." I have no doubt that all these new-fangled drink names (Pink Crotch, Cowboy Cocksucker, Cum Shot) are designed with precisely this purpose in mind. It was delicious but quite strong, and burned going down my throat. When I commented on the burn, Tery said, "That's because it's alcohol, you boob." Everyone laughed cruelly. *cries* Excuse me for not being a lush, you big meanies. After finishing this one drink, I felt weighted down with a slow lethargy creeping through all my limbs (while one thigh kept bouncing uncontrollably with the unpleasant effects of the caffeine, a peculiar combination to say the least). A cheaper date you're not likely to find anywhere else.
Gradually the party was moved into the next room, where the pool tables and karaoke were. Tery didn't seem to be all there until she realized there was karaoke, when she lit up like a Christmas tree. She was happy singing her heart out on stage, I was happy playing some pool. I wanted to play Gerry but he refused, blaming an excessive alcohol intake and impaired coordination, but he wasn't fooling me -- I could smell the fear coming off him in waves. Fear of my superior skills, that is. This didn't stop him from criticizing me and trying to put me off when I switched to a shooting arcade game, the jerk. He said in lieu of any talent of his own, he just stood to the side and tore down other people. I know how he feels as I often do that myself.
Once the entire group had made its way over, someone had the brilliant idea of doing a karaoke song in honor of Dave. They picked Green Day's "Good Riddance" (probably more recognizable as "Time of Your Life"), a clichèd and predictable choice, favorite of prom committees everywhere since the year it was released, and perhaps more than a little inappropriate considering I'm fairly sure Dave's 9 years as manager were among the most miserable of his life, if his incessant grumbling and bitching was any indication. I begged off, using my voice issues as an excuse, but today while idly singing the chorus to myself I realized that it is actually perfectly in my range. But whatever, despite the truly terrible singing onstage I got a little choked up, as did Dave. I got a bit fahklempt when he slow-danced with an auditor that I know drove him round the bend ever since the day she started working. And I got downright weepy when he hugged me goodbye at the end of the night. I'm gonna miss old Dave, no doubt about it.
We gave him the ritualistic RGIS send-off of tagging his car (covering the car with the long yellow strips of paper we use to mark where we've counted). We only do this to people we truly like, and he knows it. We all laughed and pointed watching him pick them up. Ah, these are Santori times.
Me and Dave
1996-2006
