Drink Rum

I understand just a little...

So anyway...

When I was in high school, doing that whole job at McDonalds and theater thing that was mentioned in the first part of this piece, I met this guy who would have little to no impact on my life other than he allowed me to pilfer his name for my own entertainment.

That may sound like a rather bland way to start a posting, but bear with me... it's a bland post. Maybe.

Willy Floyd was the day swing manager at McDonalds when I started way back in 1990. He only work there for a couple of weeks while I was there, but he was a rather entertaining person. He constantly talked about his dream of being a big rock star. He talked about it with anyone who would listen. Fellow employees, customers, bums staggering around in drive thru... anyone. Even people who didn't want to listen. He was a management type and at the time I hadn't learned to be disrespectful yet so I listened attentively. I think that's why he latched on to me for those few weeks.

One day, "Floyd" (as he was called) brough in a cassette tape of his band for me to listen to. I don't know how to describe what I heard other than it was bad. Not bad in a "no one wants to hear that" sort of way, but bad in a "oh my god I think my kidney just exploded" way. The sound was a mix of classical opera, hip-hop, bluegrass, tango, and the sound of falling cutlery. I think there was some singing in there, but it was hard to tell with my ears bleeding as they were. Floyd was so excited though. He was headbanging and doing the devil fingers thing that hair band fans seemed to think indicated "yes, I approve of this tune". He made me listen to it in his car and there was no escape. The song finally ended and I felt a sense of relief until he lit another cigarette, yelled "REMIX!" and the song started all over again but with the addition of a baby crying and accordian fills.

After the aural bludgeoning ended, he just looked at me, cigarette dangling from his lip, and said, "Dude... this is gonna be huge." I just nodded and ran back to work.

Floyd quit a few weeks later to concentrate full time on his band. McDonalds was much quieter for his leaving. Despite spending such a small amount of time with him, "Floyd" Willy Floyd left a lasting impression on me.

I buy the product and never use it

Two years later, Floyd W. Floyd was born. In the middle of government class, after recieving a note on a report I wrote from the teacher saying "If only you'd use your power for good instead of evil" (no lie), I began thinking back to Floyd. I started to think... someone with that passion for crap should be immortalized to some degree. What if I took Floyd's passion for being huge and my talent for... um... fabricating things... and merged them into the baddest concept you'd never heard of? It was never determined if Floyd W. Floyd was a front man for a band or was the name of the band itself, but I decided to see if I could create a "buzz" for a non-existant musical entity. I gathered some friends, many who I have become reaquainted with via Facebook, and we had a plan. We'd wallpaper our school with flyers we'd drawn up that simply said, "FLOYD W. FLOYD- COMING SOON". We put them everywhere. On people's lockers, classroom blackboards, even in the bathrooms. The buzz started.

Soon we had people around school asking "who/what was Floyd W. Floyd?"

We started to expanded.

More flyers. Now we had a concept to attach to it. This was Floyd's "comeback" tour. Coming from where? Why the asylum of course.

FLOYD W. FLOYD - BACK FROM THE ASYLUM - COMING SOON!

About this time the school authorities started a flyer crack down but it was too late. There were four or five of us with backpacks full of flyers and as soon as they'd take 'em down, we'd replace them with two more.

Then we decided to go big.

I grew up in a fairly small (by today's standards) town and we decided to get the whole town going. One night we went to the downtown area, to a small outdoor stage in the center of town. We were armed with several rolls of duct tape. On the back wall of the stage we made duct tape letters spelling FLOYD WAS HERE about 6 feet tall. We were trying to be clandestine, but the sound of ripping duct tape off a roll and giggling drew unwanted attention. We were going to do more, but realized someone across the street had spotted us and so we decided to split.

On our way back to the car (I still don't know why I opted to park the car 5 blocks from where we made the sign), we were stopped by a couple of missionaries who decided we looked like we should become good [insert whatever religion they were] right then and there. We were about to laugh and split until we saw two police officers coming up the sidewalk. Apparently the guy who spotted us, or heard the giggling called Johnny Law. The police stopped to talk with us saying they'd been called because of some pranksters in the area. Fortunately, the religious missionaries then attempted to convert the cops and the cops were convinced we were all missionaries and left us alone. I can actually say with a grin that I was "saved" by missionaries. Once anyway.

Back at the McDonalds I'd been putting up flyers in the windows that said, "FLOYD W FLOYD EATS HERE" I don't know what that'd say about a rock star if his favorite hangout was McDonalds, but I worked there and it kept me entertained. Until one day Liz (a manager type) grabbed one of the flyers and confronted a couple of us (let's face it, no one knew who was putting up the flyers but everyone knew who "might" have been doing it). She waved the the piece of paper she'd torn out of the drive thru window and said, "What's Floyd eat here?" We tried not to laugh and just said we had no idea. She just told us "I don't wanna see no more Floyd eat here!" We said ok and put up another flyer.

The whole thing seemed to have worked. At the mall we'd overhear random people talking about Floyd W. Floyd or asking if anyone knew anything about it. It was absolutely pointless, but amazingly fun. Willy Floyd may never have become the big star he wanted to be, but for a few weeks at least Floyd W. Floyd was the talk of the town.

I'd later use that moniker for a faux production company. Floyd W. Floyd Productions. In true to the legend fashion it never produced anything.

Months later I'd leave home and go off to college. Floyd W. Floyd would be coming with me it turns out.

Posted by Monty at 12:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

No, it's not another potty story.

I'm trying to figure out what to do with this blog/site thing. I'm not really happy with its current state and so far it appears to be mostly popular for people googling about knee injuries. I'm not sure the domain name "drinkrum.org" is really indicative of what I was trying to do here and it doesn't really reflect on me that much anymore either. I rarely drink anymore and usually if I do it's beer. It's just easier.

The design is kinda dated too. It's got the "all the rage" look of the 2007 blog sites. Bush has been deposed so having him as a mascot doesn't have as much bite to it anymore. I could Photoshop Obama and put him there, but... well... I'd probably be called a racist.

So I don't know what to do. I could just let it stand as is and let it collect dust. But that seems a waste of resources. I could just keep on keeping on and update as I have been recently... but that doesn't really seem like a worth while notion either. I could just delete the whole thing and not worry about it. I could do a big overhaul, redesign and get a new domain name for the thing... man that seems like a lot of work to make a site that's really a landing page for bad search engine queries.

Decisions, decisions.

I seem to be leaning towards the flush it option.

Posted by Monty at 3:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Happy miserable Friday peeps.

I'm dead tired... been one of those weeks. I'm walking around the office with one eye closed, half asleep and barely thinking... even less than usual. The only thing keeping me awake are a steady stream of tasks and cranking the iTunes. Currently, I've got my "Wake Up!" playlist going. We're on the Flash Gordon theme song right now.

It works pretty well. It's hard to sleep when Freddy Mercury is screaming, "FLASH! AH-AH!" in my ear.

I've commented on the disgusting nature of shared office spaces before I think, but I can't resist doing it again. Yes, I know... I should be working on part II of the Mexican Radio thing... but that seems to require more brain power than I can muster. Next week, I promise.

So, sharing bathrooms is gross. (Yeah, we're going there already.)

I went in the one men's restroom on the floor and apparently it was rush hour at the biscuit barrels. Our potty palace has three stalls and two urinals. I think there are also some sinks and a towel. Urinal #1 is about 3 inches off the floor, labeled "Buddy's First Pee" and made by Fischer Price. Urinal #2 seems normal enough until you go to flush it and an action I've dubbed the Tidy Bowl Tide Wave occurs and water comes flying out of the urinal bowl in every general direction. If I was a leprechaun I could have used it as my own little smelly water park.

That's not a big deal really. I've perfected a "flush and jump" manuever that works pretty well.

But today when I open the door to the restroom, I was punch in the face by the worst smell known to man. If my life were a cartoon, a giant brown fist shaped cloud would have been seen punching me in the face and knocking me on my back with little "x"s over my eyes and my tongue out to one side. Although I must admit the idea of my tongue being out near the foul air leaves me feeling pyucky.

All three stall were locked and loaded with folks producing the most foulest of fouls. I think they were actually proud of their feat. Maybe they met there each day in a coordinated sort of bathroom rehearsal process of grossitude.

I realized there was no way that I was going in there. Once I regained sight (the smell was blinding), someone in stall #2 let forth unto the world what I can only call "Shiva - Destroyer of Worlds". Stalls #1 and #3 contributed minor followers to Shiva and I almost passed out. I shuddered and said loudly, "Oh my God, what's wrong with you people? What did you eat?"

Someone replied with a "huh?" but they were rhetorical questions really. I knew what was wrong with them and didn't care what they ate.

The sad thing is... I still have to make water and I'm afraid to go back in there. It's like the 'Nam. It left scars, man. Scars.

Never get off the boat.

Posted by Monty at 12:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This post is part of a series prompted by the rediscovery of some old college radio show tapes. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

No comprende it's a riddle.

Circa 1991-1992 I was an unambitious teen with a mediocre school career and a social life that would have even looked sad for a Jon Cussack character driven film. I spent my days in school doing my best to stay awake and my evenings working at the local fast foodery slinging burgers and generally pretending to care about the general well being of the customers and their highly sought after carbohydrates. I usually worked behind the scenes in the grill area. That kept my interaction with the huddles masses yearning to breathe fat to a minimum and also it allowed for prime co-worker heckling. It was a good gig. I actually enjoyed cooking. In the early days, I was trained in the ways of cooking and romance by two brothers (literally and figuratively) named Eddie and Wendell. The best way to describe what that was like would be to imagine being exposed to the same situation with Eddie and Charlie Murphy. In order to get promoted to a trainer, I had to learn how to do drive thru. Eddie recommended doing it because it got you an extra dollar and hour and access to all the new ladies at work. The money sounded good. Drive thru did not.

I hear the talking of the DJ... can't understand just what does he say.

I think it was Tina who was responsible for handing me my first headset, and between her and Christy they trained me in how to operate the microphone-to-clownhead interface to get orders into the machinery and get the meat process sizzling. It was a Saturday around lunch time and I think the entire state of North Carolina came to the drive thru. I was, of course, in Virginia but all of the people I saw that day were angry and en route to another state. You may think I made that up, but at the time the McDonalds I worked in was like the 4th busiest on the east coast and the busiest in the state. It was a bit silly. So I was working in station #1. My job was to greet you, get your order, tell you to pull forward. While you'd tell me your order, I'd input it into one register that'd start the order process at station #2 and queue the order on a second register at my station. That way I could be taking an order on register #1 and taking money/processing a previous order on register #2. They you'd pull forward to station #2 where someone else was making you your food. After you left station #1, you weren't my problem so your car could burst into flames and green aliens steal your hubcaps for all I cared.

Simple right.

Car #1- bbbbzt (it makes a little sound in the headset to let you know when a new car comes)

Me- Hi, I'm Mcdonalds. Can fpphp you something pfffffphpt a happy meal?

Car #1 - I want (list of non funny things)

Me- OK, pull ahead. CRAP! Oh your total is $5.97

Car #2 - bbbbzt HELLO!?!

Me- Hi this is McDonalds, I'll be right pffffffffft pfffffffffffft.

Car #2 - I want a large mcnugget and fries.

Car #1 (at window) - I need to change my order to a whopper with cheese

Me- This is mcdonalds we don't sell those.

Car #2 - DID YOU HEAR ME?!

Car #3 - *HORN BLARES*

Me - deaf

Car #1 Oh crap, I don't have a wallet, nevermind. (drives off)

It goes on like that until I have a panic attack and lock myself in the freezer. That day I was also accused of being a racist for not giving a black guy free french fries. A sympathetic customer once said, "Son, don't let the technology beat you."

That night I went home and had nightmares about cars, speakers, french fries, and cash handling procedures. Fortunately I didn't have to go back to work for a week. My god, don't ever put me back in drive thru again.

I wish I was in Tijuana, eating barbequed iguana.

Next Saturday, I walk into work apron in hand and ready to take my place leading the grill team during the upcoming lunch rush. I was pleased to see we already had 4 people in the area so we'd be well staffed to go mad fast on burger flipping. That's when the manager pulled me aside and said there'd been a change in the schedule and I'd be taking booth 1 in drive thru for the day. Apparently I did such a great job last week, I'd earned the spot again. Great job? My cash drawer was short the GNP of Argentina, 12 customers left without their food, there was a car fire and I swear at least one person fired a gun at me. No amount of threatening to kill everyone in the establishment would get me out of it, so I was stuck.

In school I was in the middle of theater rehearsal for a play. I was playing a character who had a rather slimy manner about him and was supposed to be a rather slick LA agent type guy. I'd given him a voice not unlike the worst DJ you could ever imagine. The character was all ego, no brains. His name was Blake Stanford. I decided that that Saturday, Blake Stanford was working drive thru. Hopefully it would be so disruptive that they'd pull me from drive thru and I'd never have to do it again... but also not so over the top that I'd get fired.

It'd be suuuuuper.

Here's how it went:

Car #1 - bzzzzt Hello?

Me: Goooooooooooooooooooooood afternoon and welcome to the finest Mcdonald's in the western united states. Can I interest you in a Big Mac, a McDLT, or a Filet-O-Fish? I hear they're Filet-O-Fan-Tastic!

Car #1 - what?

Me: Heh, heh, riiiight. What sort of consumable goodness can I put in a paper bag for you today?

Car #1 - um. (long pause) Can I get a #2 with a Coke?

Me: HEY! that sounds suuuuuper! Would you like to try one of our awesomolicious apple pies or an ice cream cone hand twisted by the finest twisters from Illinios?

Car #1 - ok.

Me: I'll put you down for one of each, does that sound fabulous?

Car #1 - um... yes.

Me: Alrighty, I've got a big, bad #2 with a cokity-coke-coke and pair of lovely desserts, one cold and wet, one warm and cripsy... that brings your jump up and sit back down total to $5.85. Kick that car in drive and bring your bad self up to window 1 and have your jumpin jack cash ready to change hands.

Car #1 - do I pull up now?

Me: Only if you really want to.

Car #1 - I do.

Me: That's great!

I was never going to have to work drive through ever again. Through out this whole thing I'm hearing the people in station 2 on their headsets laughing and telling me I'm going to get in trouble. I replied, "I know." I knew my demotion was at hand when a red-faced manager popped in my work area and demanded to see me as soon as I went on break. Perfectamundo.

Giselle was her name, my manager. She told be she'd heard from several employees that I was goofing around in the drive thru and playing games with the customers. I said, yeah... I guess I should probably go back to the grill, huh? I grabbed my apron and started out of the office.

"No. I've got 7 comments from drive thru customers about how much they enjoyed the "comedy" of the order taker and it made an otherwise boring process for them entertaining. Two people said you were the best drive thru voice they'd heard and one guy left his business card for a radio station he manages wanting you to come by to audition for a job. I don't know what you're doing back there, but keep it up, the customers like it."

Crap.

Wait a guy left a card wanting me to come be a DJ? Wow. That sounds much better than working fast food.

[Please note: This is all true.]

Posted by Monty at 12:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)