My Boss

All right, so I work at the Sunset Grille in St. Augustine Beach. My boss is an Italian New Yorker who really likes to play the roll of the Italian New Yorker. I mean, right down to the mock-mobster persona, the heavy, exaggerated accent, and the slicked back hair. At 5 feet 5 inches tall, you'd think there is no reason to fear him. But strangely enough, everyone does. I'll say he does have a temper and is VERY loud. Most people that work at Sunset are Southern, so maybe they aren't used to it. Maybe they're even a little intimidated.

More on the topic, this is the kinda guy that addresses his employees by, "hey, cocksucker, come here." Or, "hey fucko, spritz the bathrooms." Or even, "yo uhhh....cum dumpster, go fuckin' bus some tables." In a loving way, of course. I merely laugh and give him a little punch on the shoulder.

Whenever I get into an argument with my boss, which is pretty often, both of us don't back down. We will literally get into each others faces and scream at each other. Everyone else in the restaurant looks on like a bunch of newborns. But not 5 minutes after, he'll come up to me with that big grin on his face and say, "Louie, you know I like you. You're a New Yorker! Thats why I hired you!" I'll say, "I know boss." Then, to save face, he'll usually say something like, "now go sweep the floors, peasant." My response usually goes as follows: "Ok, but I'm gonna get employee of the month, right?"

Employee of the month doesn't exist at the Sunset Grille. He then usually just turns around and calls me an asshole. Never back down to the big man, folks.