Esser's Blog Of Stuff

Very much did in the sense that I literally do not know where my job is at the moment. But, for the time being I haven't been let go because nobody else including the store owner knows where it is either.

So, I don't wanna risk doxxing myself by posting pictures but goddamn am I tempted because this is not a believable event. This is a cartoon problem. For looneytoons.

But yeah, so, I work(ed?) at a kiosk selling boba tea, right? Freestanding kiosk in the mall with full water and electrical hookups and multiple fridges and sinks and a mini kitchen and the works. Fully functional tea shop. Very important to note that it was there last night, The work chat was discussing another issue last night at closing time. I'll get back to this.

It's been showing signs of being on the way out with how business is being handled lately and I've been considering other options, which is probably why I'm not as torn up about this as I should be, but maybe it just hasn't set in yet, but that's not the point. The point is there's been a lot of shit breaking and not being replaced and nobody mentioning anything about it until I walk into work in the morning and have to figure out why shit like the fucking cash register isn't there today. So I'm kinda used to having to ask questions about big things that nobody bothered to update me on. I was out for two weeks recovering from a surgery, so I came to work this morning assuming there'd be some kind of bullshit, yeah?

So, the question I had to ask the chat this morning was:

Not a text I ever thought I'd have to send in sincerity, but there it is. Because what I found instead was a fenced off patch of discolored tiles and a few holes in the floor where my entire place of employment used to be.

And the answer? Nobody knows! It was there last night when the mall closed, and every single trace of the structure and all its contents including drink making supplies and our safe and cashbox was gone when it opened again. And when I say nobody knows, I mean everyone from last night's closers to the actual (former?) owner of the store jad no fucking clue about this until getting that text from me this morning. For once I am actually the first to know. 🎉.

So. I guess I didn't so much lose my job as had it stolen. Not by AI, but good old fashioned hands-on human beings picking it up and carrying it away somehow. All mall security would tell me was that they were instructed not to tell me anything and have us contact our management. Who also don't know anything. And later on I came across some construction workers around the gravesite of the kiosk discussing filling in the holes, asked them about it, and was told that they "weren't at liberty to say".

So, not only is my job gone in the most literal physical sense of the word, but it was taken in some kind of super secret kiosk extraction in the dead of night without any warning or witnesses and nobody is allowed to speak of it. The store owner said she was gonna figure it out 10 hours ago and still no word back.

My mother in law thinks the FBI took it.

Not any of the other stores around the state. Just the one little kiosk.

Why? Because she loves a conspiracy and is just a little bit extra.

Also because she was around for the massive crackdown on Yakuza-owned businesses in Waikiki (in her homestate) that did actually involve the FBI seizing stores (no confirmation of making kiosks cleanly disappear in the middle of the night though).

Still no word from my job on what's actually going on, but the most likely theory so far is that maybe the kiosk was on lease and got repossessed? The mystery continues

According to the owner, based on what she's been able to find out, the kiosk was not removed legally and they're starting a potentially long process of legal action. I hope she gets to sue the shit out of whoever did it but for now at least I know for sure I'm unemployed.

Really hoping for more details in terms of who/why/how, so I'll keep updating if I learn anything.

For now the summary is: An unnamed entity that is most likely mall management (on account of mall security cooperating with them) stole an entire kiosk and all the contents including money and machinery with barely a trace in the middle of the night grinch-style, with zero warning or explanation, and ensured the silence of both security and the construction crew, in an action that was definitely preplanned and illegal, and as far as I know nobody knows its whereabouts.

Enjoy the unintentionally funniest text I've ever sent in my life

Aaand a close-up:

HEY HI HELLO THIS ONE'S MY FAVORITE

-the rightful heir is a baby and they can tell it’s the right baby because of a giant birthmark on his asscheek

-the main character’s only talent is singing and the rest of the pseudo robin-hood group just kinda tolerate him because he repeatedly fucks up

-he gets hypnotized into believing he is this amazing swashbuckling sword fighting hero along the lines of Wesley from the Princess Bride and ends up fighting the villain while snapping in and out of hypnosis

-the vessel with the pestle has the pellet with the poison, the chalice with the palace has the brew that is true “what”

-he stumbles his way through the entire plot and never knows what the hell is going on

-Danny Kaye is the funniest motherfucker you’ve never heard of

“sir or ma'am or neuter, I’m going to have to ask you to stop crawling on the ceiling, you’re disturbing the other residents”

“please leave this place before I call the exorcist to remove you from the premises”

“company policy forbids me from accepting power from customers in exchange for my soul or firstborn child”

Well, on the other, this place sucks biscuits and any amount of grief she can cause is a huge plus.

“I need you to stop saying no to customers,” her manager says. “Just for today, I need you to say yes and accommodate customers in any way you can.”

Keely stares at him. “Or else it’s a write up?”

He nods, exhaustion like claw marks under his eyes. “Or else it’s a write up.”

Okay then.

————

“Can you take the cheese out of the quesadilla?”

“But then it’s just going to be a toasted tortilla.”

“I don’t like cheese.”

Keely breathes deeply. “Sounds good.”

She pretends not to hear their offended Gasp when they’re confronted with a plain tortilla.

Of course, she’s the one who has to remake it, so it’s not really a win.

She begins to plot.

——————

She gets through six stupid requests when she’s about had it. She has wiped down a booth three times, floor and seat, for a concerned mother. She has torn the lettuce into smaller chunks for a man who, she sees, just picks them out anyway.

She has modified a burrito so far that it’s just a salad even after telling the customer they should just order a salad.

She is done.

“Remember,” her manager says from the office. “I hear one ‘no’ and you’re out. Today.”

When did he get psychic?

So when The Customer comes up, she’s pretty much ready to do whatever they want to absorb proportions. She’s almost excited for it. Triple the steak? For free?

Of course.

“Hi how are you?” Keely asks.

The woman looks up through greasy hair. “I haven’t slept in three days and my house is haunted.”

Okay. Keely pretends to look through her register. Not the response she expected. “What can I help you with today?”

“Making my house not haunted,” the woman says sarcastically.

Keely freezers. And, look, she’s not Ella enchanted. She doesn’t have to do things no matter what her manager says.

But…

He did say she should say yes the whole day.

An unholy grin sweeps across her face. Second shift won’t be in for an hour. Her manager would have to cover.

“Of course,” she chirps. She whisks off her hat and, when the woman takes a step back In surprise, she swings her legs over the counter and lands silently on the other side. “Let’s go!”

The woman blinks. “ I wasn’t serious, I just—it’s been a long week.”

Keely is already heading for the door. “Anything for our loyal customers! Right, sir?!” She calls to the back.

“Right,” her manager says reflexively. Then, when he sees her booking it, “wait, where are you going?”

“We are doers!” She says and hits the double doors hard enough they both swing out into the wall. “Coming, miss?”

“I, uh, I’m not going to argue?” The woman says, struggling to keep up. She clicks open her car and whimpers when Keely throws that door open too. “Careful, please, this is a Porsche. I really don’t want to go home alone.”

“Great!” Keely buckles her seatbelt. “What type of haunting we talking? Victorian lady? Texas cowboy?”

“The pig demon from that 80s horror, I forget the name,” the woman says flatly. She starts the car with the touch of a button. “Still wanna come home with me?”

Keely, after a moments thought, shrugs. “I had to unclog the toilet last week after customers neglected to tell us it was full of shit for four hours. I’m good.”

A little bit for Monica, she's my wife

A little bit for Erica, for her strife

My books all go to Rita, cause she reads

My greenhouse goes to Tina, she plants trees

The furniture is Sandra's, on my lawn

Jewelry for Mary, she can pawn

Ashes go to Jessica, that's my plan

What gets me is how god damned frustrating it would be to work somewhere that one of the Leverage crew supports. Nate would be okay, he’d just make small monthly gifts to ten million different organizations so that nobody thinks he’s worth very much (he doesn’t own his home and he gives such small amounts monthly that Development writes him off as an earnest but low-capacity donor who should get a thank-you card around the holidays). It’s probably a bigger inconvenience to him because he’s on every nonprofit mailing list known to man. He has so many address labels, guys. (I don’t want to be Nate but I am Nate. I have so many address labels.)

Sophie I imagine has an extravagant alias for every charity she supports; she gives outrageous amounts and in return demands only attention and adulation, tickets to all the galas, and to be in at least one photo in every annual report. We have a donor like this – she’s genuinely invested in our work, gives generously of her time and money, is never rude or demanding, but if she’s in the room all eyes must be on her at all times. I actually really like her but constant exposure could get…tiring. 

Eliot just sends enormous, anonymous checks once a year through a shell company or DAF, which while not unusual would be irritating in that they can’t ever reach out to thank him and/or steward him into a larger gift appealing to his interests. They can’t even send him dumb swag! He deserves a charity-branded bottle opener and keychain flashlight! (He has stolen all of Nate’s, but they don’t know that.) Still, they’ve probably got a fun nickname for him; I have a few people in my research files who are simply named after characters from Greek mythology because that’s all the data I have or am allowed to store. 

For a long time Hardison just dumped money into the bank accounts of his charities of choice, seamlessly, invisibly – it just APPEARED in the account, and he was cool with that until he checked back after a few years and found none of his money was being used because they couldn’t figure out where it was coming from and were worried it was a clerical error despite the bank assuring them otherwise. Now he still dumps money into the accounts but he entertains himself building an elaborate digital paper trail so that the accounting all works. Have you ever watched a Gift Processing office try to balance a nonprofit’s books? Sometimes they cry! Don’t be mean to them, Hardison. 

Parker, bless her heart, just leaves bags of money on the doorsteps of random employees with notes directing how, in general terms, it should be spent. If she’s particularly pleased with the climbability of their home, she leaves a donut for them, too. Generally if she mentions she’s done this to the crew, Eliot calls up the charity to assure them that the large bag of cash was a legitimate donation and is not some kind of money-laundering scam. (That was ONE TIME Eliot, and the IRS didn’t even NOTICE.) This happened to me once. A tiny old lady in a Cubs jacket showed up to our office with a backpack full of money and it was a very intense morning.